"They were right," whispers echoed in my mind from the darkness of the room, "you were wrong. It's obvious you're corrupted by power."
The men had returned, and the situation was a disaster. They knew everything. Of course, it was all my fault, but I refused to let them see how deeply it affected me. A dark cloud of self-blame and doubt swirled in my mind, the messy tangles of my thoughts jumbling again and again. Sleep was impossible, and frankly, I didn't feel I deserved it.
had been out of control. My manipulative nature, which I had only envisioned before, was now revealed. Darkness pressed down, suffocating my spirit, my need for independence, and bringing forth the painful sensations of the past. These fueled the tangles in my mind. I hoped the pack could somehow function.
needed to learn to stop manipulating things to my liking. I was part of the pack; we were family, yet I had acted like a narcissistic psychopath, devising a plan to be the ultimate hero. I hated myself, with a depth I couldn't comprehend. I felt I had no right to feel anything positive, and my mind, as strong as it was, ensured that I didn't. Only dark thoughts and a crushing cloud of hatred, seemingly emanating from every pack member.
Damon confronted me, yelling after Mariella became upset when her girls defended me, calling me "Mom" and her "Mariella." Ashley had even pointed out that she hadn't given them names. Mariella was livid, accusing me of brainwashing her daughters and abusing my pack leader status. Damon, ever the persuader, had gotten Charles on his side. Their accusations of my being power-hungry and treating the pack as my own organization hit me incredibly hard, a devastating blow.
The events had, of course, exacerbated my neurosis, creating a cascade of anxieties in my mind. This plunged me into a deep, dark mental state. Three days had passed since their return. The babies had been taken away, and despite the girls' attempts to educate Damon on how they should be eating, he still refused to introduce them to solid foods. It was now time for them to drink formula, not my milk or my recipe.
For me, Charles, Adam, and even Wulfe were still angry. They had been researching baby nutrition extensively, holding their own private discussions where I was excluded. They changed everything, including who would cook. I was left to simply obey and feel terrible, a fact I didn't reveal to them or show in any way, not even to Wulfe.
He had told me, "My unicorn, I do love you, but you're out of your depth here. It's not your job to be the pack leader all the time, and you're not the one making all the decisions anymore. So learn your place, or I will show it to you."
His tone was condescending, as if I were a child. I didn't respond, instead instructing my girls to remain silent, answering only direct questions and not to worry about me, but to focus on the babies.
The babies were everywhere, fussing and crying, refusing to settle unless I was present. This, of course, angered Adam and Charles, who theorized that I had become too important to the babies and they were forgetting that other pack members existed.
What they forgot, or what Damon made seem unimportant, was that my babies were empaths and telepaths. They could feel my emotional turmoil, the men's anger, and Damon's disdain, even outright hatred for me, their mother. In their eyes, I was important because I provided them with love, and they, too, were creatures of love. But it was what it was, and I simply had to move on. There was no other choice.
As I walked to my craft room, I reflected on how far I'd let myself fall. I was supposed to be better, not a power-hungry manipulator. I wasn't setting a good example. I'd manipulated my pack to become leader, and it was detrimental to the family dynamic – we were, after all, family. I remained quiet, tightly controlling my thoughts to prevent any distress from reaching Charles through our bond, despite the pain it caused, as I was convinced it was all my fault.
Perhaps I'd been too perfect for Mariella's girls, presenting an "ultimate mom" figure that led them to become overly attached to me. This wasn't conducive to pack life. I sat in my chair, took out my wire wrapping supplies, and tried to focus. I hadn't finished my spoons, and knew I should, but I questioned whether I was overstepping by making them for Mariella's babies.
I picked up the wire and pliers, along with an obsidian stone. I began creating the first cradle, a support for the stone as I wrapped it. While some might make pendants that allowed stone removal, I intended to keep the stone permanently enclosed. I focused on my work for about thirty minutes, but I was too restless.
