I was just preparing my next batch of bone marrow when a soft voice startled me. "Baby, honey, why is the display off, and what on earth are you whipping?"
I turned to see Damon standing in the doorway.
I replied, "I keep it off to avoid seeing all the red flags, and because it doesn't log everything I've done. I'm currently whipping bone marrow. This is Wagyu, and once it's the right consistency, I'll put it in the freezer for later. I've been doing a lot of food prep, as well as other things."
My voice was a little strained.
Damon walked over, dipped his finger in the marrow, and licked it clean. "This works, baby. Move over, go sit down. Let me fix you a decent meal, and we can take inventory of what we have."
I rolled my eyes, several biting remarks on the tip of my tongue. I had assumed he'd been with Mariella, and frankly, I was surprised he didn't smell of sex, but rather of the medbay. Fine, maybe he had scrubbed his sins away. I walked to the table, my fingers drumming the surface. My mind was racing with new ideas.
"Let's stump Mr. Salvatore," I thought.
I said to Damon, "Well, since I'll likely need a C-section, it'll be costly. I have a few ideas for getting more money."
Damon was humming as he checked the meats, tasting this and that, and soon brought me five large smoothies, remarking calmly, "Yeah, it'll be a C-section, but we'll operate on you both in-house, no hospital. So, there's no need to worry. What's your idea?"
I blinked, surprised. "Well, I don't know if we have bulls on our farm, but my idea involves bull semen. One straw can cost $60-150 or more, since our animals are special, and as you know, their...loads...are quite generous."
Damon grunted, his expression bland and his body language unrevealing. He wasn't tense or anxious; in fact, he seemed quite relaxed.
"Thank you," he said. "I've given this to Charles and Adam to examine. It's worth a try. By the way, don't try to contact Mariella; she's sedated."
Another surprise. My voice was curious. "Preeclampsia or what?"
Damon said flatly, "Gestational diabetes. We're trying to lower her glucose levels and get her body functioning properly. We created special insulin, but we're attempting to wean her off it. So, when, and if, she wakes up, she might be grumpy and will be on a strict diet. Do not give her food or drinks without consulting Charles; her condition is severe enough without setbacks."
I was quiet, sipping my smoothie, with a long mental list of tasks: laundry, dessert, gathering firewood, feeding the snakes, and maintaining the laundry machines.
"My other idea is to expand our online crystal shop," I said. "I need to talk with the girls when they come, show them some videos, and ask for their input. They might have ideas about what sells well. Of course, my bracelets would be one thing; there would be a game element with them, too."
Damon said, "Show me, and drink up; you need vitamins."
I pulled out my phone and my notebook, where I'd written everything I had done, placed them on the table, and opened a few video clips, letting Damon watch. I eagerly drank my smoothie as my mind felt scattered, unable to focus.
Damon grunted softly as he watched the videos. "Yeah, good idea. I've involved the Salvatores in this. We can sculpt crystals with spells, and Wulfe is in this, too. And your bracelet idea...good that you have so many beads."
He walked to the kitchen.
I tried to decide what to do next. I took the last gulp of my smoothie. My disorientation was worsening. I tried to tell Damon, but I couldn't find the words or understand how to speak. My vision blurred, and a nasty headache spread from the back of my head towards my forehead. The pulsating, throbbing agony made me grunt, and it was the last thing I realized.
Damon, having laced Mimi's smoothies with the first potion, was now surveying the kitchen. Whipped marrows would be useful, he thought, glancing at the fridge, which was packed to overflowing, creating near chaos.
He was currently sorting meats, deciding which to freeze, contemplating retrieving another fridge from storage while he waited for the tranquilizer to take effect. His back was to Mimi as he placed a few kilos of moose in the freezer.
A strange, rhythmic thumping accompanied by a slight whimper made him turn. His heart clenched with worry and dread. Mimi was on the floor, her body rigid, as a convulsion wracked her, slamming her head against the floor. A puddle of blood began to seep.
"Shit, shitshit!!" Damon exclaimed, immediately springing into action.
