As we walked back upstairs, my vampire side, though unruly, was somehow subdued, no longer wild. Number Two, too, was quiet, not playful or seductive. As I began to process everything, I realized he had used a different approach to voluntarily quell my vampire side, requiring no intervention.
It was quite simple, really. He had honed in on what excited her, what she yearned for, and it wasn't blood, but the pain and helplessness of his victims. You see, she had perceived herself as the ultimate predator, but Number Two's few examples had shown her otherwise.
Therefore, he wasn't a good victim because, like her, he reveled in the slow, agonizing fear of his prey, making him rather boring and not worth the trouble. Since I had fed sufficiently, she simply retreated to rest and await better times and more suitable victims. Thus, Number Two had indeed done what he intended: address my vampire side and bring her under control. With that settled, he was free to attend to other matters.
We exited the staircase and returned to our wing.
Number Two remarked, "Well, you're fine. I'm heading downstairs; I'm logged in there. Food needs preparing, and you, I assume, have wire wrapping or flower work to do."
He then walked away, leaving a faint scent of cinnamon, a subtle signal that he, too, was worried about Mariella. She had made herself a victim and was now once again luring males; let her. I had plenty to occupy myself with here. Despite my five eldest toddlers sleeping, I still had nine other children awake: five toddlers, slightly younger than the first group, and my four babies.
I walked to the display to see who was logged in. Upstairs, it was just me, Adam, Wulfe, Number Eight, Number Six, Lepard, May, Emmylee, Ashley, and Britney. The rest of the pack was downstairs, having been logged there for several days. That was perfectly fine with me. I would manage to get everything done by myself.
I needed to focus on the game, to formulate a plan and understand what was required and where. It seemed that over half the pack spent their time downstairs, worshipping Mariella and her brats. She would undoubtedly play the victim, but I had my reasons, and I was sure she'd find a way to make them disappear, painting me as a nasty villain, greedy for power and unable to control my urges.
Frankly, I didn't care what she thought of me, or what she made others think. I had my duty, my job, and right now, I wasn't trying to make friends or appease the weakest female in the pack. Just imagine, she was supposed to be my beta female – what a joke.
I, Mimi Salvatore, alpha female of our pack, the strongest one, and once again, I had taken the hit. I thought Damon and I were in a different place regarding our relationship, but oh boy, was I wrong. Utterly wrong. My cute little daydream about us being vampire parents was just that – a daydream.
Reality was not for me, but it certainly was for Mariella. I had no doubt they would use one of our adult daughters as a meal, teaching their perfect brats how to feed cleanly. The biggest irony was that I was unfortunately unfit to be a meal. It would have been perfectly natural for me to let my children feed from me, but it was unfeasible because my blood was far too strong for them.
Even if I withdrew my powers from my blood, it would knock them right out. Then again, I'm sure neither Mariella nor Damon would have any idea of this, as I normally kept most of my fucking strong vampire power separate from my blood when someone was drinking from me; otherwise, I might even put Damon to sleep.
I was determined to be productive and bury my disappointment. This was a lesson learned: never fly too close to the sun, never trust Damon, and never harbor any illusions of him being with me, especially not against Mariella, no matter how obvious a "cunt" she was. Even if a promise didn't bind them, she was still more important to him than I was, as he barely knew me.
I focused on making things happen and keeping chores on track. I also acted like a nasty little cow, redirecting many small chores to the downstairs displays when more people were present, thus preventing everyone from having all their attention on Mariella. Of course, this was just my assumption, as I hadn't gone downstairs and had no actual idea what was going on.
A few days after my intended lesson, May, who had gone to get some meat for us in the evening, returned looking furious.
"What is it? Why are you bursting at the seams?" I asked.
May replied, her voice snarky, "Well, downstairs is more or less having a party. Karaoke was playing, the Salvatores were sipping drinks, Mariella was giggling on Charles' lap, and no chores were done."
I didn't say anything, but then she continued, "Here are reports from Mariella's kids that we need signed by Monday. They were buried under trash magazines."
She handed me a stack of papers. I sighed.
Now I had a few choices: I could send these back and demand they be signed off, or I could deal with it myself, as usual. I was feeling increasingly stressed as things accumulated, and I knew how much depended on me. Yet, I was willing to bear the burden. Lists kept rolling through my mind as I juggled everything, trying to make it all happen and keep this family going.
Still, a pissed-off part of me began to plan something entirely new. However, my stress level was too high to plan an actual game plan just yet. Right now, I had to get our order ready for Monday, which was the next day.
