19. Macarena.

A few days had passed since Mariella's showdown, and I'd been working to get myself in better shape. I ignored the gossip and trash talk – I'd heard it all, and it left me numb. My plan was in motion; it was time to prepare my interrogation and ensure Damien's complete destruction. 

While reading an anatomy book about the supernatural, I was reminded of Mirella's demon anatomy books—solid works, which I still possess. This sparked memories of Mirella, my former vampire assistant. The entire arrangement, of course, had been Bran's idea: he'd found someone to place Mirella inside me as my vampiric transformation progressed.

However, the how and who remained unanswered questions. Mirella's task was to corrupt me, but things didn't go as Bran planned. Mirella, Bran's former lover, harbored resentment towards him, and I believe she witnessed his treatment of me. Yet, after gaining her freedom, Bran somehow influenced her—likely through potions, similar to those he used on Damien.

As a pretender and living lie detector, I knew Mirella wasn't entirely evil; the situation wasn't simply black and white. However, as with witches, once tainted, there's no return. The same principle, I suspect, applies to vampires, or at least to Mirella, whose corruption by Bran's potions left her beyond saving.

Losing her was a shock, prompting a purging of her influence. She had created wings, but they lacked something—Bran's ever-increasing control. Initially, she'd enthusiastically planned and created these things, but her passion waned, reducing her to just another pawn for Bran to manipulate. She was just one more pussy for Bran.

My hatred for Bran was intense, but nothing compared to my hatred for Damien. If anyone dared wake Bran, I would never forgive them, nor would I ever want to be near them again. I still didn't trust Bran, and I didn't believe metal poisoning was the sole reason for his evil; there was a deep-seated corruption within him that I sensed instinctively.

Conversely, I saw Samuel as a kind of rescue project, a victim I hoped to save someday, even though he'd been my clinician—more doctor than friend or partner—for most of my life, and had mended me countless times, more than Damon had. My thoughts drifted to my own mortality.

Would I always end up in the Magic House pod if something happened to me? Would Damon ever stop hating me enough to let Adam and Charles love and care for me? But then again, after carrying out my plan, would I even want love? My mind spiraled into a dark and increasingly chaotic mess of thoughts. I felt utterly beyond salvation, beyond any Salvatore, once my plan was complete.

Finally snapping out of it, I realized I needed to nourish my body to regain my strength. After all, I needed to be a convincing interrogator, and a living skeleton wouldn't cut it. I showered, changed clothes, leaving my belongings scattered across my room—no point in striving for tidiness; it's my life, my room. Pulling my hair into a high ponytail, I headed to the kitchen, already planning my meal.

However, as I walked, Mariella approached, saying, "Oh, you're already up and about. You weigh only 36 kilos! You should still be resting, but I understand men. Come to the kitchen, I'll explain."

I followed without arguing, patiently waiting for her explanation of why she reeked of a brothel. She wasn't exactly known for her frequent showers. I knew she had a grand explanation about what would make this damn fuckfest seem like a good idea.

Maybe the energy network needed boost or men needed unloading, it was never because of her lust, nope, even it was actually the main reason but she was so damn good to find other reasons for forcing more or less whole pack except me into orgy.

Mariella sat down at the table, and I walked to the other side of the table to sit.

She said, "It was Freya, Damien, and Sark. They made us forget you and made you forget us, and you forgot that you are human. You saw yourself as a magic cat. And Mimosa got through the spell, and it was a tight spot. Your next litter wouldn't have survived. They would have been stillborn, all 17 litters that were left. Damon barely got them rescued and put to sleep," she was looking at me as she explained.

I nodded and walked to the coffee machine to start my coffee. I knew who they were—the witches had told me—and I knew how precarious the situation had been. However, I also knew that unless those cubs had been Damon's, he wouldn't have cared. He saved them because they were his, not because of me.

Mariella said, trying to sound professional, "Now, I don't know what would have happened to him if that had happened. Plus, your cubs received a direct energy transfer from Damon before he even gave them away. He's very upset, as are all the Salvatores."

The coffee machine whirred to life, the aroma of coffee beans filling the kitchen as my coffee brewed. Mariella's nose twitched; she frowned, as if remembering there was more to life than sex.

Sighing, she continued, tapping her fingers on the table as she used to, "The thing is, the Salvatore rage is building, and I've been trying to defuse it. But they're being vindictive. If they attack Freya directly, it could be a declaration of war on Nick. That's why the men are busy; Adam and Charles are still enraged. Try to understand. Damon made your food. Please eat something. I'm sorry about my reaction to the incident with number two and your… 'little thing' in bed. I understand it would have been beneficial for you to have sex, but he was about to lose control, and I wasn't sure if he'd become violent. It was wrong for number one to drain your energy; I've stopped it, as he weakened you for no reason."

I looked at her; she seemed unsure if she wanted to eat, but her slightly irritated expression suggested someone was speaking to her telepathically. Her reference to having sex with one of my husbands as a "little thing" was deeply insulting, delivered with a dismissive tone that implied I was inadequate in bed and she was a better option.

"Okay, I got it," I said. "I'm a survivor, as you know. Don't worry about it. But...never mind, it's just my ponderings, unrelated to what happened. There's old bad blood between Damon and me—much more than you can imagine—and that's what's caught up to us. However, as you've probably noticed, the other Salvatores don't have that baggage, so they want me, and I might let them. Old stuff, forget it. Number Two is special; he's much more 'my Damon' than Number One, and no love potion can change that. Speaking of potions..."

