As alpha female of our pack, Mimi Salvatore, I huddled with the other pack members under the shelter of the trees. My preparedness, though not complete, offered some comfort. I'd packed plenty of rain-resistant clothing and plastic sheeting, which the others magically multiplied and secured with my ropes, creating a makeshift roof over our heads.
While this single large shelter wasn't ideal for thirty people, it kept us dry and allowed us to build a fire. I sat among the Salvatores, with number four to my left and number one to my right. Mariella sat between numbers ten and nine, who were expertly—though lovingly—manipulating her, much to her irritation.
Meanwhile, Wulfe, Magnum, Murdock, and Dexter returned from hunting with a sufficient supply of rabbits, kangaroos, wombats, and other rodents. Number one curtly announced the pairings for the next leg of our journey: I would be with him, Mariella with Dresden, Mimosa with number two, Shadow with Dexter, Elena with Alaric, and Katherine with number seven.
I didn't understand his choices, but decided not to question them, suspecting his intentions toward me might not be entirely benevolent. After changing into dry clothes, I discovered a few disposable raincoats, which number one and the other Salvatores used to better preserve the meat.
Thus, while some of my own dry clothes were diverted to keep the horses warm and dry, leaving me somewhat damp, I accepted my slightly soggy state. The universe seemed determined to keep me wet, but I decided to embrace it.
Three days into the trip, it became clear that it was ending sooner than expected. Floods had washed away roads, and mud-choked jungles made further progress impossible. The horse couldn't proceed, and my husband's inventive cursing prompted me to comment on a few of his more colorful exclamations.
As he again handed me the reins—needing both hands to navigate the terrain using his map tablet with real-time GPS and its numerous red triangles indicating impassable routes—I said sweetly, "My dear, perhaps we should call this off. It's been wonderful, truly, but nature seems determined to send us home. Though I must admit, the idea of not being on horseback feels strange."
He grunted, "Yeah, baby, don't worry. I have options, and I'll be done mapping soon." His stubbornness was familiar; he'd harped on my Las Vegas escapade (over a century ago!) for 48 hours already. It was a subject he couldn't let go of.
I responded, "Good, you have options, but are they not, as you put it, 'roads that make a path to an outhouse in an Italian winter look like a freaking highway,' or that other long stretch in old Germany? I'm too tired to remember your exact description—some road that didn't deserve to be your… you-know-what, right? Was it now, Hairy asshole?"
His irritated grunt was satisfying; he was in just the right mood for me to annoy him—not very wise, but I couldn't help myself. "Should we stop soon? I need a bathroom break, and my legs are tired of gripping this horse," I continued.
He was silent for a moment, then, casting a spell to empty my bladder, said, "No need for a break, and if you want something else to do, why don't you open your pants and sit on my cock like a good wife?"
I snapped, "I'm not Mariella, and I'm not in the mood for you to use me as a fleshlight."
I could almost feel his smug smirk. To further irritate him, I shifted slightly, letting my ass rub against his cock.
He grunted, "Careful there, honey. You can certainly feel it, and if you…"
His voice was dark, lustful. My plan was working. I'd already shared his lewd suggestion with Mariella, and she'd had Dresden ride closer to us.
Mariella innocently declared to Dresden, "Oh, shit, I'm way too far ahead; oh, wait up, I'll get myself into a better position."
She wiggled, her breasts swaying, causing Dresden to grunt as she pressed her buttocks against his crotch. Continuing her teasing movements, she further aroused Dresden, who was visibly becoming heated.
Damon, consumed by jealousy, glared. I'd already assured him he had every right to be jealous of Mariella, and during this display—Mariella's seemingly innocent wiggle, Dresden's blatant arousal, and his reaction as he pulled her closer, feeling the friction between their bodies and his breath catching—I mentally remarked to Damon, "Oh, see? Dresden will be finished in under ten minutes. Just look; his horse is practically performing its special island gait, and Mariella's perfectly positioned."
