Number Eight, though weary, found immense satisfaction in having fulfilled his duties. He had been imprisoned by the Original Witch, or rather, placed in safekeeping within an ornament he had once bought for Mimi. However, life took a turn when his evil twin, Damien, along with Bran and his own poor choices, ruined everything.
In fact, not all of his choices were his own, as he was already imprisoned when they occurred. Yet, this ornament traveled with Mimi, from base to base. She would touch it, especially when angry with him or Number One, who remained free, or when disappointed in him.
Consequently, each time Number Eight gained a flicker of awareness, he felt Mimi's emotions towards him, which were far from favorable. He knew he had wronged her, time and again, letting her down. Their love had faded, and he felt powerless, accepting it as his due punishment.
This experience hardened him, teaching him that he was incapable of love and unworthy of Mimi. He relinquished all good things, enduring his suffering and punishment, believing he deserved it.
However, that was over a century ago. When he was finally released from the ornament, years of warped emotions and disappointment had left him with a soul burdened by anguish and unworthiness. He had no means to unload this torment.
Mariella, sensing his desperation, exploited it, turning him into a mere fucking machine, a man desperate to escape his past by numbing his mind through sex. She readily obliged, keeping him as one of her many fuckers, preventing him from reconnecting with Mimi, from knowing or loving her, and from healing.
As time passed, however, he began to perceive something more. This shift was largely due to a new wave of disappointment, not from Mimi or Mariella, but from himself. He tried, truly tried, to be a better lover, to please Mariella more, to attend to her needs. Yet, his heart ached each time he heard Mariella confess her love for Number One, proclaiming him as her one and only, her most important person.
This made Number Eight feel cheap and used. Thus, he slowly began to turn his focus elsewhere, seeking activities beyond sex, realizing it offered no genuine connection with Mariella, who seemingly viewed him as nothing more than a walking dildo.
Those times with Mimi were few, but truly extraordinary. She offered no resentment or comparison, only her passion, her body, and her soul. Of course, Mariella's jealous nature had always complicated matters.
Number Eight was jolted from his reverie by something that quickened his pulse, sharpened his senses, and signaled that something was happening. He was walking through the wing, searching for empty bedrooms. Tomorrow was laundry day, so he was checking them, tossing used linens down the chute so he could start the machines in the morning.
As he entered the next room, he opened the door to find it pitch black. However, frantic breathing caught his attention, and he flicked on the light. Mimi was sitting on the bed, having just escaped a nightmare.
Her big dark blue eyes were open, and she was shaking uncontrollably, unsure of her surroundings. The room was thick with her fear, the cloying scent of overripe strawberries and fermented blackberries pressing down on Number Eight like a physical weight. Yet, he didn't hesitate.
He strode forward, sat on the bed, and pulled Mimi into his arms, murmuring reassurances: "I am here. I've got you. You are safe. I've got you."
Her tense, sweat-drenched body still trembled in his embrace, but unlike her usual state, there were no distinct snippets flowing through her mind. Instead, he felt a pervasive sense of darkness, an oppressive, suffocating feeling. Number Eight had no idea where this nightmare or memory originated. She was a mess in his arms. Her blood-red hair was plastered to her head, her silky skin wet with sweat, and her slender, tight body was tense and shaking.
His immediate priority was to calm his wife and help her regain her senses. He idly mused, a part of his mind analyzing and comparing their reactions. If this had happened while Number One was on duty, he would have knocked Mimi out, sending her into such a deep sleep that the nightmare would recede, leaving Wulfe to deal with it, as he was still afraid of Mimi.
Number Eight was unafraid of her, never having been, even when she was at her most vulnerable and volatile state in his arms. He held her firmly, providing a sense of security and closeness, yet keeping her bundled so that if she lashed out in a panic, she would be unable to cause any actual harm. He knew precisely how to grip, how to maintain his hold, and how to make her feel safe.
"Shh, baby, I am here. Come on, smell me. You are not alone; you are fine. No more darkness."
Number Eight cast a small spell to further illuminate the room, banishing all darkness. There was only light, him, her, and their love – a love that had literally saved him, and a love he was determined to prove himself worthy of every day. She gripped him as tightly as she could, shaking and speaking incoherently.
Wulfe, through their mutual hivemind, asked in a strained voice, "What the fuck am I sensing? What's wrong with my unicorn?"
Number Eight stroked her body, detecting the thick, pervasive scent of fear and terror – her pheromones oozing from her.
He kept his own mind calm as he replied through the hivemind, "Nightmare. I just happened to pass by as she jolted upright, awake but in shock. This is odd; I've never actually seen her in this state before, so I'm not sure if this is typical. I'm not getting anything clear, no snippets, no clear memories, just overwhelming fear, terror, and an oppressive sense of darkness. She seems to need light and sound, so something in the darkness has scared her immensely. I'm keeping this room lit and talking to her constantly, but she's shaking in my arms, breaking my ribs, and still not making much sense."
