After just over a week of our "anarchy studies"—if you could even call it that—the core concept remained: there were no rules, and no one was making a plan. Consequently, things were starting to fall apart, at least partially. I was smiling to myself as I walked to the kitchen to get something to eat, having just gotten the toddlers to sleep.
That's when I heard Salvatore, Wulfe, and Charles arguing—or, to use a more civilized term, having a heated discussion. It went something like this:
Adam was furious because Damon hadn't informed him they'd run out of the specific-sized logs needed for the downstairs incinerators. Damon argued that he wasn't a woodchopper. Charles defended Adam, trying to get Damon to see the importance of informing people about low supplies, since Damon had last set up the incinerator. Damon snapped back at Charles, saying he had thought about chopping more wood or reminding someone, but when Charles had burdened him with all sorts of paperwork, it had slipped his mind. This didn't appease Charles.
Wulfe was angry at Charles for not informing him that he had already fed the snakes and put new skins in the analyzer. Wulfe had cleared his schedule for the snakes. Number Four, who was also in the group, snapped at Wulfe for missing his last medical tests. He had waited in the medbay for hours for Wulfe to show up and was tired of reminding the adults. He'd said it once, and Wulfe had been busy, with medical appointments being low priority.
I was just smiling, walking past them, thinking about my meal. Hmm, pork belly, I had it in the oven; some Wagyu with crispy skin, shrimps, and salmon, smoked salmon. It seemed I was craving fish and seafood lately, which was good for a change in my diet.
As I passed the men, I failed to notice Number One's nostrils flickering as he caught my scent. His brow furrowed, and a slow, smug smile curved his lips, causing Charles and Adam to stare at him.
He shared a little fact with them, as well as with Wulfe, and the men's faces lit up. Now they had a common goal, though it wasn't yet time to reveal it. Damon wanted Mimi herself to notice, and he was eager to be there when it happened; it would be perfect.
I was on my way to the blood room, a special room we had, when I realized I was craving blood—a craving I had mostly kept to myself. Wulfe, Adam, and Charles likely knew, but I wasn't sure if any of the Salvatores were aware. I planned to grab a few bags and make a large jug of blood for myself.
I was feeling intensely bloodthirsty; Salvatore's blood just wasn't satisfying. I wanted something more potent, something stronger. I almost wanted to knock myself out with blood, or at least get a serious buzz. I had no idea why; my body was sometimes weird.
Just as I was about to open the door, Mariella approached.
She looked around, then said in a quiet tone, "Is this the blood room? I can smell your bloodlust. And, by God, I need some blood. Damon's blood isn't enough, and I tasted Lepard. His blood is normally lovely, but now it feels diluted. Can you help me out?"
I furrowed my brow, unsure if my sudden bloodlust had affected Mariella. Sometimes my sensations bled into our hive, making others feel what I was feeling. Despite my competitive nature, we had formed a new connection. Perhaps I was getting something from her, and it might be beneficial for her to have a good blood fix.
So I said, "Yeah, I have a special bloodroom. I was just planning to make an almost knockout jug for myself. I was about to eat. The Salvatores are arguing because they don't know who did what and what's missing, which is kind of funny."
Mariella nodded and said, "By God, I'm hungry. I only get nausea in the mornings, but since it's afternoon, I feel like I could eat a horse. And by the way, this whole anarchy thing is really stupid. I hope Damon gets his lesson once and for all so we can get our plan back on track."
Her voice was strained. A dark impulse arose within me, a new plan. Oh my God, it would be perfect. My vampire side was irate for some reason, and the toddlers were no longer a priority. I knew there were pack members around, but first, I needed to make this happen. Once a certain threshold was ready, then I would inform my girls of my need for some personal time with my meal.
My obsession had always been Mariella's blood, and though I hadn't always indulged, there were times when I craved it intensely. Right now was one of those times, but first, I needed to seduce her, my intended meal. I opened the door to the blood room, inviting Mariella inside.
Maintaining a perfectly normal tone, I told her, "Let me fix us something to drink. Then, go to the kitchen and eat. And then... who knows? You and I could spend some special time together. I have certain rooms and, well, certain supplies…"
I subtly released pheromones, first attempting to appear trustworthy, and then amplifying her lust and curiosity.
She smiled, her eyes gleaming. "Sure, why not? Fix us drinks and let's eat. Then, show me what you can do. But be warned, I'm quite insatiable."
Her voice was thick with lust, a hint of darkness underlying it.
