37. Who Knew?

I walked in last, leaving my outer garments in the hallway. As I entered the first floor, my steps led me to my nursery. To my dismay, it was now an empty room. Everything had been taken - the flooring, wallpapers, everything. Perhaps it was for the best. I didn't need reminders of this right now. I knew the babies were in loving families, the safest place for them.

No Sark or krycheck would ever get to them. Yet, the emptiness of the room surprised me. The pain tearing through my soul felt like a badge of honor, a sign that time had meant something, that it had affected my soul, my heart, and my life. But now, I needed to wind down.

Most of the pack members, including Wulfe and Magnum, were with Mariella. She wanted a lot of comforters and men around her, as well as other females. After all, we were a lust pack, so it wasn't a big surprise for me.

I walked into the bloodroom with a grim expression on my face. I took my jug and started to collect my blood. It was not the time to do this by the book. I was feeling too much and needed to relax.

Our bloods were coded by color and strength - white, orange, red, blue, violet, and black, from weakest to strongest. Each bag had five color codes, indicating the intensity of the blood. This new system, devised by Colin, Wulfe, and the Salvatores, was more accurate than the old one. I was collecting 18 bags, aiming for at least three black ones and none of white. I wanted the strongest blood possible.

I was going to drink until I felt better. It might not have been the best option, but I wasn't sure what would be perfect for me. I was learning to feel, and this mechanism allowed me to feel while keeping the pain under control enough to continue experiencing. 

In the darkness of the bloodroom, only candles flickered here and there; they were real ones but spelled, hence they lasted forever. A sharp scent of iron and power wafted in the air as I poured my bags into my jug; some types of blood were almost black.

In this dim light, it looked like a sort of tar as it flowed into the jug. I placed the bags in the trash bin and took my big spoon, which I used to mix the blood into a homogenous mixture so that every drop was the same.

The bloodroom's dark mahogany floors had a few rugs on them, and tall, imposing cabinets full of blood bags gave it a very vampiric feeling. As I made my preparations, my mind wandered.

There were plenty of perfect chairs and huge sinking sofas for each of us to choose from where to indulge in our blood meals.

After filling three liters, I sat in my chair with my jug next to me on a dainty table, along with my crystal glass. I poured five glasses and downed them in one go, more or less, before the blood hit me and made me feel a little calmer. It was working.

As the blood took effect and the room dimmed, there was no one else but me and all of my regrets, experiences, and maybe some good times, too. I reminisced about the times with my babies before this moment, the good and the bad.

Sometimes made me question my worth as a wife and as a woman, times I longed to hide from. But my babies had been the one thing that kept me feeling, wanting to experience everything with them.

This moment was a brief snippet of my life, a cycle of good and bad times. I then started to reminisce about my time in the first version of Fleas, and how things were different back then. I had some optimism in me back then, but too many losses and too few victories wore that optimism down into cynicism and realism.

I recalled the late-night conversations at the bar after good gigs, with people who are no longer alive and whose children are now in Fleas, but they are old too, and most families have moved on.

I thought about talking to Tim and Taylor, a few of those children still around, about this. Maybe it's time to share some of these memories and reflections with them. 

I poured glass after glass, drinking at my leisure, but not too slowly. I could feel a buzz in my mind, though my bitter pain still lingered. This buzz allowed my mind to wander, reminding me that pain was not the only thing consuming me. Despite feeling bitter, angry, and in pain, I wanted others to understand my suffering.

It felt necessary for them to sense my pain, acknowledge my emotions, and recognize that I was not just an ice queen, but a lonely, bitter mom who had to part with her babies too soon.

As I contemplated my existence, I considered myself an immortal and unkillable creature with a complex identity. If I were to be classified as a hybrid, I would be more than just a simple mix of two beings. I am a vampire, with my own vampire side, and a shifter capable of assuming over 30 forms, with even more exotic ones accessible through my willpower.

Moreover, my mind exhibits feline-like qualities, adding to my supernatural essence as a jaguar in human form. It's amusing how remnants of my original self still reside within me, perhaps fueled by memories that evoke such feelings.

In my attempt to define myself, I realized I could be best described as a chimera rather than a hybrid. I embody two beings in one body, or perhaps even three. I am a triple alpha - an alpha vampire, exceptionally strong; an alpha shifter, the pinnacle of my kind; and an alpha female, a dominant presence that transcends species distinctions. 

