Despite my restlessness, a deep unease persisted. As I struggled, the insidious grip of drugs fueled my confusion. This feeling of being unable to comprehend anything bled through our connection to Number Five, who was fighting to maintain control and ease my distress. A sharp pain shot through my wrist, followed by the touch of his lips on my skin. Somehow, a fleeting thought offered a sliver of hope, though my mind was a jumbled mess.
"My unicorn, we're coming. This is wrong on so many levels, and I know you can't understand much, but we'll help," Wulfe's gentle voice whispered within my mind.
I grasped at the fleeting sense of salvation, his presence somehow comforting.
"Shit, baby, relax, I got you. Fine, now let me move you a bit. Shift your hips a bit, that's it, now relax. I'm going to sink my fangs in and start chopping this shit out. I might go offline, so sorry if I'm not talking, but the others are coming," Number Five's voice guided me.
His hands slid beneath me, turning me onto my side. Then, a sharp pain as he sank his fangs in. Something flooded my veins, but I didn't black out. I simply let him do what he needed to do. I could feel him growing heavier as his body relaxed completely when his mind went offline, his fangs taking over.
He was saving me. I wasn't sure how many times he had done this before, but I wondered if he had ever been the first.
I was sometimes asleep, unsure if it was number five giving me velvet or if someone else in the room had done something to me. Several Salvatores, Wulfe, and perhaps Adam and Charles as well, were present, but I couldn't be certain.
It felt as though I couldn't open my eyes or fully wake up; a gentle power in my brain kept me resting, or at least trying to. Wulfe, as I understood, was protecting me, and then some.
I felt fangs in my neck, and heard soft voices talking, but then darkness took me under again. Time had lost its meaning, and I felt nothing to worry about, nothing to fear or hate. Somehow, I knew that the time to react would come later, but I wasn't sure if I was in the mood to react or if it would be better to move on, hoping this would never happen again, and hoping for the best.
"Mimi, baby, listen to me, you will react, you will give it out, you will talk, it is just how it will be, but first you need to recover, shh that's it, feel the love, relax, I got you, I heard you, I am here for you," number five, or maybe it was number four, was talking to me at one point, I just couldn't know.
Reacting... why? Would it help me at all, or would it break up this damn pack again, or what was left of the pack? I wasn't sure how I even felt; I felt tired, worn out, and I had no strength to even try to process the whole thing.
Again, I felt love flooding into me from many people. There were telepaths in my mind, not asking permission, but softening, fading, erasing. Wulfe was trying to find my vault, but he couldn't, so he did the next best thing: he faded the idea of the vault from my mind. He pressed into the depths of my mind so that I wouldn't even think of my vault or what it held.
He knew me well enough that there would be a phase of self-blaming, and I would then dig all of it out. So, he put a lot of tripwires in my mind, again, to protect me, to love me, and he didn't want me to hurt myself over something that wasn't my fault.
While others might perceive this as brainwashing or manipulation, I had experienced my own share, and I knew the difference. My mind was designed to break, but Wulfe, along with Salvatore, prevented that. It would likely take a considerable amount of time for me to sabotage myself, assuming I ever adopt a healthy mindset.
However, I had my allies, my support network, and my drug-addled mind observed something: they reveled in loving me. Their affection was wonderful, amazing, and even a bit frightening.
Briefly, my self-doubt resurfaced: *Am I worthy of this?*
But Wulfe's mental influence, Salvatore's constant love, and Charles and Adam's affection quickly quelled it. It seemed I was, once again, loved into a semblance of wholeness.
During my periods of wakefulness, I tried to focus on physical sensations: the sheets beneath me, hot and slightly damp from the proximity of so many men. I was sweaty, yet I didn't desire coolness; the warmth was pleasant. The blanket on top was comforting, and the weight of my husband, whoever was currently nuzzling my neck, provided a sense of security. They literally covered me.
I was also utterly messed up by the drugs and all the metabolites my bizarre body produced. Damon should remember, but perhaps he didn't, or chose to ignore it, assuming his perfect concoction would work as intended.
I am not Mariella. My body fights the drugs, breaking them down as quickly as possible, resulting in a chaotic mess in my blood. Therefore, drugging me is always a significant challenge, as the metabolites are incredibly reactive and combine into new molecules – nothing beneficial.
Gentle voices in my mind soothed me, urging me to let go, rest, and not worry. They assured me that the time for action would come and that I would be loved unconditionally, that nothing was wrong. I was on the verge of waking when I focused on the sounds around me.
A soft voice, number two, said, "Okay, time for four to come off. My turn. Five, take her blood and run it through the analyzer. I can taste cortisol, but is it low enough for us to try to give her some enzymes?"
A pinch in my elbow signaled the blood draw, followed by a heavy weight and warmth being removed. The resulting slight cooling was almost frightening. I instinctively tried to curl up as someone came beside me.
"Shh, babygirl, relax. My turn. I'll keep you warm. Keep your eyes closed, shh, that's it, let me dig in..." A sharp pain accompanied the repositioning of my head, indicating that number two had sunk his fangs into me.
Someone came up behind me, spooning me, and Wulfe's voice echoed in my mind, "Rest, sleep, you need it, let go."
