While Wulfe whispered seductive words to Mariella, she couldn't help but ponder number two's confession. Number Two's admission had shaken Mimi, leaving her uncertain for various reasons. His promise to join her on holiday nearly made Mariella hiss aloud, as Missy valued her solitude.
Mentally, she relayed this to Damon, who gleefully seized upon this information to manipulate Mimi. He considered it advantageous to dispatch several Salvatores to observe Mimi during her holiday; the thought of bursting her self-satisfied bubble was particularly appealing.
Although he'd made a promise to be with her, checking on pack members was easy as pack leader, and he planned to visit her later. However, this trip had already yielded significant gains. As Number Two and Mimi headed towards her tent—or rather, his tent, considering his close proximity to her—Number One felt a pang of jealousy.
He recalled their nights together, Mimi's strong body, her fiery passion, and the lust in her dark eyes—a memory that still thrilled him. The thought of others sharing her was agonizing.
Mariella's calm voice broke through his reverie: "Why don't you join them? You're her husband and alpha male, and that tent can easily accommodate three. I'm about to play a rather unique game of poker with Adam, Charles, the boys, and several Salvatores. Other girls are here, too; it's a game where you lose your clothes."
Number One smirked. "Oh, that kind of naughty game, my love? No jealousy?"
Mariella rolled her eyes—a rare occurrence—and replied, "Come on, Damon, I have a smorgasbord of hunks to seduce. Besides, there are still Salvatores, like Number Four, who refuse to speak to me. I'm persistent, and I use whatever means necessary to get them talking."
Number one raised a skeptical eyebrow, his smirk deepening deceptively. "In that case," he said, "I might just pay a visit to that tent. That little alpha female is far too smug. Those ropes she has—I have a feeling they're just the tip of the iceberg. I want to know what the hell she's packed, and we could certainly use those ropes ourselves. Securing meat in the horses, you know. But no, Missy's keeping secrets again. I'm going in there and I'm going to 'fuck' those secrets out of her."
Mariella giggled, watching as her incredibly handsome and dangerous husband moved like a panther towards Mimi's tent and crawled inside, not bothering to ask permission. He had the right, after all.
I was about to begin my slow seduction of Number Two—he was a pretty good victim, and I'd planned a little striptease in my tent—when suddenly, my own tent flap opened and Number One crawled in. He smirked at my lack of pants and provocative pose.
"It seems I arrived at the perfect moment, darling," he purred. "Oh, please, do continue. This is most interesting." His voice was husky.
I saw irritation flash in Number Two's eyes, but Number One said, "Let's see how long we can hold out. She's pretty damn good at this, but let's try..."
I rolled my eyes. My tent wasn't that big, and now I had men on both sides of me.
"Let's up the ante, shall we?" I said, biting my lip. "For every item of clothing I remove, you remove one, too. No touching; only watching—as long as you can."
Number One shrugged off his shirt, followed by Number Two. His voice was dangerously low. "Oh, baby, you can't keep your hands off us. Let's see how many minutes we can last."
Lying on my back, I let my body writhe and undulate, my hands wandering to the hem of my shirt. Beneath it, I wore a light spaghetti-strap top. Slowly and seductively, I removed my shirt, revealing the thin material and my clearly visible nipples.
Number One licked his lips. "Now, baby," he purred, "I could show you a few things I could do to those nipples…"
He kicked off his shoes, followed by Number Two. I sighed, my hands continuing to explore my body, fingers hooking under my panties and shimmying them down. Both men swallowed, murmuring almost inaudibly.
Breathily, I moaned as my fingers skimmed my pussy lips, my legs spreading slightly as I finally removed and discarded my panties—at least this pair was intact. The men unzipped their jeans, discarding them to reveal eager, hard cocks; they went commando, foregoing boxers.
I smiled; they were rock-hard, ready, and in the dim tent light, I could see their muscles ripple as they prepared to pounce. I reached for the hem of my top, but Number One used a vampire claw to rip it cleanly in two; Number Two followed suit, leaving me naked.
As my hand moved towards my pussy, a strong, firm grip on my wrist stopped me. Greedy lips pressed against mine in a passionate kiss, and warm hands began to explore my body, dominating me with a passion that ignited my own desire anew.
I was overwhelmed by the intense, uninhibited sex; I lost track of time and orgasms as we coupled like animals in the heat. Claws, teeth, growls, and grunts punctuated our primal release; each of us embraced our darker selves.
We sought to become one, yet I simultaneously realized I was being emotionally emptied. These two men had tapped into an aspect of myself I hadn't previously explored sexually, unleashing a raw, carnal expression of our relationship. It transcended typical sex; it was a semi-punishing physical exertion, a visceral way to communicate our feelings and sensations.
I didn't know what to call this dark energy, this wave of lust, but it was potent. Both men quickly learned how to evoke it, leading me to aggressively attack them. I pinned one beneath me, kissing and dominating him—not as a vampire, but as a part of myself I had long denied.
