After we finished laundry and ate, we sat down for a chat. The crisp air carried the scent of autumn, and, being in Australia, the fragrance of eucalyptus and other exotic trees wafted through. I had noticed in this trip just how much I got information about my surroundings through my senses.
Recent dry weather meant I wasn't soaked, unlike a few weeks prior, despite my raincoat always leaving me damp. The cool, crisp air made it pleasant to be outside. All the sounds and scents wafting in the air told me stories. Smells emanating from pheromones in our pack told me what mood who was, but the smells of nature had their own stories to be told as well.
As we sat in a circle, various topics were discussed, and I listened, analyzing my pack and contemplating what lay ahead. I had learned so freaking much in this trip and I was not sure if this new way of living, meaning me being fussed over, would continue since this trip was history and everyday life in the pack was restored.
I was still considering how to gauge my pack's reaction to my octopuses when Wulfe's amused voice echoed in my mind: "Oh, my unicorn, I adore octopuses, and yours are rare, the last of their kind! I'd be honored to meet them. I could easily check if anyone in the pack has issues with octopuses, but I think I'll let you do your thing; it's so much fun to watch. You're a maestro at this. I promise I'll bring treats to our octopuses when you take me to meet them. Oh, I bet they love me."
I refrained from rolling my eyes and said to Katherine, who was beside me, "Have you seen the reels on Facebook? I watch quite a few—rock tumbling, certain types of snakes and their incubation, ball pythons with their over 4000 genetic color variations—some are striking. And then there are octopuses; people keep them as pets, and they're fun, intelligent, and mischievous. They recognize humans and many come to play, crawling out of their aquariums onto hands and necks, wanting to hang around."
Katherine smirked. "I bet they'd be fun," she said. "I haven't had many pets, and an octopus wanting to hang out with me? That sounds fun. As for snakes, sure, I am a viper for myself, but breeding them, well, I have to check on those reels once we get back to civilization. Maybe you can show me, and we can buy snakes too."
Number Ten, sitting nearby, quipped, "Oh, please, Pierce, octopuses are intelligent; they'd ink you if you tried to befriend them."
I replied, "And you think they'd love you? You'd seduce them, too?"
He smirked. We had a little thing going on, and of course, Mariella, being jealous as she noticed our seductive gazes, added, "Well, I like to eat octopuses; those tentacles are tasty. Damon knows how to cook them just right."
I didn't bother defending myself against Mariella's potential jealousy. For me to trying to defend octopuses might be too much and I wanted to do this very subtly, not give any reason for number one to order my octopuses to be moved into the magic freaking house just by Mariella's wishes.
Our trip had been underway for some time—five months, to be exact, as Wulfe reminded me, "My love, five months! We've been on this trip for five months already!"
Time certainly flies when you're having fun. Sometimes, well, my mind being what it is, I recalled our conversation in the Azores. I think it was our last one or something, as I had told Damon that time does not exist, that it is only a man-made construct.
Oh, those times. I was so happy back then, and despite everything being in Azores, it felt always so damn special. But nowadays, if I were to go in there, I would feel like I would invade someone's private paradise.
As I reeled at just how long we had been here, I realized that, sure, there was evidence all around us. However, I'd also had frequent visits from Number One—at least five times every Sunday for five weeks—and even before that, we'd had plenty of time together.
Elena then asked, "What snakes were you referring to?"
I explained, "Ball pythons. They're colorful, not too aggressive, not too big, and seem fun to breed; there's always the excitement of potential new morphs from different combinations. They have fun names like Enki or clown and all the jazz, I like some variations, well, their base color is white, and then there are patches, orange and black, and it looks like burned wood, hard to describe, I will show you sometimes."
I mused about having some myself and experimenting with different breeding combinations.
We spoke about snake breeding with Elena, and Damon, Number Two, chimed in with a husky voice, "Oh, baby, I love hearing you talk about breeding. It makes me want to mount you right now."
As he had said that out loud, I blushed, though even if he couldn't get me pregnant, I could still use his sperm and my eggs to create embryos externally. In fact, I planned to create and freeze stocks of embryos with others, for future use or surrogacy.
I couldn't dwell on this too much, though, as Damon might be less than impressed. He was still very possessive over me and also from my eggs, so if he were to know me to ovulating, he would there fertilize each one of them before I would have time to do anything, so my little plan would need some serious planning and secrecy as well and I hoped like hell it would turn into war.
But the mere thought of embryos with Wulfe or Charles felt incredibly special. I knew I had cubs and babies with Charles long ago, though I only cared for them for a few weeks and never met them.
Number One had then become possessive, restricting me to breeding only with him and removing all my other stored embryos. It was an adjustment, but it was in the past, and I'd grown accustomed to only having babies or cubs with my alpha male, Damon.
While some might see this as ultimate possession or a declaration of love, I saw it more as another way for Damon to control me. Of course, he may have loved me, or at least felt something for me.
Despite knowing him well, I can't deny that one of his driving forces was controlling me—an almost biological imperative. He was my counterbalance, my chaos to his control. He tried to control my chaos, a futile but persistent effort that continues to this day. I haven't become any easier; in fact, I might be more challenging.