Mariella furrowed her eyebrows. "Damon said almost the same thing," she said. "I'll get that information out of you one day. I want to know about this bad blood, and what you wanted to ask."

My voice was contemplative. "Well, I'm not sure if Damon told you about the vampire potion and how Bran used it, or some version of it, to draw Damien out. I remember Mirella wasn't bad at first, even though it was Bran's idea to put her inside me, but she changed after she got out. I was just wondering if Bran warped her with some kind of potion. I know there was no saving her, but it's just another reason to hate Bran more. You haven't dealt much with Bran, so your perspective might differ, but I won't trust him if he ever wakes up, not at all."

Mariella pursed her lips. "Sure, potions can warp someone, and I have no idea what Bran might get his hands on. Damon told me some of what Bran has done, but not all. He's not entirely bad; sure, he's done morally questionable things and had his weak moments, but considering he's several millennia old, you can't expect him to be like you."

This confirmed one of my theories, but it wasn't the time to reveal everything. I stood up, went to the coffee machine, got my coffee, and then got my food from the table. 

Mariella then stood up and teleported away. I thought to myself, it's going to take a while, if ever. My trust in Bran, not gonna happen, and I suspected that when the truth would finally come out, whatever it might be, it would change everything, more or less. 

I got my food and began eating, but I was only on my first plate when Number Five walked in. Having just showered, he sharply eyed my plate, grunted softly, snatched it up, and went to the fridge for more. I rolled my eyes, only to feel a searing pain in my neck as he sank his fangs in. I was in no mood to be a meal, so I reacted instantly, grabbing him, throwing him off, and standing up, my eyes blazing.

He smirked. "Woah, young lady," he said, "put the rage down. I just needed a taste; you must be quite tense."

I nodded. "Sorry," I said, "old habits. I'm not in the mood to be a meal, and I don't like being ambushed."

"Sit down," he said. "I'll give you what you actually need, what you want. You tend to follow your wants, not your needs, but then again, you probably have no idea what you need."

I sat back down, poured a cup of coffee, and sipped it while he busied himself in the fridge, preparing my food.

"Why aren't you unloading?" I asked. "Meaning, being Mariella's little pussyslave?"

He furrowed his brow as he brought me a full plate, sat beside me, and said, "I'm much like Number Two. I was in the Pope's ring when you were almost…coined. I had no idea if you'd pull through, and I'm no monk; it didn't make me holier or calmer. On the contrary, my frustration, my need to save you, created this ball of anguish inside me, and it turned into a passion for…well, playing with Mariella's chakras, or something else, as she's not you."

I was surprised. "You know," I said, "she's jealous. She's sinking her nails into you, giving you potion after potion until you're all hers."

Damon smirked, touched my cheek as he used to, and said, "Let her try, baby, let her freaking try. It just gives me more leeway to have my fun with her."

There was something in his eyes as he touched a knife on the table. "I mean," he said, "if she ever needs a night of rest…I can grant her a night like no other."

I remained silent, though secretly pleased to see these wilder versions of Damon. Mariella, however, might get burned if she played with fire; one is bound to get scorched, getting too close to the sun.

He looked at me and said, "Something's bothering you, and it's serious. You're hiding something nasty, and as usual, you're tight-lipped. Want to share?"

I sighed, took another bite of meat, chewed, and washed it down with cola before answering. "I have something I need to do, something that will take me to a nasty place. I'm not sure what I'll find, but I must do it. I can't tell you, or anyone, but someone knows my plan, and someone's helping me. When it's over, you might want nothing to do with me. I understand, and that's the price."

Number Five looked at me. "Now I'm curious. What are you planning that carries such a heavy price? I'm an ancient being, a Merlin-class wizard; surely I can help."

I nodded, continuing my meal for a few minutes, considering how much I could reveal. But he was a telepath; if I didn't satisfy his curiosity, he'd delve into my mind. I'd have to give him something, anything, and hope Mariella kept him busy as well.

"I'm furious! Damien, Sark, Freya—they performed that spell, and my cubs almost died! I'm beyond furious, and I won't sit idly by while Number One gets what he wants with Mariella. I may not be the leader anymore, but I have contacts, and I'll tell them what happened."

Number Five furrowed his brow. "Revenge is good," he said slowly, "but why would this take you to a nasty place if others are doing the heavy lifting?"

I replied, "Because I'm going to let my darker aspects come out—the ones you've suppressed time and time again. Let me tell you, they're much stronger now, and I might not be able to push them back if I don't want to. But it's time my opinion was heard, and I won't ask permission."

I allowed a bit more of my killer instinct to surface, letting him feel it. His surprised expression showed just how powerful it was. 

He looked at me and said, "I understand, and believe me, I'd want nothing more than to let that part of me go and be with you as you rain hell. But, number first, he's connected us to some kind of hive, and he rules us, controls us. I just can't. I'm sorry. I wish you luck, I hope you accomplish something. Maybe, just maybe, the time has come for me to do something—perhaps push that part back to sleep or something."

He stood up, walked away, and I guessed Number One had ordered him back to bed, between Mariella's legs, to satisfy her needs—to be her gigolo, essentially. I took a deep breath, hoping he'd be occupied, forgetting this and letting sex consume him, as it so easily did for them. There was no need to dwell on my plan; it was time to exact my revenge on Damien and begin dismantling him and his backup plans permanently.