Soon, Damon's Arctic-like voice announced a break, making further acrobatics unnecessary. Mariella, who also wished to thoroughly provoke Damon, continued her act.
Dresden, thoroughly captivated, was panting and flushed with a satisfied smile once they found a suitable clearing, having released himself. Mariella purred against him, still acting like a cat in heat, while Damon's grip on me tightened with his rage.
Feeling smug, I shared my amusement with Wulfe, who erupted in laughter, causing Tim, who had just finished a story about a goatherd, to look confused. While Tim's story had been funny, Wulfe's reaction seemed disproportionate; however, it wasn't Tim's place to question it. He simply shrugged and finished his story.
Dismounting from Damon's horse and stretching, I considered relieving myself, but his excellent mood and the temptation to further antagonize him proved irresistible. As Mariella also dismounted, Dresden's wet trousers, stained in a dark patch, fueled Constantine's desire to take his turn with Mariella, eager for a similar stimulating experience.
Approaching Mariella, I embraced and kissed her. The men hooted and commented, and I heard approaching footsteps. Soon, Damon's strong arm pulled me away from Mariella, his glare fixed on her as he moved her further away. Constantine then approached, and I kissed him, only to be pulled away by Charles.
He murmured, "Naughty little bitch. Right now, let's go, honey. I'll choose some more suitable clothes. You'll be riding with me, and let's see what you'll experience."
His dark, lust-filled murmur ignited my desire, sending a few ideas to his mind that caused him to chuckle—a sound that vibrated deep within his chest. I smirked, smelling his arousal and dominance, but I also sensed the unfriendly gazes of numbers two, four, ten, and nine. Through the hive, I received their message: they wanted a piece of me as well.
As we walked, stretching our legs with Charles, stopping to kiss and grope, he scanned for a suitable spot for a quickie. "Just think, my dear husband, my heart's choice," I said. "After this, it's holiday time. You'll be on an island with wolves and maybe girls, having a good time. But...what would it take for you to slip away and meet me on my island so we could spend time in nature, doing what nature intends?"
Charles grunted, "Oh, my honey, you're such a talented seducer. As you put it, a biological imperative—woman meets man...hmm, possibilities, very delicious ones, I might add."
Unnoticed, number one approached with Mariella, his expression souring as he checked the real-time map; three of his choices had been washed away. The rain, the heaviest in decades, was flooding cities, let alone the outback where they were.
He sighed, irritated, hating to admit defeat, but nature seemed to be winning. The forecast predicted 30–50 days of rain, with thunder and heavy storms, seemingly ending the trip. However, they could plan future trips. Damon, despite his ideas, struggled to breathe calmly, frustrated by Mimi seducing Charles and their constant search for quick sex.
Mariella said, "I mean, sure, I had my fun with Dresden, but come on, those two are about to have sex regardless of the weather. And do you know what? Wanna hear another confession?"
Damon glanced at Mariella; he wasn't sure he was in the mood for her jealousy, but he nodded, grunted, and stood perfectly still, watching and waiting in the shadows.
"Tell me, my love, my husband," Mariella continued, "as you've tested many males' bumps over the years, have you ever found the markers for me in Charles's? I don't know why it bothers me so much that he's never done a precision bump release for me, but he does it for Mimi. It makes me furious! I can practically smell him doing it for her again. While she has deficiencies, I should be glad she's cared for, but damn it, Charles is my protector. There are Salvatores ready to take advantage of that little bitch, but no, she has to have him."
Damon said softly, "You're quite right; Charles has never shown markers for you, not even when stimulated by your pheromones. Pheromones are only part of the equation, and I suspect the little redhead knows something juicy about them that she isn't sharing. But she will, one day."
Mariella frowned, unsure what Damon meant. Mimi was certainly adept at using her pheromones, having shown this many times, but Mariella sensed Damon knew more.
"What do you mean?" she asked. "Sure, she uses pheromones better than any of us, and she's shown it."
