Damon sighed and ran his hand through his hair, looking at the slumped Mariella, who was being washed by Seven and Eight. She was impossible, always trying to move and ending up on the floor, and Damon had no patience for this. He wasn't as patient with her as he was with Mimi, and he wasn't sure why; cleaning her felt like a chore, and tending to her was tiring and not very funny.
The trio of toddlers had recovered well and were already mobile, so Damon's conscience, or, simply, the facts bothered him. Mariella had told him how she had managed to slam an energy shield over herself and her three children, sparing them from serious injuries. Not concerned with Mimi or her children.
And Mariella was not needy; she wanted to move, even be supported, as well as work with her laptop, and she had several times asked about Mimi from other pack members, but answers had been really vague, and she felt their stress. Damon was walking into the downstairs kitchen. Mariella would heal faster if she would only stay put and not try to move; she was heavily pregnant, for God's sake, and it put extra strain on her healing bones and joints.
She was sore and not very mobile yet, got exhausted easily, and was as nasty with her mouth as possible. She was in one of the bedrooms, as there were lower beds, meaning she would have to do so much more in order to even get up, not so much change to get up and moving.
They had been home for over three weeks, and none had told anything about Mimi or her fuck, his kids to him—no update of files, not even though he checked several times a day. Charles had gone upstairs as well and not come down.
Right now downstairs were he, Mariella, kids, their older girls, babies, who were almost toddlers as well, and Salvatores numbers three, six, seven, and eight. This told him things were not good with Mimi, but as he took his meal and started to eat, he was pondering if he should go and check things; something nagged him in the wrong way, not necessarily that she was medically too frail, but something.
Damon's grand plan to heal Mariella with their newfound love had backfired spectacularly. Instead of feeling better, she was furious, and Damon couldn't fathom why. Believing a rest would do her good, he knocked her out. As he replayed the events, weighing the facts he knew against what he dared to assume, it became increasingly clear that he needed to check on things.
One stark realization was that every Salvatore seemed to adore Mimi, protecting her and the children fiercely. Perhaps, he mused, there was a faster way to achieve their healing. After all, he was her vampire husband, her king, and he had promised her his blood and his soul. Moreover, he was one of the pack's medical hotshots.
He considered the severity of the toddlers' injuries, having read reports about the car's condition. When he factored in Mariella encasing her children in protective bubbles, only for them to be hit like wrecking balls by Mimi's children without any shields, he knew he was desperately needed.
Putting his dishes away without a word to anyone, he made his way to the elevator. He intended to go in unannounced; as one of the pack leaders, this was their home, and there was no need to give them forewarning. Stepping into the lift, his mind wandered, a jumble of thoughts, unsure of what he expected to find.
Perhaps Mimi recovering, showered with affection, which would only make him feel worse, or something entirely different. To be honest, the entire ordeal had shaken him so profoundly that he questioned whether he had even retained his equilibrium.
The elevator stopped with a soft ping, and as the doors opened, he stepped out, heading towards the wing's doors. Immediately, he was hit by a multitude of pheromones, many of which he couldn't identify. However, through his experiences, he had learned to recognize the feelings evoked by unknown pheromones and their effects.
He paused, taking a deep breath to analyze. While still a somewhat tedious process for him, it was manageable. His first task was to discern the intended message of these pheromones. He detected a territorial declaration, a sense that he was about to invade someone's home, their space. It confirmed his suspicion: they were fiercely protective of Mimi and the children.
The next step would be to identify the actual pheromonal compounds and learn to counter or accept them. Taking a few deep breaths, he caught the scent of warm oats mingling with blueberry jam and grenadine, underscored by a sharp passionfruit.
He released his own calming pheromones, attempting to shed his edginess and project an image of non-aggression. This entire situation felt incredibly awkward, and he regretted not having Mimi teach him to manage this more efficiently.
He opened the heavy door and stepped inside. The pheromonal layering within was even more intense, almost prompting him to retreat. However, he pressed on, determined to push past the overwhelming atmosphere.
This was his home, after all. He released his own scent, not to assert dominance, but simply to temper the almost hostile environment. What were they protecting here, he wondered.
As he entered the kitchen, the lights were dimmed, it being late at night. Nevertheless, the aroma of food still lingered, and large kettles of broth continued to simmer. He opened the refrigerator, his brow furrowing as he found no food specifically for Mimi.
For the men, there were sandwiches and terrines, alongside boxes of items that suggested they didn't eat here often. The babies, however, had an abundance of pre-portioned food, everything seeming to emphasize ease and speed, as if there were little time for cooking or eating. This was indeed strange, and the oddity only deepened.
As he left the kitchen, May entered. She appeared startled, her voice tight and unwelcoming.
"Oh, huh, what— Why are you here? You're supposed to be with Mariella," she stammered, her demeanor further fueling his suspicion.
"Now, my girl, bring me up to speed, will you? What the fuck is going on? Why do I feel like I'm invading a foreign country in my own home, and where is everyone?" he snapped gruffly, abandoning any pretense of politeness.
May's almost hostile attitude grated on him.
"What are you doing here? You don't belong here," a gruff voice stated from behind him.
It was Number Two. Number One turned to face him, observing Number Two's haggard, pale, and worried appearance. Number Two glared at him with open hostility, his pheromones puffing out heavily.
"Will you stop that and bring me up to speed?" Number One snapped and took a breath, his anxiety, worry, and irritation mounting.
Number Two explained, "Listen, to put it simply, Mariella got off scot-free, along with her brats. Mim and our kids, however, haven't fared as well. Consequently, we're stressed and highly protective of our mate and babies. So, you're not exactly welcome here."
