Two weeks into Mariella and Mimi's microbiological work, progress was agonizingly slow. Mariella, preparing the babies' next puree in the downstairs kitchen, sighed inwardly.
"Are you sure, darling, it's time for chicken and peas?" Damon's voice inquired from behind her.
Taking a calming breath, she fought the urge to call him a "dickweed." She truly tried to understand Damon and give him time, but he knew exactly how to push her buttons.
"Yes, my love. Look at the list. You wrote it, along with the recipe and amounts. I'm just following instructions," Mariella replied, her voice barely steady.
She focused on measuring the bone-meat broth and adding one boiled egg from a goose. She preferred the puree to be firmer, but Damon insisted it be runny, and Mariella rolled her eyes in desperation, already picturing the mess. Regardless, she would endure.
She and Mimi were scheduled to discuss their project the day after tomorrow. They had isolated certain cell types, but now they needed time for the cells to grow. They needed the cells to be alive to be useful, and for that, the cells needed to divide or show signs of activity, not just be preserved in blood.
Mariella was excited about the project, and she felt that familiar spark ignite within her once more. It made her want to learn more, to do more, and not just be a doll for Damon to dress. Damon hadn't been fucking with her as frequently as she had been with others, and this time, she hadn't even been asked. Damon took it personally, or so it seemed. It had been a little provocative, perhaps.
A few days earlier, in the kitchen, she'd been cooking with Damon and Adam. Adam had chatted with Damon, and they seemed to get along. When Mariella went to the fridge, Adam followed and took her roughly, dominantly. Her pussy ached, her breasts swelled, and her neck was covered in bites with a potent scent.
Damon hadn't said a word, just walked away, and hadn't touched her, even though she'd showered that evening. She didn't mind; it was Damon's problem, not hers. She was married to many others, and it was time she was a wife to them as well. She felt she almost owed it to them.
Mariella could almost feel Damon's anger and disdain hanging around her like a heavy cloud. She turned and looked at her husband, her green eyes steady, her mouth a tight line, and her hands clenched, betraying her irritation. "Mimi told me; she zeroed in on exactly what's going on in that noggin of yours. But it's fucking useless for me to say anything, as you're not ready to deal with it, and you need to discover it yourself. I have other husbands, you know, and it's high time I'm a wife to them as well as to you. If you're so unsure about us that you can't tolerate the scent of others on me, maybe, just maybe, we're not as close as I thought. But that's fine; the problem is, as usual, inside your head."
Damon sneered. "Oh, please, tell me, darling, what our resident psychiatrist said to me. What's her ultimate fucking diagnosis? She just can't deal with the facts. I have certain expectations of a wife, and she failed to meet them time after time."
Mariella rolled her eyes and raised her hands in the air. "Expectations, Damon, please. Your expectations are that a wife should be quiet and nice, allowing you to dress her up like a doll, expecting her to simply smile and be at your side. And yes," she continued, her voice filled with anger, "she told me, damn it! How dare you name my child after those three perfect hussy pussies from your past!"
Mariella knew precisely why Damon had insisted on those names for their babies, especially after Mimi shared the story of Damon's "ultimate fuck triple." He still held fond memories of them. The best part? Every other Salvatore hated them. When Mariella had inquired, Number Two had thrown a plate against the wall, demanding she not mention those damn cunts. Number Five had gone out and chopped wood for five hours. Number Four had simply pursed his lips and found something needing attention in the medbay. The others had reacted violently as well.
Now, Mariella understood their sometimes odd expressions when caring for her girls. She was ready to give them nicknames, so they wouldn't be named after the three leggy, identical, curvy brunettes who had met and seduced Damon almost immediately after their vampire wedding.
"Yeah, those three," Damon said, "Such good rides. One was sucking my cock like some damn hoover; one was massaging my back, my ass, and my balls; and one offered their tits and neck to me—perfect."
Mariella hissed between her teeth. On one hand, she realized Damon was throwing a tantrum because he was in a crisis. On the other, he was freaking out over a millennia-old creature with the nerves of a three-year-old. Mariella turned around and checked the baby puree; everything was as it should be. She decided to use the rest of it as pancake batter, making snacks for the babies. Maybe pieces of pancakes would be less messy than this damn runny slop.
"I know you are hurting," Mariella commented, "and you are unsure of who you are and what is left of you as each Salvatore has distanced themselves from you. You start to feel just how individual they are, no longer part of you, and it is confusing and messing with your mind, but why in hell's name did you take it out on one person who isn't good for that kind of outburst? She is not fragile, not anymore, and this stunt of yours… well, let's just say the future will be very challenging for you, even when you get her back."
Damon snapped, "And who the hell do you think you are, psychiatric number two? You are not telepathic, and you have no fucking idea of me or my mind, so stop seeing me as some damn saving project. I am millennia old, not your pity project to be cuddled! And who said I even want to make amends to Mimi? No assumptions, dear wife. I am not that simple, not anymore."
Mariella rolled her eyes. It was obvious Damon was in crisis, and unfortunately, it looked like time would be the only thing that would help, as he had not been around the other Salvatores, not yet. He needed time, but damn, he truly missed so much, and Mariella knew him well enough.
When this crisis was over, he might be right about being depressed over everything he had missed, but right now, there was nothing she could do, only wait and hope that someday Damon might snap out of it, and then they might be able to move on and be a cohesive family, the best version of their pack, or something.
