Damon sighed. This freaking trip had promised so much, and it had started so damn well. Now, everything felt like it was unraveling fucking faster than he could control, a sense of inadequacy and powerlessness flooding his mind. He was close to quitting, to burying his head in the sand.
His grand promises felt hollow; he hadn't meant them the way he'd meant his promises to Mariella or his commitment to being pack leader. It hadn't panned out as envisioned, and it infuriated him. He'd reached the mountaintop, the open road ahead offering a marvelous view, but Mariella remained unconscious against his chest, feeling like a burden instead of a privilege.
He ran a hand through his hair, sitting on his horse, waiting for the others. He'd failed Mimi again, and it was heavy. That night had been wonderful; he'd felt free and close to Mimi. Then, weak and vulnerable, he'd succumbed to Mariella's fake tears—tears he knew were false—allowing her to undo everything. He wasn't an alpha male, a pack leader, or a husband for Mimi. He was, as she'd called him, a pussyslave, ruled by Mariella and nothing else.
He did not feel like a millennia-old creature, but a miserable failure. Alarick rode beside him, observing his friend. Despite Damon's age, a young, uncertain man remained within, and Alaric recognized the familiar expression of self-imposed high standards that left him feeling like a loser.
"Wanna talk about it? What's bugging you most?" Alaric asked.
They'd been friends for a long time, separated by life and reunited after a century, but their camaraderie had quickly rekindled. Alaric knew Damon well.
"I'm a miserable piece of shit who talks a big game, smugly promising things I rarely keep, then proving I'm full of it," Damon admitted.
Alaric sighed. "You promise rarely, but you've never broken your word. It's a matter of perception; perhaps your promises are loosely worded, leaving loopholes for self-justification. I know creatures like you; your promises are nearly binding, breaking them isn't as simple for you as it is for humans, or Mimi. She promises rarely and breaks them just as often—it's pointless. It's not spite; life has made it so she can't keep her word. Promises aren't as important to her, not right now, at least."
Damon grunted. "Do you know what it feels like? Our bond, Mimi's and mine, was busted wide open that night. No matter what Mariella did, it remains open. Even I can't close it. That mounting panic, fear—her mind racing, flooding into mine—and I realized I'd kept Mariella out of it, hadn't even tried to make her endure it. I was protecting her, keeping every damn Salvatore busy as they have to keep the females secure, except Mimi. I was jealous. That love, that contentment, flooded into my mind as she woke, along with everything else."
Alaric smiled slightly. "So you're overwhelmed and feel responsible for her. Welcome to the club. Let me tell you that a creature can evoke emotions you never knew you possessed. She is a true miracle, and she has made me feel things I could not think I was able to anymore."
His voice was admiring, but there was a sense of Alaric knowing what and who Mimi was all about, again making jealousy flare up in Damon's soul.
Damon furrowed his brow, glancing at Alaric. He'd worked with Mimi, but what was he referring to?
"What do you mean? Sure, she's attractive, but she's still my wife, and I wasn't aware of…"
His voice took a sharper tone and even he knew it was not his place to dictate whom Mimi was bedding with. Still, Alaric talking about Mimi in that sense made him irritated.
Alaric shook his head. "Yes, she's good in bed, but let me tell you about working with her, during those seven years and beyond. She'd been banged up; Colin kept her on base, doing paperwork instead of field work. She'd have fevers, be restless, unable to move, often finding her sitting on the floor, working on papers pulled from her desk. She never asked for help, never showed weakness. It was frustrating. I've been a father; caring for others is natural to me. But this skinny brat, hissing like a jungle cat if disturbed too much… it was usually Wulfe who got her up. It was something to be seen, she was sitting, or even almost slumped in an awkward position in the floor, papers all over her, phone, too, she might be calling to someone, her voice weaker, she was pale, shaking but as if I asked her what her state was, answer was.."
Damon smiled. He filled Alaric's sentence, "I'm fine?"
So typical of Mimi; he understood that weakness never came easily to her. It must have been quite an ordeal for everyone to pitch in and care for her. This trip, however, revealed a vulnerability he hadn't expected.
He'd assumed, jealously even, that she was tougher than she let on. She might say she was fine, but this experience showed him otherwise—a revelation that was eye-opening for Damon as well. With an honest voice, he finally spoke aloud the truth he'd long suppressed. Perhaps this would mark a new beginning for all of them, a chance for him to confront his own biases about Mimi.
Looking at Alaric, he confessed, "I must confess, I tend to see her as incredibly strong, and I overlook that she might not always be. But I'm trying to learn."
Alaric replied, "Remember, Mimi sometimes talks about your past relationship—you taught her to be a woman. Why not continue those lessons? It's important to remember that a queen is a gigantic horse, and Mimi's no horse whisperer. A panicked feline on the back of an enormous horse often leads to unpleasant outcomes."