Number One, trying to remain calm, replied, "Now, it seems I need to see them. Worry not, I'm of sound mind. Frankly, I'm fed up with Mariella and her attitude. It's ironic, as she's acting just as Mimi would—trying to get rid of tubes and lines, only to end up in a heap on the floor when she attempts to move. We've tried to guide her, but she's stubborn and incredibly nasty with her words. I just knocked her out because she called me an 'overeager, ancient, dusty-brained dickweed with an obsession of making the world love him.'"
Number Two smirked. "Mimi still has a brain injury, and it takes time for crushed bones to heal. Not to mention that pregnancy has complicated her healing. Even our blood and healing boosters aren't working as effectively as we'd hoped. Her pelvis is quite crushed, along with her shoulder, spine, and left leg. There are other injuries as well, so it's not pleasant."
Number One grunted, attempting to enter his clinical mode, but worry had already begun to gnaw at his heart. They walked into the medbay, and what he saw made him sigh inwardly. Incubators.
Mimi was lying inside one of those top-notch incubators, everything optimized. Wulfe was sitting next to it, along with other Salvatores. Some were sleeping in beds, and the children had their own incubators.
At least Sadie, Dash, and Sabrina were in incubators, their stats steady but somewhat muted due to their deep coma. It seemed this situation might require a more decisive approach, and Damon was already devising a plan that might work.
Damon said, "Well, let me get up to date on our current situation, and then we can assess what's needed. I was thinking it might be beneficial to bring Mariella here, as she's restless, and we could keep an eye on her simultaneously. This way, she'd see what her condition might have been like if she hadn't used that energy shield. And when we awaken Mimi, well, Mariella's healing is also slow; she might act as an alarm if the baby tries to do too much. But first, I need access to their medical files. Then, we need to hash out individual plans and see what we can do to expedite this healing process, and who knows, maybe Mariella can provide a few formulas as well."
Wulfe said, smirking but holding Mimi's hand, what actually hindered oxygen saturation readings as he infused his life force into Mimi. "I guess you are quite fed up with Mariella, right?"
Number one nodded and said, "Could you let go for a minute? I need to see her saturation without you boosting her. Besides, you look like crap; you should eat, rest, and sleep before even thinking of returning here, and no more sleeping with kids or Mimi in incubators or outside them, as we need to kick-start this healing process, and while love is important, it is not the number one priority here." His voice was now firmer.
And he moved to one soft chair, took the tablet in hand, and began reading each person's files, as well as the tests and scans that had been performed. Mimi had been operated on five times, and the children had been operated on several times, and the injuries were still severe, so healing took a toll on them. However, number one suspected that healing was slowed because they were overly loved, sheltered, and underchallenged.
The clinical facts were brutal; injuries were severe, and because humans couldn't do much, some healing slowed or went sideways, necessitating additional effort. But now they'd have a little more time, more hands, and a clear plan for what to do and with whom.
First, no more incubators; instead, start with children and see if they can be a little more awake. They had a lot of broken bones, but Damon suspected that if he could create a kind of net made of macburners and bone tissue and wrap it around the most critical places, a little stimulation might give them a boost.
Painlessness was the top priority, and because everyone had experienced cortisol spikes, he suspected that their pain management was off. Less coma and more painkillers and checking signs of pain or discomfort, as it could hinder healing as well. He was also thinking of partial nerve studies on broken limbs, just to check there was no entrapment or inflammation. More lab tests were needed, too.
Position was one thing, but for Mimi, her pregnancy made everything even more complicated. Of course, fetuses kicked and squirmed, and her pelvis was now more or less crushed into small chips, which might be excruciating. She could not lie on her back, as her womb was so heavy, and then a suitable position where it did not rub against broken shards of her pelvis was one thing too; maybe stabilizing jelly might help out.
He was also considering a suitable time for a C-section, but so far there has been no distress on the babies, and perhaps they could perform partial regional anesthesia on Mimi's pelvis to help with pain management.
He read very carefully each child's files, their blood tests, and scans and, at the same time, programmed new scans and tests to be taken, one by one, and wrote orders for who was going where.
Darien and Seraphina might still use the incubator; they had internal injuries and trouble keeping up their temperature. But he also changed their drugs a bit as well as adjusted the incubator's parameters, making it slightly cooler, not too much but just enough to see if it would kick-start their system.
Also, he preferred blankets, not just warm air, as it dried up their skin and mucous membranes, so setting incubators down to 100°F, adding thick warm blankets, and lessening air movement by 30 percent would give them about 24 hours to see if this would do the trick.
Mimi would come out of the incubator for a few reasons; first, her position was not its best in there, and she too needed a bit of a wake-up call, and besides, Damon had listed several scans and blood tests as well as a spinal tap for her, so it would be one more stimulant to make her body wake up a bit more.
Other kids would come out from incubators too and into soft beds, so they might hear and smell pack around them. He was not taking her out of the incubator out of malice, but he knew what Mimi's body needed, and it might be a gentle idea to let her rest in the incubator until the C-section; recovery after that would be much harder. Her body needed to move, needed to whir.
And he was trying to ensure she would heal as well as possible and not take years of doing it. She could be kept anesthetized most of the time and pain-free, but her physiology might kick into a higher gear when challenged just right. It was time for some tough love, or so it seemed.
Damon knew that the first thing he needed to do was get others on board with his plan and then start to act once they got all of the test results and scans in. And at some point, it would be useful to have Mariella brought up here too. She might get some idea how to behave, and maybe she might be able to help even more.
And when Mimi would wake up, Mariella's presence would be one more irritant, making her powers whir even better and making her want to heal, not just be pampered, and oh my gosh, once Mariella would get so many loving husbands once again, love her to bits, help her to walk with her walker, and make sure she was not too exhausted and loved enough, she might just be quiet from time to time and not present Damon's most inventive expressions and opinions on him.