Several days had passed since the dog attack. We were again riding through the snow-covered parts of New South Wales, Australia. I wasn't sure what our next campsite would be like; we'd camped almost every night.
Mimosa and I were on strong antibiotics, which were affecting her; she felt listless and sick. Salvatore hovered, ensuring it was a reaction and not an infection, while continuing the antibiotics, as an infection would be far worse.
I, Mimi Salvatore—alpha female of our thirty-person pack, immortal multi-shifter chimera, and more or less an all-around superheroine—hid my own discomfort. I ate, functioned, and outwardly appeared fine. It was my job to ensure the pack's smooth operation, and besides, there was nothing to be done.
They'd explained to Mimosa that the symptoms would take time, that suffering through them was preferable to infection. We were supposed to take the antibiotics for fourteen days; this was day five or six. It would take time, but I'd endured much worse.
As I rode Queen, my sturdy, cold-weather-capable horse, I reflected on the past. The snow seemed to amuse her; she playfully dug at it with her hooves, clearly enjoying the texture. Her little quirks made me smile.
Damon was in strict pack leader mode with me—an irritating, arrogant bastard to Mariella, Shadow, Elena, and Katherine. With Mimosa, he was Dr. Damon, explaining things without mercy; not even Adam could ease her suffering. No Salvatore had contacted me.
I wondered if Damon had told everyone to keep their distance, fearing I was contagious, or if it was due to our shared moments. Honestly, I didn't care. My alpha side was emerging; crafting amusing sentences about Damon was one way to have fun, to be creative about our pack leader.
Our bond was closed, but that didn't stop me from using our hive. The hive possessed an almost mutual mind—a hive mind, though that hardly explains it. I visualized it as a vast cavern with small openings leading to each pack member, but at the center was a public space where we could all feel each other's presence.
There, I planted my ideas about Damon, knowing he'd sense and hear them. I suppressed a smirk each time his jaw clenched and his knuckles whitened under their impact. Katherine and Elena, my top students in the art of crafting sentences about Damon's body, character, and attributes, smiled openly.
My creativity surged after witnessing him spend the night with Mariella, then neglecting to wash before checking on Mimosa.
I pondered in the hive: "Is it possible that pussy juices are healing? I mean, we're a lust pack, but if I had an upset stomach, I wouldn't want someone near me after all-night sex without washing. But if Mariella's pussy juices have healing properties, I have no idea."
Elena commented, "I think he likes that particular aroma; he refuses to wash it off. I think he's not considering Mimosa's comfort, but his own preferences."
This sparked a clear irritation in Damon, who stalked toward the portable shower, stripped, and washed himself in the frigid air, ensuring Elena and Katherine witnessed it. He then put on clean clothes.
Katherine's mocking comment—"Oh, poor boy, look what you made him do, Elena. He had to wash, and now he doesn't smell like pussy anymore"—only deepened Damon's frown.
I remained neutral, my students having proven quite gifted. We continued on, and recalling those moments, I found them hilarious. Yes, we weren't acting like adults, but we weren't interested in behaving; we were having fun, and I knew he could—and deserved to—take it.
During our long trek across the snow-covered terrain, I'd spoken at length with Magnum, Ric, and Wulfe about how Damon had cleverly deflected my question, forcing me to reveal my trauma. Alaric had also mentioned that Damon had asked him to act as his conscience should he revert to his aggressive behavior, though that hadn't yet been necessary.
Wulfe sensed my discomfort; I could feel it. He understood the importance of preventing anyone from witnessing my vulnerability, allowing me to conceal it while still spending nights in my tent, talking and playing cards.
Even after Damon warned him about the potential contagion and advised him to keep his distance, Wulfe ignored him, demonstrating his loyalty and concern to the entire pack.
Magnum, riding beside me, said, "I know things went as badly as possible with you and Salvatore, and it's affecting you, Hummingbird. I know you well enough. There's not much I can do to make you feel better."
I replied, "Yeah, a clusterfuck as always. It hit me hard, but I've learned my lesson: don't get too close to him, and always keep my wits about me when I talk to him, as he's a worse manipulator than I am. I've reflected on our past, the good times and the bad. I've learned to distance myself from some of it—or maybe Wulfe has helped me do that—but I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to trust him completely. I know this sounds cynical and cruel, and I might be overreacting, but can I ever have the kind of trust that allows me to simply chat with him, to confide in him without him fishing for information or manipulating me? As you know, I'm a neurotic mess when I feel manipulated."
Magnum grunted. "Now, I'm not entirely sure what you mean by 'neurotic' when someone's manipulating you. It's what I've learned, and sure, it's a pretty sarcastic way of thinking, but we all manipulate and are manipulated constantly in conversation. Think of an argument: you're trying to make the other person see things your way, altering their perception. That's just how humans operate. Maybe small talk is the least manipulative form of conversation, but even that can affect us."