This was my repressed need for him, my jealousy over Mariella and his infidelity, finally unleashed. Unskilled in this raw emotion, I acted instinctively, claiming both men as my own. I was the alpha female, and every male in the pack would bear my scent, not Mariella's—hers was the weakest, barely present if at all.
Instead of negativity, they purred, calming as my marks adorned them. I was covered in bites, reeking of passionfruit, strawberries, sex, sweat, and a strange fig-flower scent—perhaps the aroma of my emotional release. Exhausted, I collapsed atop one man, while the other pulled me partially onto him. They stroked and purred, equally spent.
They, too, had released something—their need for me, their past traumas surfacing, driving them to bind themselves to me, to ensure they would never lose me. Sleep finally claimed me, leaving me completely spent, emotionally lighter, and strangely at peace.
The sun streamed into my eyes, making it hard to open them. As my awareness returned, I realized several things: I wasn't in my tent; I was slumped against someone's chest; and we were already riding. Confusion washed over me. What the hell had happened? Why hadn't I been woken during the journey?
Slowly, sensations and smells flooded my mind, and I realized I was leaning against Wulfe. Focusing my eyes and lips, I managed to speak.
Wulfe's mental voice cut through my thoughts: "Morning. You've been out for five… no, a week. You unloaded yourself and didn't wake up, so you've been kept secure."
Something in his tone alerted me; this wasn't as simple as he'd implied. "Tell me the truth," I responded mentally. "What the fuck?"
Wulfe's voice was cautiously measured: "Mariella was jealous. She used her tricks, got both Salvatores to herself, and kept you out of it until her powerful spell cleansed them—and your scent. Both have been with her for several nights, along with other Salvatores. Shadow and Mimosa aren't happy; Mimosa intentionally injured herself, but the pack leader dismissed it, ignoring his promise. Magnum, I, and others confronted him, but he scoffed, claiming some promises are flexible. He said Mimosa's injury wasn't serious, but it was. Adam had to keep his fangs in her neck for two days."
I took a deep breath. "You know," I said aloud, "this is exactly where I want to be—in your lap. You're my soulmate, and this isn't such a terrible place to wake up."
I knew Mariella and the Salvatores were nearby, eager to witness my shock. But I wasn't going to give them that satisfaction. Whatever had happened, I'd processed it and was ready to move on. Wulfe was perfect for me.
Leaning closer, I snuggled against him, sighing contentedly as we continued our ride. Mariella glared, approaching the number one Salvatore and hissing something. He remained silent, perhaps a small pang of conscience hitting him. I was a good teacher, after all; I didn't need knives to make my point.
I smiled, as Magnum rode beside Wulfe, "You know, Hummingbird, I have a room on my saddle, too."
I smiled. "Nah," I replied, "not yet. This is too perfect. I'm a creature of love; whatever I let out has helped, and now, being close to my other half, it's incredibly perfect. I don't know if anyone else feels this way, but for me, a creature of love, this is perfect; I might stay for the rest of the trip."
Number Four rode nearby, scoffing at Mariella; he clearly wasn't under her influence.
He then declared, "My love, I'll have my turn with you, too. Don't think Wulfe will have you all to himself. But I'm sorry, we have a challenging road ahead soon, so you might have to ride alone. But, baby, tents, nights—I'm all in. Let's see how well you mark me. And don't worry, no jealous hag will cast a spell on me."
I rolled my eyes; she'd certainly put on a good show.
Shaking my head, I mused, "What's the matter, pussy? Jealous? Too bad you only have three holes, so you can't have them all. And, as you see, not everyone wants to be with you. You really should try to grow up; it might make this trip easier for the men, as they wouldn't have to endure your teen drama."
Mariella, quiet and red-faced with embarrassment, spurred her horse faster. I could be a bit of a meanie, but it was fun. Wulfe smiled; Magnum and Number Four rode on either side, vying for my attention. It felt incredibly good to be wanted.
Turning to Number One and Number Two in my mind, I said, "My tent is closed to you two. I don't steal other women's husbands, and I have no patience for her teen drama. Obviously, you're still spineless pussyslaves, no matter what you promise. So no, thank you; I have better options."
I received no reply; I'd simply been honest. I wouldn't participate in this rat race of jealousy, possessiveness, and Mariella's antics.
The harsh realities I faced were a good thing; it meant number two wouldn't be near me during the holidays. My own time off seemed certain, though it would be a long time coming. However, who knows what that jealous hag will concoct? Will our trip be cut short because of her insatiable desires, or is she actually trying to summon vampire heat?
Wulfe whispered in my mind, "Come on, my unicorn, my one and only love. You know you could stop her from summoning vampire heat anytime you want."
I nodded, replying, "I could, but the question is, will I want to? It's always 'me time' when she's indulging her vampire lust and keeping other boys busy. Let's see how our trip goes and if she comes to her senses. I might give her a few pheromones to show her just how crazy she's being."
Wulfe asked, "Now, as a vampire, my experience with pheromones is limited. Since you seem to have a vast database in your mind, could you elaborate?"