I went to the spa, turned on the sauna, and then shut it off – too selfish to warm the whole thing just for myself. I went to the gym, changed, and began to beat and kick the targets, trying to release something, but it didn't really help. After a good workout, I showered, changed, and grabbed my watch. I was surprised to see that eight hours had passed.
However, the pack was around, so the babies didn't need me hovering; they were the pack's babies, not just mine. I needed to allow others to care for them, to show them I trusted them. I walked from the gym to the kitchen in our wing, got my meal, and warmed it up. I didn't see any evidence that the babies had been fed and wondered if I'd started the meal too early; maybe they should have just had milk.
I wasn't very hungry and briefly wondered if I'd been eating what I should. Had my body chemistry changed after giving birth and after my lactation stopped, and how had it all affected me? I should ask Wulfe, but since he too was angry with me, I could sense his disappointment burning through our bond, searing my soul like a brand.
I was unaware that someone understood me so completely. He felt my flaws intensely, and the truth of my situation caused him genuine distress. It took him a while to realize the source of this feeling and why he felt so awful. Of course, the manipulations of Number One and Mariella didn't help matters.
When the truth came out, it would shock the entire pack, and Damon (Number Five) wouldn't hold back his opinions. Number One believed the vampire heat had been mild, and Mariella hadn't fully committed; it was more like using her until "your dicks sags," and there was no sense of genuine connection. This didn't negate her manipulation.
As it is needed for vampire heat to subside or end, so so-called big bang, meaning a really hard orgasm, but in order to achieve it, there should have been torture, abuse, much more than it had been. Despite the dark thrill of being owned by Wulfe, for Mariella, it was a significant blow to Damon, who saw her as his possession. He was determined to take out his frustrations on me, yelling at me, which was nothing new.
However, he was skilled at talking and manipulating, so it was easy for him to turn Charles against me, as well as Adam and Wulfe. He didn't necessarily make them hate me, but he made it seem like I was drunk with power and "power-tripping for fun."
Damon portrayed me as manipulating the situation, making Wulfe do what he did. While Damon tried to appear nonchalant when interacting with Wulfe, he again painted me in such an ugly light that it weakened our bond, giving Damon even more ammunition to attack me.
Damon couldn't accomplish everything he desired. For instance, he'd planned to extract a promise from Wulfe, but Wulfe had immediately stated he wasn't bound by promises unless freely given and of his own accord; Damon's attempt at coercion didn't qualify. This infuriated Damon, provoking him further.
Another frustration was Charles's refusal to relinquish his position as pack leader, despite Damon's attempts to portray him as inexperienced in managing me and my power-hungry tendencies. Normally, such blatant and desperate manipulation wouldn't go unnoticed. However, since "Vampire Heat" was in full swing—another of Damon's ideas to put everyone in the right frame of mind—everyone was somewhat disoriented.
Because love is supposedly the most powerful force, it jolted "number five" back into awareness. He began to feel ill, with a headache that seemed to tear through his skull. He felt a desperate need to be somewhere, and his fangs ached.
This was all due to my pheromones. I had walked throughout the house all night, constantly moving between rooms, rearranging things, and burning calories, as my nightmare distress syndrome dragged me deeper, twisting my mind into a tangled mess of emotions, self-hatred, and more.
My stress pheromones permeated the air, but since the number ones, as well as Mariella's manipulation and the babies, kept the men preoccupied, they didn't notice them. Only love hit number five so powerfully that, without even consciously noticing the pheromones, he experienced actual symptoms and felt truly awful.
He felt increasingly awful each day, and it took him time to think clearly. He had undergone numerous tests, but he wasn't sick. However, he was experiencing a strange, inexplicable physical reaction, and he had been surgically drained of his own bump bag five times.
He wasn't interested in anything carnal, and whenever he heard Mariella or Number One's voice, it grated on his ears, worsening his symptoms and igniting his rage and hatred. In the quiet hours of the morning, as they had for the past week, he finally realized who was manipulating whom. It wasn't the baby; it was Number One.