I blinked, understanding his point. "You're right. If you think that way, what conversation isn't manipulation? But I meant something more sinister. Damon was trying to get inside my head, to gauge my sympathy for Bran, fishing for positive memories of him. But it's not that simple for me. I'm a pretender, more feline in my approach; I see things and people differently. I'm not sure what Damon was after—was he measuring the depth of my emotions, or lack thereof? My memories? How did I view something positive?"
Magnum smirked. "Yeah, neurotic mess working hard. Let's look at this from a different angle. I might be wrong, but I'd say Damon wasn't fishing for your trauma, but for something he could use against others—my guess is Adam. As you saw, he's now the pack leader with a new type of radar, and Alaric told him to talk to Adam about leadership. Damon's trying to understand your perspective versus Adam's."
I frowned. "Good point, and a lesson for me: not everything is about me all the time."
"Let me interrogate you," Magnum said. "I'll show you what I can get from you, no long stories, just answer my questions."
"Fine," I replied, "but you have to answer mine."
I hadn't noticed Mariella riding nearby. Magnum thought for a moment. "Which is worse: physical pain or the sense of powerlessness facing an impossible decision?"
"Powerlessness," I said. "Physical pain is just a sensation; I can isolate it, twist it in my mind. But the knowledge that I'm unable to do anything—that's unbearable."
Magnum grunted, pausing to consider his next question. Its explicit nature threw me off balance, and I took a moment to compose myself before answering, "Describe a perfect orgasm, as accurately as you can."
I blinked, swallowed, and searched for the vocabulary to describe the sensations coursing through my body. First, I had to recall the feeling itself—a surprisingly difficult task. What has been a perfect orgasm for me? creature like me, with my memory, it is not so simple to describe an orgasm as I recall every and each one, and now his question, well, I should find some way to put them in order, tall order, damn tall order.
My voice was uncertain as I stammered, "It's a sensation of heat, waves of pleasure building inside me, making my pussy tingle. Warm pleasure spreads throughout me, even into my mind. There are no words to describe it accurately. You can write pornographic books and include pleasure waves and such, but the actual experience... if you've never felt it, you can't understand it. I can't accurately answer as I have not yet decided what I have as a perfect orgasm."
Magnum smirked. I realized I smelled like strawberries and champagne, and hadn't even considered how I'd become so aroused, almost on the brink of orgasm.
"Just wait, hummingbird," he said. "In less than thirty minutes, it's time to return to camp, and I've got you in just the right mood. Your tent will be quick to set up."
I glared at him, realizing his entire plan. "You... you damn man, you seduced me!"
My voice was husky, betraying my heightened arousal.
He smirked and replied, "I told you, I showed you what I can do. A few questions, and you're putty in my hands. If you know a few tricks to manipulate someone's memory, you control them completely."
Mariella, clearly jealous, rode up beside Magnum.
"Good point," she said, "but how would you seduce me? I don't have the same kind of memory recall, and reminiscing about my orgasm wouldn't arouse me."
Magnum glared at her. "Well, I'm not seducing you, am I? I'm focused on someone else. I suggest you pursue whoever you desire, not whoever you see enjoying themselves."
Mariella frowned. "But Mimi could be contagious. Didn't you hear what Damon said?"
Magnum's response was sharp and to the point: "Whether it is or isn't, it's no reason to neglect my friend, who offers quite lovely benefits, I might add. Once again, the Salvatores are being assholes, isolating Mimi without reason while tormenting you and others. They use her supposed contagious germs as an excuse; they can't handle her as a woman, so they're being brats, offended by her comments and punishing her for nothing."
Magnum defended me fiercely, which surprised me somewhat, though he was my oldest and dearest friend, and knew me incredibly well. Mariella, offended by Magnum's refusal to seduce her, pursed her lips and rode off to speak with Damon.
I sighed inwardly; my mind was cluttered with thoughts, and while I knew rational conversation wouldn't erase them, sharing might help. Gripping my horse's reins, I focused on my physical sensations—the smell of the horse, its gait beneath me, the crisp, cold air nipping my face despite my warm clothing—to ground myself.
"What's on your mind?" Magnum asked, his brown eyes gazing at me with a puzzled yet calm expression.
He wasn't demanding, simply offering a space for me to talk. His face was ruddy from the cold, his hair longer than usual, inviting my fingers to run through it; his long, dark lashes and tight mouth were quite kissable—my arousal heightened my awareness of such details.
I nodded. "I have so much clutter in my mind," I admitted, "I'm unsure of my perceptions, whether they're true, and even if they are, if it matters. But it might affect my relationship with Damon and the other Salvatores, and I don't want to ruin it. If I tell them my insights, they might isolate me for no reason—some things might be too much for them. Yet, if I'm wrong, I'll just be fueling my own neuroses."
