Six days had passed since the mishap with the tiny-toothed vampires, and I had spent four of those days recovering. This recovery involved nineteen hours in a sauna, followed by being knocked unconscious while I was fed and subsequently put into better shape. For the last two days, I had been taking things easy.
As I had no other choice, a horde of attentive husbands continued to make sure I was eating as much as possible, even though my digestion was not yet working at full capacity. The accident and pregnancy had taken their toll, and my body was not recovering as quickly as it normally would have, given the difficult situation.
My mind, once again, drifted to reminiscing about old times and all that I had experienced. I reflected on the people who had influenced my life, realizing that despite Damien, Damon's evil twin, he wasn't the only one who brought out my darker aspects.
Krychek and Sark also played significant roles. There had been so many nasty men and women, all of whom influenced me, tortured me, and called me an animal, a failed prototype, an abomination, and so on.
Somehow, all these labels stuck with me, like a persistent, nasty cloud of mist. Each time, it accumulated, making me feel less human and more like my unique self, something distinctly not human. Slowly, I began to realize that I was not human and that there was nothing humane within me.
This kind of thinking began to loop in my mind, causing me to dwell on it repeatedly. Each time, I felt myself distancing further from my humanity—or at least what I perceived as such. My mind started to twist me into something more animalistic, monstrous, and even abominable, aligning with the labels humans had assigned me. Consequently, I felt less like a savior and more like a creature who did whatever she pleased.
Consequently, I questioned why I should adhere to human laws in the real world. It struck me that I would gain so much more freedom if I stopped pretending, stopped trying to fit in, and simply allowed humans to see what the next step of evolution might look like.
I wasn't thinking about our children or our life here; instead, I was planning what I could actually accomplish if I finally shed the false pretenses and embraced my true self. Why should I try to fit in and do everything by the book when no one else bothered to?
Damon certainly didn't see himself as human, but a small, weak part of me still yearned for acceptance, hoping that humans would love me rather than fear me. To hell with that part; it was time to end my pretense of being something I truly was not. A sense of freedom and power grew steadily as my mind seemed to find a new gear to engage.
I had it all—my army, my powers, and my wits. It was time to show humans how we, truly stronger than them, achieved this dominance. No longer would I try to please everyone or appear harmless, for I was definitely not harmless. I was the strongest, and soon to be the most feared creature in the universe. It was time for humanity to recognize its weakness.
Initially, I realized I should be thankful for those who had given me my darker parts, as they now seemed to be my strongest. Whether this was their intention or not, it had happened.
However, as soon as I discovered this, I felt Wulfe hitting my mind with such force that I passed out. When I awoke, I was utterly drugged, my mind felt sore, and I was confused.
The door opened, and Mariella walked in.
She sat on my bed and said, "Salvatores, most of them are still sleeping, Wulfe is sleeping too. You triggered yourself, Mimi. You found one of those nasty triggers, and it was already starting to come on. When Wulfe noticed it, he stopped it, and we have now worked for four days to get rid of it. You see, these triggers are like bombs. When you actually trigger one, it explodes, hitting you hard and causing all sorts of chaos in your brain. Now, Wulfe and the Salvatores have put additional safeguards in your mind. You also had brain surgery; there is now a piece of Damon's brain and a piece of Wulfe's in you, creating an extra layer of protection. Do you remember what you were thinking?"
Her voice was strained, yet husky, as if she had been talking for a long time. I was so heavily drugged that it took me a while to try to piece together what had happened.
I said, a bit unsurely, "I was remembering old times, I mean..."
A sharp pain shot through my forehead, making my skull throb nastily.
Mariella explained, "That's Damon's brain protecting you, stopping you from even thinking about what might trigger you. Now, according to a telepathic scan and my white power, we estimate there are still over 12,500 triggers in your mind. Some are nastier than others, but regardless, you are being cared for. There were intricate spells chasing those triggers, eliminating them, or isolating them until they could be plucked out. Just so you know, some triggers are very old and very deep, so it takes some tinkering to get them out. But that is the main function of the piece of Wulfe's brain – to make those triggers harmless enough to dig out so they can be removed."
"Damn it," I said slowly, "I mean, I should be the most resilient or strongest of us, but it seems I'm the one who needs the most work."
Mariella sighed, her hand tracing patterns on my duvet cover.
Finally, she spoke, "If only... I mean... if only things had been different right from the start, maybe... just maybe..." She trailed off, pondering.
For the first time, she was genuinely taking the blame, not just pretending. Her pheromones told me she truly felt it. I remained silent, realizing it wasn't my place to ease her burden. It was hers to carry and learn from; perhaps there was still hope for her someday.
"You," she began, "you've taken hit after hit and never faltered, never blamed anyone else but yourself. Why?"
"I take the hits because I can," I replied. "Yet, every mission, I ask those who can't withstand them as much as me to go out there and do their best. Sometimes the result is a funeral or retirement. My choice sent them there, my burden."
My voice was hollow as I felt the weight of all my years as a leader, all my decisions.
"From the very beginning," I continued, "I tried with Brutus, Luiz, Fred, and Jacques to forge us into a team, not just to be a leader. But they simply made me do it, as did Reddington. He was such a support. We used to meet at a coffee shop in New York whenever he was around, and he always ordered the same thing."
A mirthful smile touched my lips. God, I missed him. I missed so many.
As I continued my story, Mariella crawled closer. She had undressed and slipped in beside me, pressing herself against me. I wasn't sure why, but she seemed to be seeking something from me, perhaps my aura or my pheromones.
