As I changed Sabrina, humming "Puff the Magic Dragon" under my breath, Sadie was already on the floor, attempting to crawl. I'd placed her on her back under her activity mat, but she'd rolled onto her belly, cooing at Wulfe, who was smiling at her while keeping an eye on Dash, who was trying to eat his brother's sock.
A voice from the doorway startled me. "Baby, I am so freaking sorry, and I understand if you don't want anything to do with me, but I am willing to beg, as you showed Mariella mercy too."
I turned to see Number Two leaning against the doorframe. He wore a light blue shirt of mine and faded blue jeans, his eyes filled with pain. Mariella had been released from her attachments two weeks prior, meaning it had been just over two weeks since I woke up and we finalized our rotation.
She had sworn to me that she wanted in and might even want to care for my babies, and she didn't want Number One or Two anywhere near her bed; she had learned her lesson. Since this was family, it wasn't really my job to accept, but Charles's, and he had given in, letting her take roles as well.
Today, I was on baby duty with my own. Wulfe, Ten, and Nine were with me. Adam, Charles, and the boys would be on the night shift. I wasn't sure if Number One had taken any roles; he hadn't said anything to me, but I was fine with that; it was his problem, not mine. Sabrina giggled as I finished changing her and prepared to dress her.
I turned to Number Two and said, "Fine, come on. Dress her."
It was a little trap; newborns are easy to dress, even if they're hunched, but these ones were much more mobile, always moving, twisting, and turning.
Number Two nodded and said, "Thanks, baby. I'll try to behave better. I was once again weak."
He approached Sabrina, and I had already set aside her clothes. I sat on the floor, helping Darien play with his ball. Wulfe was distracting Dash from eating his brother's socks or pulling them off. Sadie was crawling toward Wulfe. Seraphina was sitting with little support, her tiny hands reaching for a toy, but then she toppled over and seemed to be considering whether to cry. Number Ten walked in and picked her up, shushing her and showing her the view from the windows, talking to her.
As the babies' wake windows grew longer, our lives became incredibly busy. Despite the challenges, I loved it. Feeding time remained as messy as ever, but this time, numbers six and eight were on kitchen duty, which meant I didn't have to clean up after the mess patrol. Instead, they handled the cleanup. However, I still needed to do laundry, which I planned to tackle during their next naps, as I had a considerable amount of folding to do.
Wulfe was smiling as number two pursed his lips, struggling to avoid cursing like a drunken sailor lost at sea. Sabrina was having a bit too much fun with her daddy, who was trying to dress her. She knew precisely when to pull her legs away or when to hit number two's nose, and she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Watching number two's expressions, she relished the moment.
He finally muttered under his breath, "Fuck," as Sabrina's tiny hand grabbed his lower lip and pulled, then released, swinging to hit his nose.
It wasn't wise to lean over them too much unless you wanted to be beaten up.
Wulfe said, "Don't cuss, but learn your lesson. These ones are grabby, and one must remember that unless one wants to be hit by an infant."
Number two muttered, "How the hell do you dress something this wiggly? Oh no, don't pull that damn sleeve, no, no. Not like... oh come on, did you just... oh yeah, you did, and look, it's overflowing!" he grumbled as mustard-colored baby poop squished from the leg parts of the diaper.
Wulfe laughed, and I giggled as he started the whole ordeal again, now securing poor Sabrina with energy on the table while heading to the cupboard to choose new clothes.
"Yellow ones are hers," I told him. "The laundry bag is where it was last time, so put the clothes there."
He picked up a new set of clothes, crumpled the dirty ones, and scrunched his nose as he tossed them into the bag.
Then, in a sarcastic voice, he asked Sabrina, "Are you done, you little devil, or are you going to shit another diaper?"
Oh my god, it was so funny. He furrowed his brow, washed his hands, and muttered something about bringing gloves next time as he started to clean the mess. Their poop was excellent at spreading everywhere. Despite them eating solids to some extent, milk was their main meal, making the poopy so runny, yellow, stinky, and even blood-tinged. They were vampires, after all.
As he finally got her cleaned again and prepared to put on a new diaper, Wulfe walked up to him. "Remember to fluff the leg parts," he said, "so poop doesn't escape. It can still get on their back, of course, but at least this helps a bit. They're wiggly, as you've noticed, and it's just good practice."
Number Two muttered, "Sure it is, but it's inconvenient when I try to dress this damn octopus."
He looked at her, and she was laughing at him. "And she's damn cute; I could eat you."
He kept his distance this time, not letting her hit him anymore, but smiled at her. My babies knew how to charm and how to make everyone love them, despite their messes and whatnot.
I was just smiling, as innocent as ever. "Are you taking any slots? I mean, there's one free spot on baby care if you want, but there are other jobs too."
Wulfe smirked; he knew what day it was: bathing day. If my four girls had been a handful, try five, and these were much more active, lively, and splashy. But I omitted that little fact and kept it hidden in my mind.