So, I sat down in the kitchen and started listing who would do what. Lepard would handle driving duty, getting the kids in and out of daycare, with May assisting him with loading and unloading. I would manage breakfast and pack lunchboxes for each child. I also needed to read those reports to see if there was anything special planned for the week, like needing to reserve specific items such as outdoor clothes for wet play or indoor shoes for sports.
When making those lunchboxes, I would first have to read the latest report on Salvatore's list to determine what was needed and for whom. It was not easy to find items that were both tasty and necessary.
After getting the children to daycare, I would prepare the main proteins for the next five days. This often involved making large roasts or, if the weather was suitable, slow-cooking a whole carcass in an outdoor pit. Since I was also responsible for the baby duty, I would have to change and feed them amidst these tasks.
Adam and Wulfe were in charge of culvert duty, which meant they were directing the companies that were digging out a bogged part of the forest. Additionally, there was an initial planner who was developing suitable culvert designs. The boggy land itself had been sold to a fertilizer company, and Adam had negotiated the best possible deal.
Meanwhile, as I opened my email, I sighed. I had received five offers from different companies eager to purchase the land covering our current culverts. Following an accident in the winter, the road was undergoing a major overhaul, requiring a substantial amount of dirt to fill the ditch and repair it.
Nowadays, finding a landfill was not easy, so these companies were actively seeking opportunities. They were willing to pay for dirt if someone was digging out a large quantity, and they were also offering deals for gravel and stone, as these were essential for road support and pavement.
Taking a breath, I forwarded the offers to Adam and let him handle them. I already had plenty on my plate.
Once again, I found myself as the architect of our pack's well-being, a role the rest either overlooked or simply didn't care to acknowledge. Soon, though, this would have to change. Exhausted but unable to sleep peacefully as I was prone to nightmares, I typically dedicated my nights to planning and reading, preparing for the days ahead.
I was utterly weary of imparting lessons that fell on deaf ears; however, the time for more drastic measures was fast approaching. These were the very methods we had warned everyone about from the outset: if you refused to cooperate, you would forfeit your privileges.
Specifically, several downstairs refrigerators would be locked, effectively cutting off their treats as well as alcohol, and everyone would then be presented with their calculated bills for taxes and other expenses. This, of course, would require significant effort on my part, and I duly added it to my ever-growing list of tasks.
It was quite late when the wails of babies reached my ears. Glancing at my wristwatch, I knew it was time for diaper changes and feedings. The girls were busy tucking in the older flock, leaving me free to attend to the youngest.
I rose, washed my hands, and padded to the nursery. My four little bundles were in a foul mood, having a habit of soiling themselves simultaneously. This meant all four babies would need changing, soothing, and feeding – a time-consuming endeavor. Nevertheless, I was adept at this task.
I picked up Violet and Fiona, carrying them to the care station. As I swiftly undressed them, I cooed to them, hoping in vain that I wouldn't need to change their clothes. No such luck. Fine, the dirty clothes went into the laundry basket, and the dirty diapers went into the diaper bin. I wiped both of them, taking turns, and they were starting to calm down a bit.
They would need one size bigger diapers, which I had reserved. There was no need for a frilly dress as it was nighttime, but they did not like to sleep in just their clothes, so they had warm enough outfits to sleep in.
I flicked the switch to warm the milk, as they were hungry. Their tiny faces were still red with outrage; while they weren't actively wailing, they weren't smiling either. Slowly, the smell of dirty diapers was temporarily replaced by baby powder, washing liquid, and clean clothes as I finally finished with my girls.
Just as I was taking their bottles out of the warmer, Ashley and Britney walked in. They picked up my boys and went to change them. I put bottles for them to warm as well, while carrying my girls and their bottles to the sofa.
I took my pillows, arranging my babies to feed on my lap with their bottles. I cherished these quiet moments with my babies whenever I had the chance; these were the ones I was doing this for, no one else – my children.
Britney said, "I mean, we can manage, but God, I am fucked up. Those idiots have no idea how or what this family needs. It seems it's truly accurate that the number one has the three-day rule."
Her voice was tinged with frustration, and I understood her. It wasn't nice for us to do our very best while over half the pack was having a ball, more or less.
Ashley added, "Well, it's not so much karaoke anymore, but they're talking about the good old days. Mariella is asking, and they're reminiscing about very old times as well. It's like they have no fucking sense in their heads."
I nodded, watching my perfect little princesses with their dark lashes and slightly curly dark-blonde hair. Their rosebud mouths eagerly sucked; their tiny fists clenched; their perfect fingers grasping. The wonderful smell of their skin filled the air, and it was all worth it.
Certainly, the rest of the slackers would learn their lesson. This time, it would take more than empty promises to get them to improve; perhaps two weeks of full dedication, and then I might open those fridges. Until then, they would have to prove themselves.