Perhaps it was my drunken state that led me to ponder this and that, or maybe it was just my mind wandering again. I didn't know, and I wasn't in the mood to try to figure it out. I was feeling a certain way, and soon the entire pack would feel it, too. I cynically thought that it would drive them to engage in more intimate activities, but I decided to let it be. I didn't care.

I poured myself another glass, drank it, and mumbled to myself, slurring my words slightly, "Time to hive and face their queen and her issues. No more hiding. Let's see if they will continue to hide like ostriches. I won't."

I focused, closed my eyes, and entered the middle of the hive. I could feel everyone and was connected to them, but not many of them felt my presence. Charles noticed me, but he was preoccupied with Shadow as he was pounding her. I sensed his guilt. Adam, Damon, and multiple Salvatores were with Mariella, pleasuring her, and she seemed to enjoy it with no pain. I observed her closely and felt for her.

It was a surprise that the babies had to go, but the freedom to engage in such activities as wild fucking seemed to outweigh that loss. Who cares about losing those experiences with them? I do.

Mimosa and Shadow seemed to be dealing with similar issues, as there had been sickness and other challenges to overcome. Giving up the babies was not a big deal for them.

However, I was surprised by the genuine sorrow felt by Murdock, Dexter, Alaric, Colin, and Wulfe. They missed the babies, and it affected them deeply. Wulfe, in particular, seemed to be impacted almost as much as I was, even though he was currently with Mariella at her request. Let's see how long it takes for them to notice my presence.

I made my voice heard in the hive, declaring, "It is time for this pack to acknowledge me. You ignore me because you choose to, not using our hive to its full potential. Are you all cowards or just plain ignorant, viewing the hive as inferior to the pack?"

That remark was directed at Damon. I sensed him coming online, starting to notice me and others, feeling the pain of men, and being surprised and guilty for not experiencing such pain himself.

I continued, "It is time for you to recognize the alpha female of this pack, to share my pain, my burden, and all of me."

I allowed my raw, unfiltered pain to flood the hive, revealing it to each pack member, letting them experience my emotions and the impact it had on me, the plans I had made and the things I had yet to witness, all ruined because of jealousy spurred by childish actions, exposing our young ones to our enemies. It was a difficult moment.

After my pain subsided, no one spoke. I could sense a range of emotions, from pity to regret to amazement and disbelief. I chose to remain silent, allowing them to contemplate. I maintained my connection to the hive, pouring another glass and sipping my potent blood mix, making sure the pack was aware of my actions.

While they were engaged in mating, I was drinking blood, becoming intoxicated, but managing it well. Alone in the dimly lit bloodroom, my third jug almost empty, I was struggling to stay awake, my grip on the hive slipping as I became drunk with blood, nearly passing out.

Bitterly muttering to myself, I attempted to pour another glass, finding it increasingly challenging as my coordination faltered, my vision blurred, and my body disobeyed me. Nevertheless, I craved more blood, determined to render myself unconscious. 

But I wanted to give one last lesson to the pack, allowing them to truly feel each other without any pretense.

My slurring voice echoed through the hive, proclaiming, "This could be a blessing or a curse, but the time for pretense is over. Now, I will let you feel each other without hiding, so that we all know who is suffering and who is not."

Before anyone could react, I unleashed my powers and tore down the walls between each pack member, exposing their raw emotions for all to feel. This would reveal to Wulfe and the others who were suffering just how little it had meant to Damon and Mariella.

There would be no room for fancy excuses or half-truths this time. The time for self-pity was over once and for all. This was a permanent arrangement - they would feel each other's emotions all the time, not just for a few minutes, but for days and weeks to come.

As I continued to drink, determined to see this through, I allowed the pack to engage in whatever activities they pleased, even if it meant indulging in pleasure between the sheets.

My bitter thoughts were clouded and confused, and I realized at some point that Mariella had entered and was attempting to stop me from drinking.

Despite my inebriation, I summoned my willpower and forcefully pushed her meters away. I was already angry, and now this woman dared to interfere and try to make me stop.

My hand fumbled for the glass, taking several attempts before I finally managed to pour blood into it and hold on to it, sipping the bitter liquid that matched my current state of mind.

