Riding a horse for a long time in the middle of the jungle is quite a hot experience, literally, and since it was the rainy season, I had to wear my raincoat, which made the heat feel even more oppressive. But I carried on; the queen wasn't too keen about the weather, and I could hear other women cussing and complaining as their horses were quite prissy too. The men, well, they seemed indifferent, or perhaps they were just silent about their irritation with the weather.
Rain fell from the sky mercilessly, and heat and humidity made it only worse. Sure, encasing myself in a plastic raincoat would not help me cool off, but it kept me mostly dry.
I wasn't sure when it would be time to stop and set up camp, but by God, I was thankful for my tents and mattresses. My sheets were light, so I hoped to sleep a bit cooler than I felt right now.
Swimming had been wonderful and had recharged my energy, but a few hours in the thick jungle, with no wide paths, turned my refreshed state into a much sweatier one. And this damn rain, it came down in sheets relentlessly. Even with our raincoats, part of us would still get wet, but that was part of the experience.
Sure, having a less-than-perfect time makes you yearn for better times, and maybe it would be a wonderful opportunity to learn to share, too. I wasn't too keen on sharing everything I had brought with me, as I wanted to use them myself and not hand them over to the pack leader, even if he would use them for the pack's benefit. I was selfish in this regard.
This trip will span several months, giving us time to adjust and maybe, just maybe, it'll be perfect. Someday we'll laugh about this. Right now, though, I'm irritated—not just mildly, but seriously—though I'm keeping it under control. I'm not alone; Mariella and some others have complained, too. Someone grumbled about having to dry off in the rainy season, despite our rain capes.
I started thinking about what separates the Salvatores. They were all there for my first shed session, and most were there for the second (number two was taken). Damien corrupted them all. I also wondered if my darkness stemmed from those sessions and my experiences in medical facilities.
Alaric rode up, saying, "What's on your mind? You have that thoughtful look."
I smiled. "Just old stuff. I was thinking about when each Salvatore was taken and their mood. Number two was pretty heated and lustful; we'd hunted nasty guys all night, and he was ready for me when Bridgette took him. No wonder he's intense."
Alaric grunted. "It had an effect, but they're individuals, not just Damon, in different moods. They have distinct personalities, born long before you."
I nodded. True. It's not my job to have all the answers.
"I remember how insecure I was," I said. "Leadership was thrust upon me, and I faked it till I made it. It was incredibly hard. I just kept thinking about everything that could go wrong."
Alaric smiled. "The best leaders doubt. If a leader's too cocksure, they lack the humility to make excellent decisions. A good leader knows their limits, and insecurity comes with the territory."
I grunted, "I'm not a perfect leader. Sometimes I feel too reserved, like I want to yell at these idiots for not following protocol, but something stops me. I miss the patience I used to have."
Alaric smiled. "I'd love to see you let loose! Magnum or I might push your buttons—it's okay to be frustrated. It's part of leadership. You can't always be reserved."
I rolled my eyes, remembering a shouting match at the grip of Venoms. I didn't want to be that kind of leader, even if it worked. Alaric smiled; Taylor joined him, chatting about sports.
I started thinking about PR gigs. What skills would I need? I could be a pretender, but I suppressed that thought and considered possibilities. Modeling? I'm not pretty enough, but it might build patience. Then, remembering my "silver madness," I thought: fashion designer! I lack artistic skill, but I have vision. A few weeks, experimenting would be fun. Good, I had options.
I was not the prettiest flower in the field, but I had the body of a supermodel. Albeit short, one, but I was petite, so I might have wanted to try modeling if I could find a place for myself. It might be fun to try to model, well, I should look into it sometimes.
The question was: when would I have time? And could I do this with so many jealous men in the pack? Wulfe, Damon... my quarter might not be tolerant, but if everyone had their gigs, they'd be too busy to be jealous. Safety and my status, though, demand protection.