Damon nodded. "I'll keep that in mind and do my best to keep my promise. I have a favor to ask—it might be more than a small one, and you might catch some flak for it—but could you be my conscience? If you see me slipping into 'fucking machine mode' when I should be pack leader, could you remind me of my promise? I might get your face punched in for it, but still..." His glance was sharp as he looked at his friend; he was just backing himself up here.
Alaric nodded. "Sure, buddy. I can nag you. I can keep talking about what it means to be a pack leader, remind you it's your first job, and help you find solutions if necessary. You realize Magnum has been Mimi's conscience for most of their time. Wulfe grounds her, keeps her from being a neurotic mess, but Magnum reminds her of her purpose. There's nothing to be ashamed of in asking someone to remind you."
Alaric paused, frowning in concentration. Damon sensed his struggle. He had some thought in his mind, what eluded him like a fleeting butterfly in a summer meadow—elusive, yet within reach.
Soon, Alaric's expression brightened. "You should talk to Adam," he said. "He's been the pack leader for a long time. Being a werewolf isn't so different, and he probably has tons of good tips—though you might have to dig for them. He's likely taught Mimi more leadership skills than you, since she acts more like a pack leader than a human leader."
Damon furrowed his brow. Alaric's assessment was accurate, revealing new aspects of the pack. This was refreshing; his path as pack leader was only just beginning, and far less straightforward than he'd expected. Even though he had been the so-called packleader for over a century, it was virtually nothing as he had not been truly in his role for so long, but he had used his position almost as a power trip.
As a solitary vampire, his past rule had relied on fear and reputation, not actual leadership. He realized he needed to consult Mimi and others to assess their skills and learn from them. Alaric was right about Mimi's pack leadership style. For over a century, she'd led her organization through charisma alone—a remarkable feat. She rarely resorted to intimidation; fear was the last thing she wanted. Exceptions existed, of course, when her rage overwhelmed her.
Mimi's experience was a goldmine, and Damon envisioned himself one day leading the pack with similar pride. He knew he could do the job, but working alongside Mimi continually revealed new facets of the role and the extent of her power, responsibility, and skill.
First, he needed to establish himself as the pack leader. He mentally plotted their route, noting a suitable sparse forest for camp ahead. Mimi would need to hunt again soon; they'd had meat and fish throughout the week while she slept, but provisions were dwindling. He also anticipated needing some alone time for interrogation.
"Alaric," Damon said, "Could you take Mariella? I need some room on my horse."
Alaric nodded, allowing Damon to lift the unconscious woman and secure her in front of Alaric using energy. They waited for Charles, Adam, and Mimi to reach the top.
Damon still felt the burning panic that had threatened to overwhelm Mimi's mind; as her protector, he needed to address it. He cleansed himself and Thunder, his horse, with energy, removing any trace of Mariella, preparing to soothe Mimi once she arrived.
He was shocked by Mimosa's account of how close Mimi had come to death; the queen would have died, and Mimi would have been severely injured. Determined to prevent a recurrence, he vowed to eliminate any future risk. Despite the cold, the sun shone brightly, though snow was expected further on.
This trip offered a change of pace. Damon planned his next steps, starting with sharing supplies once they reached camp. He'd then assess their mutual needs, ending Mimi's habit of magically producing items from her saddlebags. He hadn't checked them while she was unconscious, out of respect; he wasn't that kind of bully, despite his occasional lapses.
Regarding Mariella's manipulation, Damon intended to access Mimi's mind to see her response; Mimi needed to remember her womanhood, rather than viewing herself as a genderless leader or creature.
Hearing Charles murmur to Mimi, Damon saw her grab him. Having made a promise to be a pack leader and doctor, he realized the consequences of that promise and accepted his role. He could feel a new type of magical radar opening in his mind. It showed all of the pack members, and it was his packleader radar; it was not as accurate as Protector's radar, but it showed distress and problems for each of the pack members.
His pack leader's radar revealed Charles had several cracked ribs and was draining from his fangs strong velvet; Hauptmann had also depleted his supply. Damon knew these velvets would be needed, so he informed Number Four, who carried a medical bag, to seize the sedatives for public use.
They would be used again to make a new batch of pack velvet, and it was necessary if Mimi or anyone else needed some sedation. So, pack velvet was created by all the pack members who were teeth vampires; it was a combination of their velvets, making it virtually impossible for Mimi to dismantle it wrongly and too quickly, as it was her little trick to poison herself and suffer a nasty hangover if she used only someone else's velvet. However, the combination worked much better.
Mimi's panic had lessened, but wasn't gone. Damon wouldn't leave her side until he was certain, through thorough probing, that the panic and any lingering memories were eradicated. This wasn't the time for a bout of MNDS (Mimi's nightmare distress syndrome), a condition he knew Mimi had and which the Salvatores were trying to treat.
It would drive her into a frenzy not to sleep, but to use her rage, her powers, and it usually manifested in nasty nightmares, balls or tangles in her mind, making her neurotic mess, unable to relax or enjoy.