Naturally, I would discuss this with Wulfe and the Salvatores, who were with me. It was possible Damon's pride would prevent him from backing down, and he might continue as he had been. However, the Salvatores were far more sensible, or so I hoped.
God, I was tired, but I knew I had to create the initial lunchbox plan for the upcoming week. This meant outlining the basics: fruits, proteins, juices, and treats. After the Salvatores had tasted the children's blood or smelled their pheromones, they would refine these plans individually.
Consequently, I also had to plan my own protein intake for the next week to ensure I had enough meat for the children's lunchboxes. Furthermore, I needed to make sure we had enough juice to thaw for three days, as the children attended daycare three days a week. We had our two oldest flocks, which meant ten children for me and nine for Mariella, so I had to prepare for nineteen kids. Downstairs, it seemed, had no interest in parenting.
Well, let's see if I could implement my plan after discussing it with the others. Then, it just might shake some of them back to their senses, though nothing is certain in this pack life. Damon, in particular, was so damn good at manipulating; he had probably made me out to be a monster, a threat to Mariella, and poor Mariella, a perfect victim, mauled and hurt.
Well, screw them, and let them learn their lesson once and for all. Let's see how jolly it will be when there's no more booze, no more snacks, no more free drinks, and plenty of hefty bills to pay. I was getting more and more pissed off, but I was sort of using my messed-up state to keep myself going, not letting the funk take me.
After feeding my babies, marveling at them once more, and getting them to sleep, I went to one of the bedrooms. Yawning, I decided against showering, knowing I could do that in the morning. I slipped on an oversized T-shirt, which was my nightgown or something to wear when I was in bed.
This room had once served as a storage space, but now that it was emptied, I had transformed it back into a bedroom. Realistically, in time, I would have 14 children needing their own rooms. That's without even considering the possibility of Damon getting me pregnant again, which would mean even more children. Therefore, additional bedrooms were essential. Converting these spaces into individual rooms for the children was straightforward, as they were a decent size and could be adapted as the children grew.
My current bedroom had no windows but good lighting, and without active air conditioning, it was eerily quiet. I slipped under the covers, took out my laptop, and tried to focus on making my lists. However, my eyes felt gritty, and since I had almost finished the lunchboxes for the morning, it was just a matter of packing them. I knew the girls might get to them before I did. The lines on my screen began to blur, and my eyes stung.
"Fuck," I muttered, deciding to read instead, thinking I could get some coffee for myself in an hour or two.
I placed my laptop on the table. As there was no smart lighting, all the lights were synced, allowing me to adjust their intensity simultaneously but not individually. Normally, I would have had the air humidifier running, providing a gentle hum, and the windows would have let in light.
But without windows and no air purifier, there was no hum, and the room was eerily quiet. I had my reasons for avoiding quiet, dark rooms; old trauma dictated that I always ensured some form of sound or light, never just darkness and silence.
I attempted to focus on my book about crystals, healing energies, and manipulating life aspects with specific stones. However, I couldn't comprehend anything I was reading. My eyes, heavy as their own closed books, slipped from my grasp. The book fell, its corner hitting the light switch and plunging the room into total darkness and silence.
It wasn't long before I began to whimper, tossing and turning as my sleep morphed into a dreadful re-enactment of my past. Unfortunately, the pack's bonds kept me isolated from most men, so no sensation or distress reached the Salvatores downstairs. They were downstairs reminiscing about the good old days, enjoying a pleasant family time, free from obligation and well-deserved relaxation.
The nightmare gripped me deeper, causing my heart rate to accelerate and my metabolism to speed up. My distress filled the room with a thick scent, morphing into fear, panic, and terror. This was a terror so profound that no one had ever smelled it on me before, as I had always hidden it. However, due to a certain accidental happening, the room was now thick with the overwhelming sensations of terror, fear, pain, and distress.
I was utterly unable to break free from the nightmare, which literally affected my body, forcing it to expend more resources and flood my blood with stress substances. This created a vicious cycle that grew deeper and nastier as time went on.
In my sleep, there was only darkness, silence, and pain. Despite whatever promises had been made, no sound was heard, only the smell of oil, ozone, and my own blood. The pain and distress were sensations that flooded my mind, breaking me in a certain way and causing trauma to bury itself deeply within my psyche.
This trauma affected me so profoundly that even Wulfe might not be able to extract it all. I had kept this secret from everyone for a long time, as in my view, it represented a vulnerability. Knowing Damon's nasty side, I feared he might use this against me, which would be a deathblow to our relationship, regardless of his actions afterward.
My body shook; I whimpered and muttered, desperately grabbing the blanket and pillow, yet I just could not pull myself back into wakefulness.