I still hadn't figured out how to shake the government. Being "America's Sweetheart" bought me a few years, but with Sarks, Krycheck, and a million others on my tail, my life was far from secure. Project Omega always loomed. Solo PR gigs meant bodyguards and jealous pack members. Their possessiveness was intense; while appreciated, I wasn't anyone's possession.
I had my ideas and wasn't afraid to voice them, though it wasn't always wise. Paired gigs offered backup, but presented other problems. I was daydreaming, trying to brainstorm new career paths. Model, fashion designer… what else?
I was flexible, experienced in childbirth, so Lamaze or pregnancy yoga instruction seemed safe, less jealousy-inducing. But those females would have a spouse or partner, meaning I should have one too. Paired work meant a partner for me, too. But who? Never mind that, this was way more fun to just think, not make actual plans yet.
I was lost in thought when Mariella arrived. "This trip's awful," she grumbled. "Soaked to the bone. What's with you? You seem distracted."
Her face was glistening with sweat, and she was less composed than normally. It was actually a refreshing sight to witness. The princess being less perfect.
"I'm avoiding thinking about this damn outdoor sauna by planning new careers," I said. "Eventually, I'll find new PR gigs. It won't be easy, but I have my organization for security. As my bodyguards."
Mariella frowned. "What about us? Don't you think we want in?"
I shrugged. "Honestly, no. You could do it, but you lack the drive. You're pretenders, not fully formed like me. You're curious, but being a pretender is its own thing. Besides, I'm being selfish, focused on what I want. I am not sure if everyone is as eager to learn new things as me and then some members of our pack have the attention span of a butterfly, meaning the infamous three-day rule."
"Good for you!" she said, surprisingly. "Want to share? I have a few ideas, too. We're not as much pretenders as you, but we'll get there. Damon's wickedly curious—maybe we can find new careers for all of us. I want to learn new things. I read your botany books as well as veterinary surgery, so my pretender side is awakening."'
Her face was lit up as she was trying to come up with new professions that she would want to do or experience. I recalled her past as she was so eager back then to new sensations, new experiences, but then lust happened.
I replied calmly, "My idea is to find something I'm terrible at. Damon's ancient and brilliant, so finding him a new career without him getting bored in three days is a tall order, but sure, I'll start." I paused. "Computer programmer? Beta tester? Let's make him a computer nerd. The truck driver could be an option too, but he is pretty good with cars, maybe a car mechanic, or a repairman."
Mariella giggled. "He is good with computers, but the three-day rule would hit him for those driving things. I suspected he would not want to drive alone but want some company, and then again, what I have heard, truck drivers have almost a calling to be on the road. What else? He gets bored and fast, so a three-day rule is something we should try to avoid. For me? I'm easy. I haven't studied much and I'm not good at anything."
I smiled, trying to be creative and a little naughty. "A nun! I bet you could pull it off, but Damon has a way with nuns and wouldn't let you stay one long. Besides, it's not easy—been there, done that. I was a lousy nun, and it's not me. I am way too flamboyant for that kind of career. I have few options, but I am still thinking of new ones."
Mariella raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "You as a nun, funny. Me? Not so much. I don't believe in the Bible, and I love voicing my objections to all things divine. But Damon as a priest or cardinal... that could be fun." At least he knows how to preach.
I nodded, smirking. "Or Adam, Charles... Charles would be popular at weddings. But then again, most brides would try to take him instead of the actual groom. Damon? Not so much; he'd probably scare the couples with a few flank threats, and I am not sure how his telepathy would work, just think if he would find some couple who is not marrying for love and he would start to send them fear and terror during the wedding ceremony." Mariella laughed.
My voice was a little sultry as I confessed, "One thing I thought of—or rather, Damon always said I'm good at it—is porn film director. But in reality, no. To me, human sex is making love on the beach. My vision would be too rough. Besides, human dicks are puny and I would see them all too small and human hairy pussies, not my thing, so it is no go for me. I just have to keep my talents in the pack."