Damon said in a low voice, "Think back. Remember how she wasn't good at first? She made weird concoctions that affected everyone, or she didn't give me the right ones. Yet, now she's learned to deliver precisely what's needed, manipulating us with her pheromones flawlessly. No more blunders. Why? Why haven't the rest of us learned? What has she done differently? I bet Wulfe knows, but I'm not going to ask him. I'll try to see if that little kitten will be kind enough to divulge some juicy tidbit to her weary husband."
Damon's irritation was palpable, mirroring Mariella's own thoughts: What had caused this change? Where had Mimi gotten this information, and what had it changed in her?
While I was engaged in a little seduction game with Charles, Damon's sneer abruptly interrupted us. "If you two could cool it off," he sneered, "this isn't a fuck pause, just a short break. We'll continue soon. Now, Charles, take Mariella next, and Mimi can continue with me. Let's put some protective work in if needed. Mariella might need your fangs in her throat, or whatever way you choose to address her deficiencies—I haven't decided, baby, how you'll get that much-needed boost."
I refrained from rolling my eyes. Damon's gaze was dominant, yet lust shone through, his jealousy and possessiveness washing over me in hot waves through the hive. Surprisingly, I felt his possessiveness toward Charles as well; he was as much Damon's as Charles was mine.
Poor Charles, he was essentially owned, yet, being almost as much of a seducer as Damon, he merely smirked and raised an eyebrow at Damon, sensing his possessiveness.
Pack life was truly like a bold and beautiful soap opera; this wasn't just a man-woman love triangle, but a man-man entanglement and everything else as well. We all desired each other, some of us viewing others as possessions, others as companions or loved ones, while new loves blossomed.
As Mariella walked away with Damon approaching Charles heatedly, I walked beside Mariella and said, "I know it's none of my business to interfere, and you may not see things as I do, but have you noticed your fan club?"
She looked at me, confused, unsure of my meaning.
"Tim," I clarified, "he's got a thing for you, but then again, he's a damn good-looking guy, and Katherine has her eye on him…"
Mariella frowned. Certainly, she could be possessive and competitive, but I was about to show that.
I said to her, "Watch and learn, lust queen. You're not the only one who can get men hot and bothered."
She smirked and replied, "Oh yeah? You can seduce them, but those two—I've noticed they're quite reserved now. They were wild before, but... now that you mention it, they seem distant. Maybe I should..."
I smiled, walked up to Tim, and said, "Tell me, Tim, has anyone ever dominated you? You're a big guy, easily able to pin someone like me beneath you, but..."
Tim swallowed nervously. "Sure, boss. I know what you can do at the gym; it's pretty hot, but..."
I slammed him against a tree trunk, the wet bark biting into his skin, making him grunt. I jumped, wrapping my legs around his waist, and kissed him. His muscular arms encircled me, a growl emanating deep within his chest as he returned the kiss, trying to dominate me, even though I was the one pressing him against the tree.
I could smell peach—their slightly overripe aroma mixing with passionfruit—as Mariella sauntered closer.
Her voice, low and dark, was seductive, her expression pouty. "Oh, Mimi, that looks fun. My turn. Let me show you how it's done. No need to press Tim against the tree..."
Her touch on Tim's arm stole his breath, and I released him, stepping aside as Mariella pushed me away. She pressed her taller, softer body against Tim, who was now lusting after her, glancing over her shoulder to beckon Taylor as well.
I walked away; Damon, Charles, and Adam had gone off somewhere, engaging in some "manly love," I guessed. I sat on a wet, fallen trunk—I had dry clothes, and my backside was already damp, so a little more wouldn't make a difference.
Alaric walked over and said, "You're quite the cupid or matchmaker. I thought that was Mariella's job."
I nodded, smiled, and replied, "Just caring for my hive, my pack. It seems our trip is about to end; this rain isn't going to stop, but we've had some fun times."