I moved closer, pressing her against the wall. Despite my slender frame and shorter height, my strength, predatory aura, and innate power made me a force to be reckoned with. I let her feel my body pressed tightly against hers, sliding a leg between hers, causing her to sigh and part her legs. Her lips opened, and her eyes lit up even more. I kissed her, biting her lips and nipping at her tongue, eliciting a moan into my mouth.
I dominated her easily, making her pant with lust, her hips jerking desperately against my leg, seeking friction and release. But I smirked and finally pulled away, leaving her standing there, breasts already hardening and rising rapidly as she struggled to regain her breath. My vampire side surged, stronger than ever.
With Damon and the Salvatores, and Wulfe as well, they were strict. They wouldn't let my vampire side have its fun. If I tried something like this during our usual activities, I'd be in serious trouble, and my vampire side would be forced into submission. But not now. This time, I had the perfect victim to dominate, the perfect meal.
I wasn't typically this lustful, but this meal was an easy target, and I anticipated a long, satisfying feeding. What a perfect victim to dominate! My vampire side was ecstatic, and I gave no thought to the future consequences—the Salvatores finding out, or even questioning why I was acting this way. I was simply going with the flow, having fun, and I was fed up with always bearing the responsibility and trying to make this pack work. Not now. Now, it was my time to have my fun, my decompression.
I began making the jugs lazily, planning every detail to ensure perfection. As a control freak, I wasn't going to leave anything to chance; I had a plan. Mariella was still standing there, staring at me intensely, almost worshipping me, meaning she was ready for anything.
This was exactly what I needed, and I was just adding a little more insurance to the game. I took a key from my pocket and opened a locked box I had gotten from behind a shelf. Inside was a tiny bag, maybe 50-60 ml of blood. Division demon. I took a syringe and drew out 15 ml of blood, locking the box again, and injected about ten cc into Mariella and five cc into myself.
Ironically, this blood worked on me even more than it had in the past, meaning the division demon, my ultimate aphrodisiac, was making me quite lustful. Thus, I was careful with the dosing. I had no idea if Mariella had ever had this, but the dose was quite nice for her too, keeping her relaxed. I made Mariella's blood jug pretty strong for me, but just suitable, not too strong, as I wanted her blood, and now was not the time to damp down my bloodlust; no, it was time for me to let it run rampant and have some quality time.
I hummed "Auld Lang Syne" under my breath as I worked, and Mariella finally found her voice, asking, "What's the song? I've heard it somewhere, but I can't recall it."
I replied, a predatory laziness in my voice, "It is 'Auld Lang Syne,' an old Scottish song, meant to be sung on New Year's Day, at a funeral, or whenever a new era begins. It's a nice song, and I like it sung by the Irish or Scottish; it sounds more authentic. But, by fuck, you should hear Charles sing it to you on New Year's Eve while railing you outside under the stars."
Mariella hummed and said, "Charles sings beautifully. I bet Damon might sing that nicely, too, but I must admit, I'm kind of tired of singing lullabies or using every damn children's poem. I guess I'm not perfect; being a mother is tiresome, and look at me, pregnant for the next litter already."
I rolled my eyes and said, "You know, as long as you talk to the kids, it's not that important to cite every damn children's poem or fairytale. I mean, I talk to them almost like adults, and I must admit, I cuss a lot, so my kids will learn soon enough to correct the language in this pack."
Mariella smiled.
"As you can see," I said, "we have no rules—or at least, I don't. I'm not human, and I don't play by human rules. Since I know our future, where the kids will end up, there's no need for them to talk like a damn president, being polite and nice. That's never been our life, nor the life of our children. So, I'm going with my gut, not some ancient human-based rule. But now, let's eat, and then I'll show you a room. You'll learn what I do in there, as well as new things and new roles."
She nodded. I carried our jugs to the kitchen and placed them on the table, then proceeded to get our meals. I'd made extra, so we both had large plates in front of us. Mariella put out the coffee, and we finally began eating. We had quite an appetite.
I kept my expression neutral as Mariella downed five glasses of her blood mix. Soon, a blush started spreading on her neck, chest, and cheeks, and she looked at me coyly under her thick lashes, almost seductively. However, she still poured another glass, sipped it, and ate her meal.
The clinking of utensils seemed so damn domestic. If someone walked in, it would look like Mariella and I were simply having a nice meal. Meanwhile, I hid my ideas and plans in a new secret part of my mind, even though Wulfe mercilessly found and destroyed them. I was surprisingly good at grafting them, and I never stopped. I never stopped fighting, never surrendered control to others.
I guess it was one thing that messed up mine and Damon's relationship, but it also gave it some spice. Part of me knew that if I ever stopped fighting, if I ever just let him take over, he would leave because there would be no more challenge in me. So I fought, and I kept fighting, never stopping my independence, never stopping my little plans, my authority.