Mariella was quiet. "Mimosa and Shadow would be good nude models. The camera loves them. Me, not so much as Damon, is possessive of me."
I nodded. "But Damon's jealous. He might not let his wives pose nude in a porn magazine, unless he's involved."
I fell silent, replaying our history. Damon's jealousy, long ago, before Mariella, so many mistakes, bad times—all impacting our relationship. What-if scenarios plagued my mind. I even wondered if Damon could spy on my thoughts. I knew he might get irritated and remind me not to bother with my pondering, but still, my mind works its way.
Mariella, irritated, dried her hands, wiping her face, grunting under the humid air. Our journey felt endless, yet hope flickered—maybe better times lay ahead. This rollercoaster mirrored our relationship. The rain washed away most scents, leaving only the earthy, musty smell of wet jungle and puddles—a smell that briefly triggered memories of Damien's rough, moldy blankets.
I recalled still texture of them against my skin, the smell. Memories flashed through my mind. I suppressed them, focusing on brighter aspects, though a cynical voice warned me it wasn't that simple.
My face betrayed me; Mariella's gaze sharpened. I felt her in our hive, sensing my feelings, but I blocked her. No need to traumatize her, yet a voice urged sharing.
I blurted, "Did Damon ever detail our life, the bad times? Did he talk about what happened after our third wedding?"
Mariella frowned, curious, leaning closer, but watchful. "No," she replied, her face frowning, "only bits and pieces. Why? Was it significant?"
I nodded, a bitter frown twisting my lips. "Our wedding," I began, my voice finding its strength, "It was... eventful, a flanked wedding with my new title as America's sweetheart, as I had gotten that name before the wedding, again, Bran was involved..The wedding was, well, you know. Stabbings, threats—the whole nine yards. As I had been really cunt after the divorce, I took that infamous twenty-one-man cruise. He'd taught' me a lesson for three weeks after the wedding, stabbing me repeatedly, all about those twenty-one men. He swore he'd kill every one of them. He was forced to leave it a little over two weeks, as I was not strong enough to take 21 days, one day per man. "
I took a breath as I continued. "Bran's carelessness had led Damon to take on several missions, including one involving black witches who ensnared him and others. He asked me to come home for our Azores honeymoon," I went on with my story, "but it never happened. Damien was involved. I'm not sure how much he manipulated Damon. I was pissed off as shit as I had gotten fleas reorganized and it had not been easy and I felt like I was letting them down, but no, as I arrived, Damon told me that they would have a party."
Mariella frowned. I sensed her probing Damon, and she must have felt something, as her voice was sharper. "Tell me more. It seems that whenever Damien manipulated Damon, it rotted his mind. I might have some cleaning to do."
"Damon forced me to take part in the party. Those witches manipulated Damon into drugging, seducing, and breeding me. I was in a contraceptive by Colin, but those witches nullified it. Damon sedated me with his bump, and I was utterly drugged." I said, nodding. "He was fine at first, but once I was in heat, he took me to Katarina, one of the witches. They had sex constantly in this cottage. She whined like a pig. The whole damn cottage was so damn small that I did hear them. I was restrained, shackled in bed, and Damon threatened me with sedation. My heat was almost unbearable, knotting almost. Damon came by twice a day, always bred. He hated me. The witches wanted handsome, rich men, and to turn me into a fertile symbol—they couldn't conceive without daily pregnancy sacrifices. So I was conceiving all the time, but it did not help them as my pregnancy never formed correctly. Colin theorized at one point that I did not have a DNA polymerase. We returned to Pack's house after a week. I was trapped in Bran's silver cage, sprayed with silver, herbs, and poisoned. Weeks, maybe more. Nick and Elias saved me. It took them a few months to get me well, and we talked."
"Oh, I had no idea," Mariella said.