Security, telepathic cleaning, and monitoring were crucial. A few hours of hard riding lay ahead before reaching the forest and camp, giving him time to improve Mimi's mental state and quell her panic.
Damon learned a valuable lesson—one he'd learned repeatedly—about persistence. No matter the blunders or mistakes, one must persevere, focusing on the goal. He'd made many mistakes, but he was rising above them, fixing what he'd broken, and acting as pack leader, doctor, and alpha male, caring for his mate.
It was simple. Mimi was in worse shape than Mariella; his pack leader and doctor instincts confirmed this. Mariella was stable and not distressed, but Mimi's rapid pulse and the flood of panic in Damon's mind indicated she needed help.
As an alpha male, it was clear his female was distressed, and he was determined to help and protect her, to keep her safe. This reasoning felt incredibly satisfying. Now, no matter Mariella's complaints, she had no leverage to pull him away from Mimi. Should Mariella become difficult, he had ways of dealing with her.
It was time for the pack to see him as their true leader. Damon took a deep breath, feeling the familiar surge of telepathy in his veins. He realized this wasn't about his long-dead twin brother, Damien, as he'd always believed. He'd thought his role was to fix Damien's mistakes, particularly his torture of Mimi.
However, it was more complex than that. He'd been fixing Mimi even after Damien's death, a peculiar situation. Perhaps Damien had broken Mimi irrevocably, requiring Damon's constant care, or maybe it stemmed from their biological connection—he was her biological half, alpha mate, and soulmate. This profound need to care for Mimi was absent from his relationship with Mariella. While he loved Mariella deeply, it was fundamentally different from his bond with Mimi.
As Charles and Adam reached the summit, Damon rode beside Charles, saying, "Give me Mimi. She's panicked; she needs a telepath, and you, my friend, have five cracked ribs, are bleeding profusely, and are planning on producing various substances. Now is not the time for being the apothecary of the year."
Charles grumbled, "I'm not sure you're the best choice. Wouldn't Wulfe be better? Her panic burns in my mind like wildfire, and I had gotten it lessened a bit."
Damon retorted, "Give her to me. Telepath here. I'm her protector, pack leader, doctor, and husband."
His tone brooked no argument. His expression sharpened, and his ice-cold blue eyes glared almost hostile manner at Charles. Charles had no choice but to gently loosen Mimi's death grip. And Damon swiftly took her, lifting her in front of him, stroking her until she, in turn, gripped him tightly as panic returned, causing him to wince audibly as his ribs snapped. Her fingers dug in back, and a sharp pain hit Damon. She was shaking, not making any sense.
"We'll reach the forest in a few hours," Damon told Charles. "There's a lake where you can fish, and we can camp there. But let's go."
Charles said, "As you see, she's gripping hard. I have no idea when she'll snap out of it, but my ribs are ready if you can't handle it."
Damon patiently replied, "Charles, she needs telepathy. I've got this. It was a close call, and I lost my grip, but I'm better now. Let's see how things are once we reach the campsite."
He reached for a remote for Mimi's flank organ, pressed the regulator to give a few puffs to relax Mimi, so he could slip into her mind, push the panic away, and prevent nightmares. The flank organ was made out of his tissues, and it was basically a reservoir of sedatives implanted inside her spine.
It was one of the tools used to control Mimi, as she could be dangerous in certain situations. Her body made the sedative, and Damon used a regulator to dose it into her bloodstream. The flank organ was programmed in her DNA, so it was her very own organ.
It was called the flank organ because conducts of sedatives were administered through her flanks into her lungs as well as her abdominal aorta. Originally, Damon had come up with a way of delivering sedatives in Mimi's lungs through her flanks, so those tiny injections, which Damon had used liberally, were called playfully as flanks.
They spurred their horses into a run, then a trot, and a few gallops. Despite the sedation, Mimi was gripping him tightly, but he gently eased her mind, clearing the oppressive panic so she could enjoy the rest of the trip, which was far from over. Damon felt a deep sense of satisfaction from helping Mimi, fixing her, realizing he'd been a fool to deny this feeling, which was almost better than Mariella's love.
He'd intended this trip as an apology, but it seemed to be a time of self-awareness for all of them. He knew that gleaning leadership insights from Mimi's mind would have to be subtle; she was too sharp to notice interrogation. Letting his mind wander, part of him relaxed, aiding his own healing, while another part worked to help her.
He felt their connection again—not entirely familiar, but he'd felt it before. Moments later, he realized their dragon scales were connected—their draconian link. They weren't dragons, but the scales provided a boost and connection. Mimi had grown for him a set from her set of scales, which she had gotten from the first dragons that she had saved, after he'd given her his life force, creating a profound bond. Damon felt smug about it; no one else had received scales; it was just his and Mimi's thing, and he wanted to keep it that way.