Alaric nodded. "I actually want to go back to work," he said. "And you, my lady, can take it easy. No need for you to come back. Let me, Dexter, Murdock, Magnum, Wulfe, and maybe Colin take care of things. We'll see what's needed then, if you need to come to work. But first, have a holiday—some me time. You're snappy enough here; I don't need you snapping at the base."
This was the first time Alaric had said this to my face, and I was glad.
"Have you talked to Number Two?" I asked. He nodded.
"Fine, it was good that he had the guts to say it as it was," I told Alaric. "As you see, I'm not exploding when you speak frankly. I actually need it, despite my rage and status. Jake and Rob were the only ones who didn't care, but even they told me."
Alaric was quiet, then said, "I'm not sure if I should tell you this, but I talked to Number Two. He mentioned your need for someone to be brutally honest. I was planning on recruiting Magnum and Murdock for that, but..."
He glanced at the ground. The damp smell of rain in the hot, humid air felt almost like a physical force.
He continued, "I had a dream—or I thought it was a dream. I saw my daughters, as they were when they were young, five to eight years old. In the dream, they took me to meet their friends, who I think were Jake and Rob. They told me to get a grip and be your voice of reason. I told them I was already Damon's conscience, but I think it was Jake who said, 'He who has lost what was once most precious to him by his own hand has picked up the mantle of mediator, left by the one who found his way home. As mediator, he must guide chaos, control, and ensure harmony.'"
I blinked as he looked at me.
After a moment, I said, "So those two have once again decided how I'm cared for?" My voice was amused, a little wistful.
Seeing Alaric's confusion, I explained, "The mediator was Reddington. He left—according to Mariella, he was a fallen angel. While he was my mediator, my helper, ensuring my army functioned, he found his way home. So you're to be the mediator, but whereas Reddington was between good and evil, you're between me and Damon, between control and chaos. I can't say I envy you."
Alaric was silent, then said sarcastically, "Well, I've always been good at negotiating, so I suppose I can butt in between you two and see what comes of it. You two are like forces of nature, and I guess I'm the fool who walks between you as you're about to clash."
I smiled. "Yeah, you're right. But my mind's a little heated, so I should probably keep my trap shut."
Alaric, now curious, said, "What? Come on, tell me. I can handle your dirty little mind; it's very entertaining."
I rolled my eyes and said, "I'm not sure you have the necessary skills. However, lust, rage, and anger—these are powerful emotions, and one can easily lead to another. It's how many of our 'sanctifications' occur. If you were a skilled mediator, you could potentially steer us from mutual destruction to... other activities. Damon is my ultimate weakness; he uses it against me, but I know how to push his buttons, turning his lust into rage so I can rough him up. I have needs, repressed feelings, and honestly, giving him a piece of my mind—literally—helps."
Alaric was silent, then smiled slowly. "So, you want me to let you rough him up, then capitalize on his ensuing lust for... further sanctification?"
I nodded, smiling and rolling my eyes at his wonderfully bland expression. His hands were slightly fisted, his breathing calm, but he was clearly considering my request. Perhaps he was contemplating its impossibility.
I'd previously sent him scenes depicting my lust for him after beating up Salvatore, and some more inventive ones him getting on with Damon, which made him raise an eyebrow and mutter, "I've seen and felt, but I'm not sure I can..."
He stood as Damon, Adam, and Charles emerged from the forest. Mariella was with Tim and Taylor in the bushes, leaving me alone, unsure if lust was even on the horizon.
Our trip, and this life, was nearing its inevitable end, meaning no new record of me and Damon. I felt his longing for Mariella and the Azores, and I'd heard the Salvatores discussing it too. I had no idea then how careful one should be with their wishes; not all are as grand as they seem fulfilled.
Sitting there, I was grateful for my good mental and physical health—not perfect, but good. I was thriving, not just existing, and I'd glimpsed family life. It was special, but I couldn't help wondering what it would be like living with Damon day in and day out, for years. Would I go mad, or fall madly in love?