He quickly rolled a kitchen towel and placed it under Mimi's head to prevent further injury. His nimble fingers found Mimi's neck, checking for a pulse. It was racing, over 250 BPM.
"I need help. Mimi's having a reaction, a tonic-clonic tetanic convulsion. Heart rate over 250. Bring blankets, cooling measures, and xylazine. We need to knock her out and figure out what's wrong," he telepathically instructed the other Salvatores.
He was striving for a clinical mindset, though it was difficult as the convulsing woman was his pregnant wife, a unique being whose physiology defied easy explanation, and Damon realized he had never seen this particular reaction before. He had no idea what had caused her hyperactivity.
Soon, several salvatores rushed into the kitchen. Number four carried a bag containing drug vials, while number two crouched beside her, a syringe in hand.
Number one muttered, "Into the heart, now! We don't have time to find a vein. We have to stop this."
The needle pierced Mimi's chest between her ribs, and a flash of bright red blood confirmed its placement in the syringe. Number two's finger pressed the plunger steadily, but slowly, ensuring he administered just enough to stop the seizure, but not too much. It took 1.85 mg/kg, with Mimi weighing around 72 kilos, to halt the convulsions.
The babies were fine, but the drug would affect them too, so they kept the dosage minimal. Number two pulled the needle out. Number four was already healing her head wound with his blood and wiping her head while checking for brain injury. Number one went to a bedroom, gathered a pile of sheets, and brought them back.
Number four said, "Pulse has dropped, only 80, and she's cooling down. Let's get her to the medbay and take some blood..."
He didn't finish his sentence. Number one grabbed Mimi's wrist, bit into it, and drank some of her blood.
He muttered, "Tastes weird, not like blood at all..."
His voice was thick, and he was swaying. Number two steadied him.
Number four said, "Okay. No tasting her blood until we understand what's happening. Something's wrong with her blood, and we need to figure it out."
The men wrapped Mimi tightly. Number two helped number one sit down, who was shaking his head, feeling confused. He now had an elevated pulse and was sweating. This was a very peculiar turn of events.
As Mimi was whisked to the medbay and hooked up to a cannula and telemetry, number four printed a long list of tests to be taken. Number five was already filling tubes of blood. Number one finally cleared his mind, sitting and pondering what he had felt: confusion, dizziness, and a racing pulse.
He was still slightly dazed, having sweated profusely. It seemed Mimi had something in her blood that whipped her into a frenzy, while simultaneously masking her symptoms. The babies were fine; their telemetry was normal, with no sign of fetal distress.
It was weird; Mimi's convulsions and hyperactivity should have affected the babies, given the severity of his reaction... unless the babies were somehow involved in whatever this was.
"This is a big mess, and those five inside Mimi are part of it," Number One stated.
Number Four grunted and replied, "Possible, but not proven. Let's see what the blood tests reveal."
His voice remained calm, but he was already running diagnostics in his mind. Wulfe entered the medbay. His posture was tense as he inhaled the sterile air. Seeing Mariella in one bed and Mimi in the other, he carefully controlled his steps, even though his heart yearned to rush to Mimi and comfort her.
The news of her convulsions and the irregularities in her blood caused him intense anxiety. He could feel his palms moisten, his mouth dry, and his logical thoughts scatter as worry consumed him.
"I can try a magical scan to see if the babies have any abilities that we should bind," Wulfe said, his voice a bit husky as he cleared his throat.
Number One responded, "Do it. Let's give them binding potions for empathy and telepathy initially. Then we can assess further. My theory is they sensed or felt something in Mimi, boosting her and whipping her into a frenzy, masking any symptoms. However, given her complex physiology, we need to understand her current state and how long it takes to calm her down."
Wulfe nodded and went to the potion lab to retrieve the binding potions. He had some ready-made, and they should work for this situation. His heart pounded in his chest, and he realized it was beating for Mimi, his soulmate.
This was difficult for him, and for the first time in a long time, Wulfe felt an anxiousness that almost made him lose control. Mimi and her happiness were paramount, and nothing was more important than feeling her pure love and loving him. It was such an addictive feeling.