Magnum said, "Tell me tonight, in your tent. We'll see what we do, but you can tell me; you know I'm not easily shaken."
I smiled. "Well, it might involve you, or it might not—I'm not sure."
Magnum frowned. "Give me the Cliff Notes; what's it all about?"
I confessed, unconcerned about any potential Salvatore overhearing, that I was simply weary of suppressing my feelings. "As you know, prophecies exist concerning myself and others, but I've learned they aren't immutable. Roles exist, and those roles can change. For instance, there was a prophecy about Reyes Farrow, as well as the chosen one—me—helping him reconnect with love, as he was called 'the cursed one.' However, it might not have been about him at all, but Wulfe."
Magnum frowned. "What do you mean, Wulfe being the cursed one?"
I explained, "Bridgette left me many books, and in one, Wulfe was referred to as cursed—doomed to remain a teenager, among other things. Several texts echoed this."
Magnum nodded. "Good point. But what about the prophecies concerning me or others?"
My voice was calm but soft. "As you recall, Dresden's prophecy concerned the five of you, with one guiding and teaching me. He read it at my supposed funeral, but I found an alternative outcome. Others would have filled those roles had things unfolded differently."
Magnum furrowed his brow. "I don't understand who else would have been there for you."
My voice faltered slightly. "This is complex. According to several texts, those roles were originally intended for my family—the originals, Nick, even Freya. However, they were corrupted. A long-ago, that evil wizard orchestrated this, aiming to remove those five from my life, but the universe seeks balance."
Magnum was surprised, glancing around. "That's quite a revelation. Considering the hostility between Salvatores and Originals, that would be difficult for them to accept, even if it weren't true."
Quoting a text, I said, "As a witch of the borderlands gives her gift, and if the moon is bright, in the seventh hour of the midnight song, the lark will sing thrice before morn. The holy stone will reveal the truth to the protector, igniting a holy fire in his veins, purging the evil within. Five of the chosen ones' family will share the burden of what is placed within, preventing the evil from escaping."
Magnum reeled. "Did I understand that correctly?"
I nodded, saying, "There was a time, in the past—I'm not sure what went wrong—but Damon might have become aware of Damien. Through some original-fueled ritual, Damien could have been divided amongst them, preventing him from ever escaping or becoming his own person. I think some original wizard, or someone, intervened. It's just useless clutter in my mind now—a scenario of 'what ifs' that I can't even begin to fathom the implications for the Salvatores. Regarding the 'borderline witch,' I'm not sure if that refers to Violet, as she was a borderline witch. Knowing Annaliese possessed some old texts, it's possible she killed Violet because of them. I haven't read the texts, but my mind is making these connections, which might be entirely wrong."
Magnum nodded, replying, "I'll talk to Wulfe and see what insights he has. He might unravel everything, or tell the Salvatores, or something in between. I'm sorry to upset you, but I'm not sure I can be of more assistance."
I nodded; his attention had shifted from my overwhelming arousal. Focusing inward, I tried to isolate and suppress that arousal, hoping to relax, eat, and continue this revealing, or truth-seeking, journey.
Sharing felt good, yet a part of me knew the burden of knowledge could be heavy. I wasn't sure revealing hypothetical scenarios—what-ifs and possibilities—would help anyone. Past experience taught me this well; I still kept many things from Damon and the other Salvatores, protecting them.
Some of it concerned Damien, a thought that almost made me chuckle. Damien was gone, eliminated by my own hand. Yet, he'd always boasted that I would forever remember him, that his influence would be everlasting on both me and Damon. Was he right?
Considering the influence of past figures—presidents, politicians—on the present, Damien wasn't unique. Many leave their mark on future generations. Ironically, I—and perhaps Damon and Mariella—would remember him, but his influence on them wouldn't be as profound as it was on me, and not intentionally so.
My dark side, my nastiness, stemmed from him, a realization that brought no gratitude. The future is ours; the past provides tools and lessons to move forward. Reflecting, I recalled Mariella's initial state: intelligent but lacking a past, eager to learn. Damon's stories shaped her, molding her with our history and relationship. Once a blank slate, she transformed into a lust queen under the tutelage of the world's best seducer.
I had to admit that Damon was truly skilled in the art of seduction. After all, he was the one who had transformed me into a sex beast, so I had to give him that. My mind was firmly in the gutter, still aroused, and I desperately tried to cool off, envisioning myself in a forest, undressing, and plunging my hot, eager cunt into a snowbank. But then I recalled the delicious sensations Damon had evoked over the years using ice cubes and coldness. Oh my god, I couldn't control my arousal.