I was baiting our next victim. Adam refused to do baby care on bathing day, as did Charles. Wulfe, well, he took it, as I was usually on baby duty those days. I had heard Mariella, too, took slots, and she had complained about washing her three.
Number Two muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed as he struggled to dress Sabrina. However, he couldn't stay upset for long; my babies were simply too good at cheering everyone up. Sabrina smiled, her toothless grin wide, cooing and stretching, reaching for things with her hands.
Number Two finally smiled at her, but his clinical eye then turned to me.
He frowned, taking in my hands and face, and asked, "And you, have you eaten enough? It doesn't look like it. But worry not, we will make sure you eat properly, or I'll have Number Four put you on an IV."
I simply rolled my eyes. We were busy; there were many tasks to complete. Some were daily, some were done a few times a week, others weekly, and some monthly. A list of these tasks was displayed on magnetic strips, meaning we could claim a task and take responsibility for it.
We had a large board with slots for each of us, and the tasks were color-coded: weekly tasks were yellow, and monthly tasks were blue. There were also always "free to do" tasks. Once a monthly task was completed, you'd place the plate under the following month's name, as the board also displayed the months.
Number Two, delving into my mind and understanding our little system of tasks, looked at me. "Fine, missy, it seems you need some reigning in. We'll have to ensure you're not the only one doing things around here, and let's see if we can update your system a little."
Wulfe asked, "What do you mean?"
Number Two replied, "Simple. Points. Each task will be worth a certain number of points, and we've determined a maximum number of points someone can handle. This way, no one hoards all the tasks simply because they feel fine, like this one. She had nasty, deep MNDS, and we don't need a new bout of those, as she burns herself out. So, we'll allocate tasks based on points, and if there are free points remaining, she can take them."
Ten nodded and agreed, "You're right. This little lady has a packed schedule next week: three cooking sessions, two babycare shifts, emptying ashes, picking berries three times, taking care of heating, one snake duty, two laundry days, one cleaning session, and two meal planning sessions. Compared to her, I only have two days of meal prepping—cutting meats and filling the fridge and freezer—three days of baby care, two nightshifts, one day of wood chopping, and two shopping trips."
Number Two frowned, asking, "You're telling me that my underweight, possibly stressed wife is, again, hoarding tasks like a beaver and claiming she's fine? That's not happening anymore, baby. We're going to ensure there's balance, and you're not constantly overwhelmed."
I rolled my eyes; I liked to stay busy, and besides, those tasks were easy—I could multitask very easily. But fine, I would let him try this for a few days, and I was sure we could reach an agreement. I wasn't going to just give in and be the good girl. Nope.
This snowball had too much momentum, but I needed to be sly, not overdo it, or else he might start pushing back for real, and I wasn't in the mood for dominance games. I had made him obey me before, and I was sure I could do it again.
I rolled my eyes as the men continued to hash out this new points system, where some tasks, like baby care, had more points than cleaning. When one of us reached their point limit, the other would pick up more tasks. Of course, there would be a category for null-point tasks, but those were rarely done, and there weren't many of them.
As I had a horde of eager husbands ready and willing to serve, my alpha side got its ideas again. She was more than happy to have slaves for chores herself, and well, it gave me a sense of dominance, but I hid it quite damn clearly. I knew I might need to take this a little slower.
I wasn't deeply affected by my nightmare distress syndrome, but I had to admit it might be a factor. I felt so free, unconstrained by any limits. I knew I was the strongest, and this realization rekindled my sense of unsafe. Not being safe was my main trigger for my syndrome, and despite just about recovering from it, there was no guarantee it would not hit me again.
Driven by my nightmare distress syndrome, I went to work, striving to be alert and productive. I wanted to prove myself, or perhaps it was to meet the high expectations I held for myself, always striving to be the strongest.
While my pack was familiar with my syndrome, they hadn't dealt with it as effectively for very long, so it was a learning experience for them as well. Since I didn't talk about my struggles or confess my troubles, there was no way for them to know what was going on in my mind, especially since I was so damn evasive and could hide my thoughts from even twelve freaking strong telepaths.
Perhaps this new radar system would alert the Salvatores if I delved too deep. It did alert me, sending slight distress signals. I had to learn to interpret them. For instance, Number Three was stressed because he was constipated, tried to shit after being lazy and not shat for days, and he had now run out of toilet paper. I got to know my husbands intimately, perhaps a little too much.
However, since Number One hadn't taken his potion, I had no readings for him, and this bothered me. I had to admit it to myself; it just did. I felt abandoned for reasons I couldn't understand, and maybe someday he would explain. Or perhaps I was overthinking, and he had no issues with me. Maybe he was ashamed or something similar.
The future would reveal our path forward; I was certain of it. Someday, everything would be just fine. No, correct that, someday everything would be perfect in every aspect. No more relationship problems or nagging doubts.
But what I did not know was that there was something more sinister than mere shame at play. Damon was going through a veritable crisis, and an explosion of it would hit me hardest as usual.