However, he's become considerably better at controlling me. In the past, his balance of "vinegar and honey" was skewed heavily toward vinegar for me, and honey for Mariella. Now, he skillfully bribes me with his "honey," a weakness I readily admit. His "stick of honey," however, remains. I mean, he gives me his stick of honey every Sunday, and he knows how to give it to me, bribing me more or less with it.
Number Six warned Charles and Adam about the river's danger to women, and their complete agreement ignited a surprisingly protective streak in the men, which grated on my nerves.
I was so close to telling them just how dangerous that current was, in my opinion, meaning it was not that bad, and how many times I had been in the past, much worse rivers. I'm no shrinking violet, and being treated as such was unsettling, even upsetting. I was freaking leader of my organization, but on this trip; I was a wife to be protected.
This unexpected protectiveness felt bizarre, as I usually do the protecting. I desperately hope this phase passes soon, or I might explode. Feeling the hardness of the bark beneath me, my numb ass urged me to move and stretch. I was not made out to sit for a long time at time, but my body loved to move.
Since some coffee remained, I decided to refill my mug. I walked deliberately to the fire, taking my time as I approached the large pot, still warm but not burnt. I prepared to pour myself a generous helping in my sturdy, 500ml Italian mug—a souvenir from my first castle—a dose of what I call "liquid love." For Mariella, "liquid love" has a different meaning entirely. She was referring to Damon's bump, where I called coffee usually liquid love.
The coolness of the porcelain mug in my hand was a stark contrast to my desire for piping hot coffee. Just as I reached for the pot, Number Seven appeared, pressing himself against me, gently taking the mug from my hands.
"Oh, don't burn yourself, baby," he said, pouring coffee for both of us and subtly switching our mugs while maintaining a neutral expression.
I added cream powder to my already-sweetened coffee as he hovered nearby, ensuring I wouldn't burn my fingers. This was getting ridiculous! Maintaining my composure, I mumbled my thanks as he returned my mug, his genuine concern clear. He was simply being my husband, showering me with attention, and I was struggling to cope; I wasn't cut out to be the perfect wife.
The irony? As I returned to my seat, he was walking next to me, making sure I did not trip over. Mariella's jealous expression was unmistakable. She was glaring daggers at me. It wasn't surprising, considering the number of Salvatores constantly attending to me—several were even part of my nightly discussion group.
I wondered what Number One did on the nights he wasn't with me, then noticed him engaging in some sort of flirtatious interaction with Shadow; she was visibly blushing. It was Tuesday, and the realization hit me: our pack leader seemed to have reserved each of us six females for his special attention on a specific day.
No wonder Mariella was upset. Damon's attentiveness to all of us, combined with the Salvatores' constant presence, had drastically changed our pack for the better.
However, my nerves couldn't handle it, and I started considering subtle ways to redirect the situation, subtly suggesting ideas to see what had transpired. I was going to do something about this, maybe, as my nerves were fraying surprisingly fast. Maybe my fantasy of spending a new record with Damon was not so a good idea after all. Maybe it would be better for both of us to have some time of our own.
It would be a good time to calm this hovering and be less concerned with those around me. If my plan worked, others would have suitable subjects to care for, satisfying their desires and allowing me some much-needed alone time, though nothing was certain.
I sat on my perch, holding the mug Number Seven had graciously given me, while he sipped from my own large mug, one that might soon belong to another Salvatore. I wondered why Damon had originally thought it perfect to steal; had he sensed my feline nature, or was it simply arrogance?
I reminisced about our rowdy past, attracting curious glances from several males—Alaric, Dresden, and Taylor—who were learning to better utilize our hive. My mind wandered, and as one of the hive's creators—its queen—my ideas were often easily appropriated. My little pornographic memory lane had garnered too much attention.
Number Two's voice echoed in my mind; I needed to prevent others from so easily accessing my memories.
"Baby, Mimi, my love," he purred, "don't seduce me so hard, or I'll pick you up, take you to our tent, and fuck your brains out for days."
I coughed, having accidentally swallowed my coffee. His expressive tone left no doubt that he meant every word.
Mariella grunted, saying to Tim, who sat beside her, worshipping her, "Oh great, I bet it was Number Two, talking dirty to Mimi again."
Tim, reserved and respectful of marriage, found seducing the married Mariella difficult, though his puppy love was evident.
He nodded politely. "You might be right, but there are other Salvatores here, too."
He saw me more as his boss than a potential lover, while he adored Mariella, though she remained oblivious.
My little plan might nudge things in a better direction for all of us. Perhaps it was my alpha side activating, a desire to show my power or prove my validity to the males who were so protective. I considered myself patient, perhaps the most patient among us, but was that just my temperament, a suitable trait for a wife?
I wasn't sure of my ability to withstand everything, and perhaps I should be more tolerant; yet, it was incredibly difficult. My plan was beginning to form, requiring several key players to shift things in a different direction. To make it effective, I'd need to offer strong incentives.
I loved devising these systems; they were fun. I wasn't being sinister; I was simply adjusting things so we could all truly enjoy ourselves, including me, as my frustration wouldn't disappear if the routine continued. Of course, it could backfire, and nothing was certain, but I was willing to try.
I hoped my "reorganization of priorities," as I'd mentally dubbed it, would work as planned, ensuring no one got hurt and most of the pack received what they wanted or needed. This was simply me, the alpha female, caring for and protecting my pack.