"He, I mean, Reddington, always ordered this matcha tea thingy," I recalled. "It came in a tall glass with slices of lime and cucumber, chilled. Then there were four crackers with salmon roe, dill, and cream cheese. For dessert, a slice of orange custard tart."
I could still vividly recall the scent of his food and drinks, his aftershave, and our discussions. Not all of them were work-related; I might ramble about my pack life or a mission. He sometimes offered mysterious replies, but now that I knew what he was, it all made a kind of sense. He kind of guided me gently to my purpose, and I guess it was meant to be, me being the leader and all of this shit, what was my life sometimes.
Mariella's voice, tinged with a familiar confusion etched on her face, pondered, "I mean, your life has been amazing. All those guys... I can still feel echoes of missing that damn guy. What you used on me while you tortured me... You truly have a big heart. And I just cannot comprehend, for the hell of it, how you still have the drive to go on."
I looked up at the ceiling, where pale pink tiles with dramatic golden swirls and violet etchings of the letter "S" – some Salvatore's handiwork–met my gaze.
I sighed and replied, "I have a drive because I gave myself a mission a long, long time ago, and it still stands. It's kind of a promise or an oath to myself."
Mariella looked at me, now curious, and asked, "Have you ever told anyone about it?"
I shook my head slightly. "Nope, it was just my personal thing. Anyway, what drives me is that I'm trying to stop anyone else from going through what I have. I wouldn't wish this kind of life on anyone, and it is my oath to prevent this from ever happening to anyone else."
Mariella hummed, her hand stroking my arm, tracing my muscles. "Your skin is so different than mine," she murmured. "It's like silk, wonderful to touch."
I looked at her. "Meow, it's hairless feline skin. Now, want to know something else? Well, you might know it already."
"Tell me," she replied.
"You know, I'm more shifter than vampire, anatomically. So, I don't have much fat under my skin, as is typical for shifters. Where one bite might infect your spare food, or a good chomp will give enemies your spare food, most of my reserves are in my organs, inside me. Making operations always a bit different than yours."
She nodded. "Yeah, I have internal lipid stores as well, but yeah, also subcutaneous fat. I'm not sure if I'm more vampire or shifter, or what."
"We're hard to classify," I said lazily. "I guess we're more or less a new species, and I'm my own subspecies – the only one. But hey, I won't die. This makes life so much more difficult."
"Fuck, god damn it," I cussed as my brain jolted again from a piece of Damon's.
While it was good to have, it also pissed me off on some level. It felt like ultimate control, him dictating what I could and couldn't think. Then again, if my mind was such a minefield, perhaps protection was in order.
I considered one of my secrets. It was rather nasty, but also one of those things we couldn't yet do anything about, as it related to the real world, not our pocket universe.
"Wanna know a nasty secret?" I asked Mariella. "It's knowledge about something that isn't yet ours to handle, though it's happening in the real world."
She hesitated, but with all the Salvatores more or less out cold, she reached for the next best thing: her protector.
Frankly, I was surprised when Adam and Charles walked in. They took their clothes off and came to bed with us. Ready to care for us, I could sense worry emanating from Charles as he was worried about me, but right now, he had a unique chance to be there for Mariella too, something he very rarely had, as protector and as husband as well.
"Come to my arms," Charles said, moving closer to Mariella.
Adam came to me, drawing me close as if sensing my distress about this knowledge.
"Come on, honey," he urged, "tell us."
I was lying in bed with two of my fourteen husbands and my beta female, ready to reveal something disturbing.
Yet, I felt safe and loved. "Did you know just how well Damien was connected?" I asked, my voice hushed.
Adam grunted, "No, I mean, sure, he worked for Sark, but honey, what are you saying?"
Swallowing, I found the words difficult to articulate, but I steeled myself. Pressing closer to Adam, I suddenly felt so dirty, spoiled, and wrong.
"Oh, no, he was very well connected," I stated flatly. "I found lists of his contacts, several of them, well before he was taken away. And quite a few of his contacts have done something to me."
I continued, "So it's likely my triggers... well, he loved to spread his knowledge about me, not his damn experiments with shells, but everything else. He gave some tapes to others to learn from, as well as machines and data. I've tried to take out as many as I can, but..."
Adam's warm murmur in my ear offered some comfort, but the mere thought of how many had seen those tapes, how many knew what worked on me, made me feel chased, almost marked.
I could feel Charles's rage, and Mariella's as well. She was no fan of Damien, and now, knowing how he had spread his taint all over, her eyes glowed violet, sparks flying from her fingers. Charles grabbed her, pulled her close, and began to calm her.
We were both being loved and calmed by our husbands. They were furious. I knew they wouldn't forget this. When all was said and done, they might very well focus on demanding my knowledge of every man Damien had ever been in contact with.
But the biggest question in my mind was: had he gotten Damon's contacts, somehow corrupted them too? Should Damon know? Should the Salvatores know?
My instincts screamed at me to keep my mate safe. However, history had also taught me that some secrets are not meant to be kept hidden. The question then became: would revealing this taint Damon, or would it plunge him into another crisis?
Should I try to tell him, as I considered with number five or two, and ask him directly? But then again, would he perceive this as yet another instance of my distrust? Still dazed and exhausted, my mind began its usual pattern of tying itself into knots.
Yet, Adam's presence soothed me, making me even more tired, and I drifted off to sleep mid-ramble, caught in a loop of "should I or should I not?"