As I sat there, reflecting on my past, I said out loud, almost reminiscing to myself, "I remember one time... Damien had once again messed us up. He took over when Damon was coming in on a mission with me. I was supposed to use a bazooka to blow up a facility, but Damon walked into the base with me. Damien took over, and I was on the team putting out extra charges, but Damien launched the bazooka too soon, almost blowing me up. It fucked me up, so I focused on my work. I was in Pennsylvania or New Jersey for months. Magnum came daily, and I missed Damon's calls at least five times because I was too focused on my work."
Mariella remained silent for a moment before responding, "Damon never specified exact times, but he did mention instances where he'd called you and gotten no answer. He'd then have to go to work, missing your calls, and became even more upset when Adam had you, as he'd missed his opportunity."
I nodded, then explained, "Well, I went to Chicago. My team made for Mimosa kibbles, and Samuel had issues with them, wanting to study them—as well as Mimosa, me, and Magnum, well he was surely loyal to me but... He even told Adam how hard I was working and came daily to ensure I ate at least one meal, which was barely enough. Once I moved to Chicago, Adam took over the fleas, and we essentially re-dedicated the sauna. And I must admit, I never regretted it. Adam was committed to me, present, and despite Bran's parties, I never saw Adam in shops with other women, nor did I ever have to hear him tell other women how inadequate I was."
Mariella nodded sympathetically, saying, "It must have been hard; I can't imagine the pain you must have felt."
My expression remained neutral as I replied, "Back then, I was a hardened creature, with little time for love or even the trust required for true love. I was too bruised by love, so I stopped myself from feeling it. I simply accepted it and worked more, focusing on what I was good at. Being a wife, or Damon's, was not one of my strengths at the time. I wasn't brave enough, I guess, nor did I yearn for his love enough."
Mariella seemed to be considering this as well.
"As you can see," I said, a touch sarcastically, "age does bring wisdom, though it's always delivered too late. But at least I have quite a few versions of Damon now. And yes, even though Number One is sometimes Dr. Damon, he wasn't the one who was with me most of the time. Nor was Number Four, you see. Dr. Damon sometimes spoke with a dialect, relaxed and not too crisp. It's hard to say which version was most like him now, but I remember it was after he killed Petra. I'd just returned from a long and arduous world-saving tour and wasn't in good health. I'd caught a flu or respiratory bug, and I woke up with Dr. Damon trying to rouse me. He knocked me out, and then I woke up unable to breathe. He said, 'I gotta do a bit more, ya know, those lungs, they're the fourth pair. I've cut out three pairs outta ya, so I gotta do a bit more.' He used flanks and showed no mercy. The next time I woke up a bit more, I saw him napping next to my bed, utterly exhausted. My illness had taken a lot out of him, which was hard to do."
Mariella smiled and said, "You can be one damn hard patient, you know that."
I rolled my eyes, sarcasm coloring my voice as I quipped, "Why the hell do you think I sleep through most of my treatments?"
My mind wandered to the past, and despite all my efforts to be free, I knew that I was still protecting those around me who loved me. I still had some of my so-called armor around me. I guess I saw myself as too broken, somehow rotten, or empty to fully open up. Well, maybe someday, who knows, but that didn't stop me from getting on with my plan to have some fun, to let myself enjoy life, feel free, and not be so burdened all the time.
Reflecting on this period and the years that followed, it's undeniable that it taught us a great deal. This isn't limited to just my plan, but encompasses the entire span of thirteen years. The one year we had to build a family life, free from external threats, was especially formative. Each of those times offered valuable lessons.
As for the specific plan, I'll just say I haven't had a chance to repeat it since my husband, the vampire king, my other half, my dominant, got wind of it. It clearly had a significant impact on him, spurring his personal growth. However, not all of Damon's growth is something I always appreciated.
Our bonds, whether with Mariella, the Salvatores, Wulfe, or others, have evolved and deepened, and so have we. However, this doesn't erase the past. In my case, there were so many missed opportunities – for me, for Damon, for all of us – that are now unchangeable. Yet, I hope those times will remain vividly etched in my mind. They are what inspire me to feel, to love, to embrace life, to be courageous, and to yearn for that damned love. They even, sometimes, make me feel worthy of being loved.
While having Salvatore, number one, swear his deepest love for me after we slowly tortured a group of evil villains to death in one of my bunkers was a bit special, it was also undeniably "us." Despite the mostly domestic bliss and relative lack of stress during that time, it didn't change who we are at our core: monsters protecting the world. And nothing is forbidden in our ways.