After what felt like an eternity of beeping, the computer finally displayed results, alerting all of the Salvatores. Number One, who had been monitoring the machine, clicked open the findings. The results were perplexing: her cortisol and stress agents were through the roof, yet there were also significant levels of dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins. Most concerning, however, were her thyroxine levels, which were over 1000 times higher than normal.
"Hmm, we need to get that down," he mused. "It's one thing what drives her. I suspect the endorphins result from what the babies have done, as do the oxytocin and dopamine. We need to bring these levels down to more normal levels, and we need to do it slowly, or it might feel like VENOMS is coursing through her. And we need to keep her tranquilized for now."
Number Four grunted in agreement. It was far from an ideal situation, but Mimi would need to take it easy and would require careful care and monitoring. For now, she would be sedated for a few days, and they would focus on how to safely reduce her thyroxine levels.
As more results poured in, the full complexity of the situation was revealed. It was a multifaceted issue, and unfortunately, it wouldn't be resolved in just a few days.
Damon sat next to Mimi, running his hand through his hair, muttering to himself, "I am sorry, baby. You will hate this, and I hate having to do this to you, but we have no choice; it is a must."
His voice was quiet, and he knew the evidence indicated this would require time and patience, and it would not be pleasant for anyone. Adding to the stress of Mariella's situation, Damon felt like things were spiraling out of control, but then again, maybe this was meant to be.
He was now the strong one, the one who had to make these decisions and explain the situation to both women, while hoping for the best. He refused to fear the worst, as it was not an option. It was time for Mimi to have a horde of attentive husbands, for Mariella to receive some real discipline, and hopefully, the pack would welcome the new babies safely and soundly in time. And maybe, just maybe, love might prevail. One can always hope, right?
Damon thought Mimi looked incredibly worn out; she was tiny, and her belly was already noticeably swollen. He swore to himself that he would be a better husband this time, regardless of Mariella's actions or words. He would be there for Mimi and their children. If Mariella caused problems, he considered letting Adam be her husband for a few days, hoping she might learn something from the experience.
Sitting beside Mimi in the dimly lit medbay, Damon reflected on how to improve. He wanted to avoid becoming a pussyslave for Mariella or a dickweed; he wanted to be a good husband. The first rule, he decided, was not to see Mimi as invincible.
He needed to remember she was fucking vulnerable, pregnant with five children, and susceptible to her syndrome, especially with the use of these damn tranquilizers. She needed his support.
Mimi was his wife, not Wulfe's. While they had a connection, Mimi belonged to Damon. For the first time, he weaponized his jealousy and possessiveness to focus his mind. He knew Mariella was his, having no deeper connection to anyone else.
Mimi, however, had a connection to Wulfe, and now, Damon used his possessiveness and jealousy as fuel to be there for her. He would make sure Mimi had him by her side, caring for her and their babies. He would ensure Mimi understood that he wouldn't let go of those he considered his.
Damon was finally learning his lessons, understanding how to use his attributes in a useful way. Being possessive and jealous wasn't wrong if they were used for protection and ensuring care and love, since these feelings stemmed from love.
The ancient vampire, sitting next to his wife, was finally starting to realize how to turn his so-called weaknesses into strengths. He was learning new ways to do things, and learning how to be a good husband, both for Mimi and for Mariella.
The time for Mariella's slave-worshiping was truly over, and he was going to use Adam, Charles, and others to teach her a nasty lesson if she misbehaved, while simultaneously learning from the experience. He would learn what he could do to Mariella to keep her in line.
He was also going to get to know Mimi more deeply, learn from her, and help her deal with her current state. He hoped it was just a matter of weeks, not months, but one could never know. The problem was partially Mimi, partially the babies, and partially Mimi's weird physiology, which would require finesse to resolve and bring her back to a more normal state, without causing undue stress.
Now, more than ever, he needed to be there for her, as her current state of mind was fragile. This time, he wouldn't torment her or break her heart, but would instead support her, help her cope, keep her safe, love her, and heal her both mentally and physically. She would eventually be fine, but this was a must, and only the future would reveal what kind of life they would have.