Wulfe responded, "Keep doing what you're doing. I'm trying to slip in. If you can bring her back to her senses and give us even a hint of what I'm looking for, it would help a lot. I can't come there; the smell of her fear would throw me off balance, and this is nasty. It takes a lot out of me. Whatever this is, it seems to have sunk pretty deep, and I'm not sure I can get it all off."
His voice was tight as the transmission ended, leaving Number Eight to focus once more on Mimi. "I've got you, baby. Feel me. I am here. You are not alone. Look, there is light. Good girl. Just take it easy. I am here; I'm not going to leave you."
He focused on soothing her, trying to flood her with his love so she could smell his pheromones. He fought his own need to put her to sleep, carry her away, and sleep with her for a long time, nesting with her. It wasn't easy.
Even for Number Eight, an ancient creature who had lived for millennia, these instincts, this love, were new and amazing, something he wanted to cherish. Mimi was his goddess, his everything. Right now, he was doing his utmost to bring her back to him, away from whatever tormenting memories from her nasty past had resurfaced.
He had no idea how long the nightmare had held her captive. She was in such a state, gripping him with claw-like hands, her nails digging into his flesh. Her grip around his torso was so strong that it cracked his ribs from time to time. Yet, the sharp pain didn't hinder Number Eight; he could endure it. She panted, her heart galloping like wild horses, the smell of her sweat wafting in the air.
Number Eight's plan was taking shape. This room would be part of it, but not yet. She was so vulnerable, in a state he had never witnessed before. She was no longer a force of nature, but a scared, helpless wife needing her husband. It felt incredibly right to be there for her. Time lost all meaning, and Number Eight felt no hurry. He didn't know if Wulfe had succeeded in anything.
As Mimi's breathing began to slow, she started taking hesitant, deeper breaths. Her shaking gradually subsided, and she blinked, moving slightly as if emerging from the terror and fear that had gripped her.
"Baby, baby, come on, tell me. Come on, tell me what that was? Let me help you?" Number Eight cooed, his voice soft and gentle.
He looked into her eyes. She blinked and smacked her lips, trying to get her mouth to work.
Number Eight was almost certain she wouldn't tell him anything, but to his surprise, she whispered in a faint voice, "It went too deep. I can't get rid of it; it left permanent damage on me. First shed session with machines..."
"Hey buttercup, I'm here," Damon crooned, his grip firm and secure as he held her close. "Tell me more. I have no idea what you're talking about."
Though she seemed more aware, she could still lash out. "There... there was this shuttle," she began, her voice trembling, "like a big white tanning bed..." Shivers ran through her.
Via the hivemind, Wulfe commanded Number Eight, "Let her tell you. I'm honing in. I have something, but it's faint, deep, and nasty. I need a decent grip to see what I can do. Don't tell her I'm working on this; she might jerk away to protect me. Try to be as strong as possible so she doesn't feel the need to shield you, too." Wulfe added, and the hivemind fell silent once more.
Number Eight maintained his posture, stroking her. "And then what? Go on..." he prompted.
She took a shaky breath, burying her face in his chest. "I was drugged, helpless," she confessed, "and he opened it up, put it on, and then put me in it..."
She swallowed audibly, her distress mounting. Damon remained strong for her, stroking her and holding her tightly, letting her feel his presence and the safety he offered.
"He said he would talk to me, tell me what was next, how weak I was," she whispered, barely audible. "But he was silent. He closed the lid. No light, just darkness. No sound, barely felt vibration, no smells at first... and then pain. It hit me. I had no way to know where or when, over and over again: darkness, silence, pain."
She almost sobbed. Number Eight kept his breathing steady, despite his burning desire to kiss her, carry her away, and nest with her. He hated his twin brother, who had died long ago, several times. First, at the hands of Number One, and then Mimi herself destroyed his soul. Yet, his perverted, disgusting stamp was imprinted in Mimi's mind, in her memories.
Damon continued to soothe her, knowing she wouldn't reveal anything more. What little he had learned sent a shiver down his spine, yet he remained strong for his wife.
This was unlike his past with Mariella, where he had been nothing more than a boy toy for her to use. She had never treated any of them as husbands, not like Mimi. Mimi had earned their respect; she hadn't simply pursued her own desires, manipulating men for her pleasure. It was astonishing how much he had learned during his years in this pocket universe, and what kind of man he was becoming.
He knew his past trauma weighed heavily upon him. He had endured the roughest experiences, letting them empower him after losing faith in humanity and in women who had treated him like a commodity, a slave.