As Mariella observed Mimi trying to drink herself into a stupor with blood, she grew concerned. She knew this wasn't the right path for Mimi, who was volatile, bitter, and angry. Mariella needed help, so she reached out to Damon through their telepathic connection.

Worried about Mimi, she said, "Damon, are you available? Mimi is consuming an extremely potent mixture that exudes power and resembles tar. She is using her willpower as telekinesis, and her anger is escalating. Can you help her calm down, or should I just let her drink herself into a stupor, despite her intense frustration?"

Damon sighed, feeling the weight of Mariella's empathy towards Mimi's pain. It had been a jolting experience for him, impacting his emotions and desire to assist. The incident where Mimi tore down walls to share the pain of Wulfe, Magnum, and others losing their babies had left Damon feeling inadequate.

Despite being present, he had not formed such a deep connection with his children. He yearned for that bond, but felt like a failure. Now, with pack and hive members suffering, Mimi's anguish had seared into his soul like a raging inferno, and he struggled to manage it, much like the other Salvatores. 

After Damon went to shower, Mariella asked him to come, and he took a deep breath before teleporting to the door of the bloodroom. The teleportation block had been lifted after the babies had left.

As he walked into the bloodroom, the smell of very strong blood hit him, causing his fangs to pop down. He had to focus to pull them back in; now was not the time. Mimi was sitting in her chair, holding a glass full of blood mixture that looked black in the dim light. She raised the glass to her lips, sipped some, and her lips glistened wetly with blood as she lowered the glass.

Mariella stood nearby but not too close, as Mimi had thrown her five times already. She warned Damon in a low voice, "Be careful. I have felt her little telekinesis blast five times, and not even my magic can counteract it. Should we let her drink herself out cold?"

Damon shook his head and replied, "No, it won't help. She is brimming with power, and it won't solve the issue. I still haven't figured it out."

Mariella asked, "Figured what out?"

Damon sighed and explained, "Her bloodlust is tightly connected to her feelings, much more than ours or even Wulfe's. It messes with her head. She tries to maintain strict control, but this new version feels different, triggering her bloodlust. I've sworn to help her with this for a long time, but if Wulfe can't help her, how can I?"

Mariella pointed out, "But you see, the whole Salvatore hive was created to care for her and help her. Wulfe may be old, but he loves her just like the others do."

Damon frowned and asked, "Who are you referring to?"

Mariella looked near Mimi and mentioned, "Ghosts. Jake and Rob. They are here, visible to me. They wanted to meet me. They are fiercely protective of her and gave me a long lecture about how I've been neglecting her. They have quite a vocabulary."

Damon's brows raised as he sensed no one, but he accepted it and said, "Fine, let me see if I can handle the situation. We need to get her to sleep it off, but it won't be easy."

Mariella nodded, smiling wistfully.

I was getting annoyed when Damon barged in, and soon he was crouching next to my chair, grasping my wrist to stop me from taking another sip of my blood mix.

He said, "My love, this is not the way. I know I've caused you pain, and I'm sorry. I didn't realize how much I took from you. This isn't helping. Come on, baby, you know it."

I muttered to myself, "Like you care. If I hadn't let you feel me, you would still be fine, fucking away like you always do. Save your concerned act for someone who cares."

Damon sighed and said, "You're angry and drunk, and your tongue is as sharp as ever. Let's go."

He took my glass, handed it to Mariella, and said, "Put them in the fridge. Let Wulfe analyze them at some point."

Mariella obeyed like the little poodle she was, I thought bitterly.

Damon stood up, picked me up in his arms, and said, "Come on, let's get you some rest and sober up, then we'll figure out what to do next."

I wasn't in the mood for their pity party; I was furious. So, I used my odorless vampiric pheromones. I could smell Damon taking them in, and soon they would affect him, causing a vampire heat like no other.

However, my drunken state prevented me from controlling my pheromones, and the outburst affected Mariella too. There would be quite the vampire heat for them ahead.

As Damon carried me to a bedroom, Mariella prepared the bed. Damon undressed me, slipped a nightgown on me, tucked me in, and sank his fangs into my throat. I could feel velvet flooding my system as my mind completely shut down, and darkness enveloped me in a place free from pain, loss, and regret.