Damon was irritated. He felt like he had lost control, and the world seemed to know him better than he knew himself. Mariella was constantly fussing over Mimi, chattering about what they had done together. Damon wanted to explode, unable to bear another word about Mimi.
She was always like this, and when she came downstairs, the stench of others clung to her, a detail that grated on Damon. He felt himself losing control, but being old and stubborn, he refused to see a lesson in it. He didn't understand that sometimes it's best to relinquish power, let go, and allow others their choices.
Perhaps, in that space, he could ask himself what he truly wanted and act on it. But no, Damon was addicted to power, having been a pack leader for so long. He'd lost it, and he intended to regain it. He almost had, but then he'd ruined it, and now this. He craved the power again; he wanted to be the top dog, to be obeyed. He wasn't ready for the change that was coming.
The other Salvatores sensed his uncertainty, but they were on their own journeys of self-discovery. They had little influence on him, as he rarely interacted with them. Numbers Two, Nine, and Ten, who understood his need for power, knew this was a time for tough love and self-improvement, though Damon wouldn't see it that way initially.
As the saying goes, the journey often teaches more than the destination. This was Number One's perspective, and Damon's to experience. He would eventually learn what he truly desired, not what the other Salvatores wanted, but what he, Damon, wanted. It was time for him to find his individuality.
The balance of power had another facet: Mimi. She was an alpha female, incredibly strong, and despite Wulfe's efforts to match her strength, she was far more cunning. She possessed a wider array of powers and was a snowball that had been rolling downhill for a long time, gathering momentum. Stopping her, or even curbing her, would be a challenge.
Damon would need to be the brick wall against which she crashed, but first, he needed to slow her down, a feat he wasn't yet prepared for. True to form, he hurt the person he loved most, Mimi. He felt the depth of their bond, which was frightening to him, so he pushed her away, severing the connection. Now, without it, he felt even more adrift than before, and he was trying to push Mariella away as well.
It was a difficult time for the Salvatores. None of them could help Number One, as nothing they said resonated with him. They felt his confusion, despite his sense of the Salvatore hive's cohesion. He had essentially created the original hive mind long ago when the others emerged from their hiding places, put there by a witch – not an evil one, but a good, strong, first one. It all had a purpose, but time was not ideal.
Number One was surprised by this as well, and they had no memories of how they were put away or the witch. Number One had pulled them in with his telepathy, magic, and the pack's lust energy, forming the hive. But as time went on, the Salvatores grew, their minds healed, and their love for Mimi began to bloom.
Mariella had been affected as well, and jealousy and a love triangle had dominated their lives for so long. Now, the cohesion was almost gone, as each Salvatore, a version of Damon Salvatore, had become more than just a part of the whole. They had truly found their individuality, their own minds.
This was just the beginning, and Number One felt like an outsider, or perhaps that nothing was left of him. He felt like a thief who had taken parts of others and claimed them as his own.
The truth was more complicated and would take time for him to understand. But for now, he moped. He was a jealous bastard, in pain, and confused, and he was pushing Mariella away because he felt he didn't deserve her. He felt like a failure, and he couldn't stop feeling that way.
Time, he knew, would be the ultimate healer, offering a new perspective. However, a daunting task lay before him. If he were truly the alpha male he claimed to be, Mimi would present the greatest challenge of his life: how could he control something that was stronger than a 2,500-year-old vampire wizard?
How could he regain the trust of someone whose heart he'd once again ripped out and stomped on, especially when other versions of himself had shown her genuine love? Re-establishing any connection with a creature who was, quite literally, the strongest in the pack, whose powers were constantly growing, seemed impossible.
Unlike Damon, Mimi wasn't driven by a lust for power; she was simply fulfilling her duty, caring for her pack. Damon's alpha male instincts would struggle to accept this, let alone adapt to it. Alternatively, he might need to rise to the occasion, striving to be greater, stronger, not a tyrant, but a king who understood the importance of chivalry. Only time would reveal if that was even possible.
Mimi, with her skills of manipulation, could have easily ensnared him like she did with Mariella. She was also capable of extraordinary love, and as stubborn as he was. These two forces of nature were inevitably destined to clash, and the future alone would tell the outcome.
"Darling, I'm sorry, but I just can't," Damon said finally, attempting to curb his irritation. "I know it's petty, and I'm jealous, but I can't stand you smelling of others. I feel like I have no control over anything."
Mariella, however, was not easily swayed. In a snappy mood, having spent time with Mimi and learned a few tricks, she walked to the freezer, retrieved a stack of cake bases, and said, "We have no dessert. Start with those. You can decide what to do with them, or do you want a challenge?"
Damon furrowed his brow and asked, "What do you mean?"
Mariella replied, "Fine, let me show you."
She took a container, walked to the fridge, opened it, and pulled out bacon, pomegranate, lemons, cherries, white chocolate, a few hot spicy chili peppers, a box of edible flowers, and, yes, dates—a rarely used ingredient in their pack.
She handed the box to Damon and said, "This is the challenge: incorporate these into your dessert."
Damon surveyed the ingredients. Many were manageable, but white chocolate and chili peppers were unusual. Dates, too... His mind began to formulate a plan. For now, he stopped dwelling on his problem and focused on showcasing his dessert skills. He usually cooked, not baked, but this was a good challenge. Smiling and humming to himself, he began to work.
Meanwhile, Mariella sent telepathically, via hive, a thank you to Mimi, who had given her this idea.