"There's good in them, a caring I experienced deeply. They showed me always and forever," I said. "But Freya is their Damien—she's twisted them. I don't know if they'll ever recover. After I recovered, I went to Australia with Magnum. We had a blast—no sex, but a great road trip. I did have anaphylaxis at a gardening fair, which upset him. We end up on my island and spent there week, not fucking, but just being, that is Magnum at his best. This was not the first time that he went road trip with me. Sure, he can be a little rough around the edges, but then again, who isn't?"
"I can talk to Magnum sometimes," Mariella said. "He hasn't opened up much, but I'm persistent. What happened after Australia?"
"My 'world-saving tour' went solo," I said. "Too many fleas on Sark's tail. My pack? Forget it; they were partying. Fifteen months later, it was over, jungles and whatnot done. I was a Marrok for seven of those months, a witch's coven getting back to Bran. Damon and others had a hard time treating him as he was poisoned with symptom potions and curses. After a gig, I had my rage unleashed. I was working. Magnum came by, and called Damon, who came as the pack doctor and fixed me up and went away. After that, I continued my work. I had a lead, a chance to blow up a Sark hideout. But no. Bran manipulated Damon, painting me as the villain, and Damon, of course, acted, breaking my neck. Bran was coming after me. He wanted Adam and Samuel to see me as evil, to turn me back into his sex doll—forced sedation, lustful heat. It didn't work out that way."
Mariella's face was inscrutable—disbelief, maybe? Fleeting white flashes in her eyes suggested she was reliving it. She looked in the past, maybe trying to see which version of salvatores she should focus on, or did she not believe me? I stayed silent, letting her absorb it all. She shook her head.
"You must have a rotten cave inside your mind as well. It needs to be checked out sometimes," she said. "Then what happened?"
I didn't bother defending myself. "Damon got to teach me to fear him for a week, and then Damien took over, meaning a brutal shed session," I said. "After the nine weeks or so, I was encased in metals internally and externally crushed, stabbed. I was finished pretty much so. Damien caged me, got his pleasure, then sent Damon to the party and beat me. He kicked me till I vomited. Later, every time as he sobered up, he dug up my memories. Sent fear and terror, a feeling of being chased. Or sent me how he was fucking other females. Charles saved me again. He, Magnum, and Colin worked hard to fix things—it was one of the first times I was so furious with Damon, I became allergic to him."
Mariella said slowly, in a quiet, unsure voice," Damon has never said a peep about it, so I have my work cut out, as well as make sure other Salvatores are fine, too. They react sometimes very differently to memories of what I have cleared from number one."
I said, "There is your proof that different versions of him were up and about, even Bridgette took them away, but number five was the longest with him. He was only taken after I was almost coined. My past is shitty and as much I want to help sometimes to Damon, I just can't go through all of shit and try to see who was in the lead, so it is up to you, sorry."
Mariella nodded and said, "Then, after the shed session, what happened?"
My reply was terse: "I reacted, I told them what happened because I could not do my work, I gave each of them minor jobs, like inform loved ones why this death happened, and what was their involvement in that. But it was a little while later, as we got some good times, or better times at least. "
Mariella frowned and said, "You have given me a job, thank you. I need to go talk with Mimosa and Shadow to see what we can do and how to help. Maybe Wulfe could assist, too."
It was my turn to frown and furrow my brows; I was tired of the past weighing me down, and I knew Wulfe well enough that his focus would not be on Salvatores but me, and I was not so sure if I wanted to be mended yet. It was just my feline side, wanting to keep my independence.
I said to her, "No need for Wulfe, he will not focus on Damons but on me, and I am not in the mood for intervention."
Mariella smiled and said, "Too bad, I have shared this with Damons, all of them as well with Wulfe, too, so he knows. This trip will help us on so many levels, you will see." She rode on, spurring her princess to trot a little faster so she could interrogate every Salvatore and maybe see who needed help most of all.
What came to me? I was not so sure what this trip would end up being for me, but for now, it was time to ride on, wait for the campsite, and then see what comes next.