Darkness enveloped me once more, pulling me into a safe, warm place, free from heartbreak, self-hate, or anything bad, a place of pure rest and love.
Number nine gazed at his sleeping wife, Mimi, baby. He smiled slightly in the dimness of the bedroom, recalling how indignant she had been when he first called her "baby." It took time for the nickname to become endearing, and even now, in certain situations, like public places, she still preferred not to be called that.
However, he and the other Salvatores did it anyway, simply because she was their baby. He hadn't called anyone else "baby" before, but with Mimi, it was her name, her designation. Mariella was almost always "darling," but in certain situations, Mimi was also "darling," making her special, much more special than Mariella, at least for some of the Salvatores.
Number Nine idly thought as he adjusted the nutrient pump and enzyme IV in the bedroom for Mimi, pondering how different they would become over time. Their personalities were constantly differentiating with each choice, pushing them further into becoming their own men, not just clones or versions of Damon Salvatore, but wholly new individuals.
They had their history, of course, but the embrace of their individuality had fueled this growth. Number Nine's hands moved surely and deftly among the lines and adjusters, his clinical mind effortlessly calculating the equations. He knew the precise drip rate and calorie intake per minute or hour.
These calculations were innate, requiring little mental effort. What demanded more mental energy was soothing her mind, searching for any negativity, infusing her with their love, and bolstering her willpower to heal, as it had taken a significant blow, and she needed to rest, allowing it to recharge so she could regain some self-control in the coming days.
Number Nine contemplated the past, the future, and all the missed opportunities. However, as an immortal being, time was something they had an abundance of, offering countless chances for the future.
His hands drifted across Mimi's silky skin, a texture unlike human flesh, yet it revealed her true nature. It felt like the skin of a hairless cat: silky, warm, and supple. Furthermore, she possessed very little subcutaneous fat, a characteristic common among shifters.
It was, after all, unwise to store energy reserves directly beneath the skin, where a single bite could lead to infection or injury. No one wants to feed the enemy, so to speak. Instead, shifters stored most of their spare lipids and fats internally, within their body cavities and organs. Mimi, though, had minimal reserves due to her rapid metabolism. While she would accumulate some when fed, she currently had none. She was heavily pregnant, her entire system in upheaval, with nothing functioning as it should.
Number Nine knew they needed to speak to Number One, not just because Mimi was enduring a difficult experience, but also for medical reasons. If her recovery proved more arduous and had more severe consequences than her initial hyperactivity, what use was all this?
There needed to be more oversight, more thoughtful consideration regarding when to act and what the potential outcomes might be. They couldn't simply assume she would be fine, because she was not. It would take considerable time to stabilize her, and then they had to consider the duration of her pregnancy.
Mariella's pregnancy was progressing more quickly, and she was expected to deliver her babies sooner. Because of her diabetic condition, the babies were not expected to be very large. This meant they might have six micropreemies to care for before Mimi even went into labor. Number Nine hoped someone would be there for her and that Number One wouldn't force the whole pack to care for Mariella's micropreemies.
Mariella was only a beta, not an alpha female, so her babies would likely be weaker than Mimi's. Consequently, they might be busy tending to Mariella's infants when she gave birth. For Mimi, they were preparing an operating room in their wing for her anticipated C-section.
Damon, number nine, rolled his eyes in the darkness, realizing the potential for conflict, as Mimi wanted to give birth vaginally. Even though her babies might be small, her uterus was already so enlarged that it would likely become atonic after the first baby was born, necessitating an emergency section.
It would be better to perform the procedure in a controlled manner, but Mimi's specialty was fast or dramatic birthing experiences. Number Nine made a mental note to address this with everyone, including the girls, Lepard, Demon, and Wulfe, so that everyone would understand the C-section was the correct course of action.
However, Mimi was wickedly strong, and Wulfe might not be able to stop or persuade her. Even worse, they might be too occupied with Mariella's babies to notice her pregnancy and birth. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but nothing was certain in their pack life.
Now was the time to proceed cautiously. They needed to teach Mimi how to react, and also teach the pack to accept, and even encourage, her reactions. Suppressing her reactions only caused her powers to build up, and unleashing those powers on the children was dangerous. Number Nine sighed inwardly.
His analytical mind presented a host of potential problems, but perhaps it was time to confront those problems directly and find solutions. Number Four had devised a new method of feeding her. Upon her waking, they would assess her tolerance of it. It would also be beneficial to involve Number One, as his biological output was essential to the process.
In short, they had developed a feeding tube that was placed in her small intestine, delivering a concoction of nutritional concentrates and digestive enzymes that were pre-digested to minimize energy loss and maximize nutrient absorption.
Of course, Number One was Mimi's other half, and potentially possessed the best enzymes. However, if he were preoccupied with Mariella, he might not be fully focused on Mimi. Only time would tell. The future was uncertain, but one thing was certain in Number Nine's heart: his deep, unconditional love for Mimi, his wife.
It pained him to see her in such a difficult state, but they were taking steps to help her, alleviate her suffering, and hope that the remainder of her pregnancy would be filled with love, trust, and family time. Number Nine smiled slightly as he envisioned family karaoke nights with the children, focusing on a simple, easy family life, and not necessarily Mariella's seduction.