"Come on, honey, let's go. Up you get," he murmured calmly, his grip steady as he helped her to stand.
He guided her to the shower, understanding the immediate need for both of them to cleanse themselves and move on. The room would forever be sealed with this cloud of fear and terror, a visceral reminder of Mimi's vulnerability – a vulnerability Mariella could never truly comprehend. Mariella, having been protected as a princess, had her few unpleasant experiences erased from her mind. Her memory didn't retain every sensation, every smell or sound, as Mimi's did. Therefore, her mind had never known this kind of trauma.
Now, it was time to pack and face the facts: who here was truly worth protecting, and who had merely been instigating trouble, deserving of a harsh lesson?
As he finally directed Mimi to the bathroom, he used a spell to undress both of them, tossing their fear-stinking clothes into the laundry bin and sealing it to contain the smell. He relished the thought of bringing Mariella here one day, allowing her to experience the scent of genuine trauma.
His anger was primarily directed at Number One. As usual, Number One, who feared Mimi, was the only one reacting this way, though it wasn't entirely his fault. He was afraid of her and had once again theorized that Mimi must have some issue driving her aggression towards Mariella.
Number One's pride prevented him from accepting that Mimi had grown and embraced their unique alpha bond. She had been protecting her mate, Number One, sensing his distress caused by Mariella's whining. This level of devotion was too much for Number One to handle, causing him to revert to his old, bad habits.
A twisted part of him perceived Mimi as the villain and Mariella as the victim, failing to see Mimi as a protective mate and Mariella as the conniving, manipulative cunt she truly was.
Number Eight adjusted the water to a high enough temperature and maintained his grip on Mimi, allowing her to feel his presence as he washed and cared for her. Throughout this, he continuously smelled her pheromones and kept his telepathy as open as possible to understand her state of mind.
He also aimed to connect the scent of certain unknown pheromones to her actual sensations or feelings. For instance, he detected an overly sweet, syrupy, and slightly grassy scent emanating from her as her awareness gradually returned and as whatever Wulfe was doing to suppress her nightmares.
As Number Eight sensed her mind, he found a connection: she was irritated by her own weakness and her reaction. Number Eight had learned that whenever her pheromones carried a slightly off, overly sweet, or overripe scent, it indicated irritation or unhappiness – a negative emotion.
Therefore, it was merely a matter of locating this within her mind. Now, Number Eight had once again forged a new connection, understanding what her irritation with her weakness and her reaction smelled like. This knowledge would undoubtedly prove useful in the future.
Pheromones were a language of Mimi, and the rest of the pack were learning to use it. Mimi had taught them how to create and measure their pheromones, and the pheromone lab was in almost daily use.
Each pack member diligently collected their samples in individual books, anticipating that once their time in the pocket universe concluded, they would be able to analyze these pheromones further and deepen their understanding of this unique form of communication.
Number one, however, remained one of the laziest. He relied more on his telepathy, empathy, and observational skills, and then Mariella was lazy as well, she liked to ask questions and discuss matters rather than to smell and analyze.
As the water purified them both, and Number Eight gently washed Mimi with her own shower soaps, and himself too, he found he liked the scent. She was beginning to regain some of her former self, though she still appeared profoundly exhausted. After all, she had been leading the pack tirelessly, under immense stress, and all of it had taken a toll. But no more.
"Now, my love," Number Eight said, shutting off the water, "we shall go to the other room, get dressed, and sleep. We need to rest, and then we can get this pack moving in a new direction. But first, we must rest properly. Don't worry about anything; others will handle things. Then, a new day will dawn for all of us."
He kept his tone soothing and soft, unlike number one, whose manner of speech was crisp, sharp, and precise. Number eight softened his enunciation, used a lot of nicknames, and even incorporated a bit of a French accent, making Mimi roll her eyes at his efforts.
Mimi sighed. "God, I'm so tired of this mess. I should be fucking stronger. I *am* the strongest, or at least the most resilient creature in the world, and yet here I am, paralyzed by my fears."
Number Eight murmured, grabbing a clean robe for both of them. "My soulmate, my one and only, that only makes you human. No one is perfect, and anyone who claims otherwise is lying. Your fears, your trauma – I am here for you. It's part of my job. So come on, let's go rest. A new day, a new dawn, and new surprises are coming for all of us."
She smiled weakly as he finally teleported her from that oppressive, fear-filled room to the haven made for rest by Number Six and May. Now was the time to rest, to gather their energy, and then to embark on a new way of life. Number Eight's plan had been developing all along, and he continued to refine it.
Love bloomed anew in his heart, replacing old regrets and past digressions with a sense of fulfillment. It felt truly good to be there for Mimi, to help and love her. Life right now was amazing, and he knew it would only get better.