This realization made him curse aloud, "Oh, fucking hairy balls of Lucifer and his eight cousins, I am going to pull his asscrack open with a razor embedded in a toilet roll!"
This colorful outburst caught the attention of Number Four, who stopped and frowned as he walked by. Number Five, looking rough and cussing like Mimi, was sitting on the bed.
Number Four walked in and asked, "Why in the world are you trying to win our wife with your inventive choice of words? You know, there are babies in the house; they might snatch those expressions."
Number Five said, "Sit down; I can swear you'll be cussing as sharply soon enough. I just got it; it just clicked, and oh my god, I have a job in front of me."
Number Four asked, "Spill it out; I am not in the mood to delve into your mind and find answers."
Number Five began, "I have felt almost all the time since the vampire heat, which it wasn't, ended, pretty damn awful, but I'm not sick; it's not me who is making me feel this way, but the baby. What I'm about to tell you will make you pissed off, worried, and might spark some rage too, but we need to take this logically, and when we tell this to Wulfe, I don't really want to stop him, so I am going to let him do whatever he wants."
Number Four said, "Sounds kind of tense. What does this have to do with the baby? Has she used her pheromones or something?"
Number Five said, "Yeah, and no. Well, it is her pheromones, what...well, take a clinical mind and listen, and then tell me your diagnosis."
Number Four nodded, letting his clinical mind take over. He was not so lustful, not anymore; once he had been, but then again, it had all been Mariella's manipulation.
As Number Five recounted his symptoms, a growing dread took root in Number Four's heart; his wife was clearly unwell.
Number Five began, "I'm experiencing a massive headache, worse than anything I've ever felt, even when I'm really hungry. It feels like my brain and face are burning, and I have no appetite, though I'm producing bump five times faster, three times the normal volume, and it's 200 percent more energy-dense and nutrient-rich. I constantly feel like I should be elsewhere, that someone desperately needs me, and I'm always aware of a dark cloud of suffering."
Number Four muttered, "Fucking, freaking hairy ass hair of my godmother."
Number Five smirked and asked, "So, do you have a diagnosis in mind?"
Number Four responded, "I do, but why, how, I mean..."
Number Five interrupted, "Now, factor in our failed vampire heat, which was just a sex holiday for Mariella, and her reaction to Number One sharing her with Wulfe. Remember what he told us: keep your mind clear as you process each statement. Add all of this together; you should arrive at a clear explanation quickly."
Number Four fell silent, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, and hands clenched. The green room, with its beige walls, green rugs, and old magazines, faded away as rage and a desperate need to help took over. "He lied to us, he goddamn manipulated us, and now... now she's a mess. When it comes to Wulfe, I agree, I won't stop him, not at all. But we have a hell of a job ahead of us."
Number Five nodded. Mimi's distress, her full-blown bout of a special syndrome that plagued her mind, motivated him to stay clear of Number One's manipulation. He swore the whole damn pack would soon know who the real culprit was and why. Somehow, he had a strong suspicion about what Wulfe might do, and by God, he was right.
It was time for the pack to learn what Number One could do when he was not thinking straight. He hadn't been pack leader for over a year, and this time he showed them just how manipulative he could be, striking at those he deemed fit, like Mimi, the baby, a creature he sometimes loved more than he could ever know. Mariella, as catty and manipulative as ever, could twist Number One into a knot, and get Number Two on board as well.
But as usual, actions have consequences. Some were immediate, and he knew he wouldn't be pack leader again for quite a while. He would have to prove himself to everyone, including Mimi, before anyone would even consider letting him regain that power. Being pack leader wasn't meant to be a position where one could manipulate others for their own gain.
This time showed the pack what a true pack leader, like Charles, Adam, or even Mimi, could do when they held the power responsibly and used it to benefit the whole pack, not just one selfish damn cunt who wanted every damn male to worship her greedy sopping cunt. It was Damon's worst habit, to do whatever Mariella wanted or asked, and it would take some time for him to grow out of it.