I took a breath and continued telepathically—this wasn't the kind of knowledge I was ready to share openly. "Well, there are over 600,000 known pheromone versions in shifters. Every feeling has its own pheromone. Take love, for example. It depends on what you love. There's a basic love pheromone, a base, and then there are molecules attached that change it depending on the object of your affection: love for your baby differs from self-love, love for your mate, or love for your pack. Each type of love pheromone shares the same base, but the attachments change it. I have an encyclopedia, written by a shifter-vampire hybrid in 2020, or thereabouts. She was a Nobel laureate, and no one knew she was supernatural, but she studied and mapped pheromones. In my case, it's not so simple."
Wulfe responded, "So pheromones are chemical compounds, and each feeling creates its own. You're literally communicating your feelings through pheromones—that's pretty cool. But why are you different?"
"I create my own pheromones," I explained. "My pack requires standard pheromones, but mine are different—far more complex. For example, my love pheromone is five times larger than the standard; it's a highly complex molecule, unlike anything they recognize. If I released it, they wouldn't interpret it as love, so I've learned to synthesize the right kind. It's difficult, largely because of my memory. My memories are intertwined, often resulting in compounded pheromones. For instance, I might create a love pheromone for Damon, but instinctively add a pheromone reflecting my displeasure with his behavior—a real mixed message!"
Wulfe hummed thoughtfully. "I understand the complexity, but what's your point?"
"My memories are interconnected," I continued, "even after Damon's work to untangle them. This interconnectivity mixes my feelings, making my pheromones erratic. I've taught myself to isolate specific feelings within certain memories, then evoke them to create the desired pheromone. It's a slow, painstaking process requiring solitude, a lab, and specialized equipment. I'm unsure how the pack would react. Mariella's jealousy might prompt her to sabotage my work through Damon, so I'm keeping it secret. Finding pure, unlinked memories and accurately translating their associated feelings is challenging—a hit-or-miss process. It might take three weeks to refine fifty pheromones, requiring over 3000 samples. The process is incredibly demanding, and I need this to succeed, so I'm not sharing it."
A wise decision," Wulfe agreed. "I wouldn't share either. Although, sometimes I'm tempted to test both my pheromones and yours. But this remains our secret, for now."
His voice, calm and reassuring in my mind, was matched by the warmth of his body against mine and the steady rhythm of the horse's gait. This was, without a doubt, the best place for me to be. I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else.
Wulfe, me, and I—we belong together. Mariella's jealousy backfired spectacularly, landing me in this amazing place. I sensed Salvatore's jealousy, and others', but as the alpha had essentially given his blessing, they couldn't act.
My happiness, my love, flooded the hive, washing over Mariella so she could truly feel how perfect this was for me. Maybe she'll learn something. Her jealousy has caused me to be poisoned, abused by the pack, and die over 500 times.
Wulfe, Colin, and all five of my partners were there—it's nothing new. Her jealousy is still unchecked. I hummed contentedly, wearing Wulfe's shirt and jeans. Let's see what this trip brings.
Wulfe said, "Mimi, even without the title, I'm more your husband than those pathetic slaves of pussy ever will be."
Mariella flinched; she'd been eavesdropping again.
Number Four glanced at her, then at me. "My love, let's have another night together; talking to you helps. It is just so perfect to let you be my stronghold, and if I can help to share your burdens a bit, I am honored to the highest point."
Mariella's face was priceless. I remained neutral: "Sure, maybe our next camp in this trip, husband."
He smiled genuinely and stayed close; Mariella had no chance.
I said to Mariella, "Actions have consequences. First, your spell angered them; they control you, not love you, because they're tired of your teenage antics. Second, you can't force love. Love is a powerful, voluntary force. Your drama doesn't evoke love, only irritation, maybe lust, but no love."
She was quiet, looking at me, while I leaned toward Wulfe, as well as number four, who rode beside me. He, too, wanted me in his arms; I sensed it was love.
Mariella said, "I was a brat. I realize it. I was jealous, and I just lost it. Now, it's one big mess. They're pissed at me, I'm pissed at myself, and I have no idea what this trip will bring."
I didn't bother to smile; I was simply happy. It was true: when one door closes, another opens, and if that fails, there are always windows. I let Mariella stew in her own mess; she created it, she could deal with it. I focused on finding my happiness, my love, without the teen drama. She might regret it, but truthfully, she lacked self-regulation.
A small plan began to form in my mind: if she truly wanted the Salvatores, she might get more than she bargained for, but that time wasn't yet. Number one urged us onward, as we were about to begin our ascent. The mountain terrain would be rough; the road was narrow and steep, potentially unnerving for the women.
He ordered the men to ensure the other five women had an easy trip. Mounting Queen, I looked up at the looming mountain, its steep hills and dark, narrow gravel paths looking precarious. I swallowed, pulled myself together, and let the others go first. I could be last; there was no need to order me around. This would be just fine.