28. Rasputin.

We had all eaten and were sitting by the campfire, each with our saddlebags. It was time for revelations: a circle where we each showed something from our bags. There were a few rules—no clothes (new or used)—but otherwise, anything went.

Damon had skillfully framed this as a boasting session, encouraging each pack member to impress the others. He started, displaying his knife collection, wrapped in soft leather. The glint in his eyes made my inner vortex stir, but this wasn't the time. As an alpha pair, I was next.

I produced five small, heavy boxes. "Well," I said, "one can find all kinds of nifty things on Facebook. I'll admit, I'm a victim of well-made ads. I bought some of these—in fact, my mattress and pillows are also from Facebook ads."

I opened a box, revealing a set of seven thin steel pipes, about the size of Charles's thumb and 15 centimeters long.

Damon asked, "And what might this be? Some kind of tool?"

I assembled the pipes into a walking stick. "It's not aluminum, but a special steel alloy—light, but incredibly strong. I realize walking sticks aren't very useful for horseback riding, but..."

I opened another box, revealing shorter, thicker pieces. I added a short attachment to the stick, creating a pointed end. "Now it can be used as a javelin or spear if needed. Like I said, I'm a victim of ads."

Charles stood, grabbed the stick, and tested it. With patient softness, but steel in his voice and a flash of irritation in his eyes, he said, "Honey, I love you, but for goodness' sake, considering I'm in charge of fishing, wouldn't it be helpful to share this spear? It might have helped us catch a little more."

He kept the stick.

Damon didn't need it; Adam, equally unhappy, approached me, taking the box containing the stick ends. Other Damons also took one, numbers two, and ten, leaving me to distribute the rest.

Damon patiently and calmly said, "Baby, learn to share. I know I told everyone to keep their belongings, but use your common sense. Surely you've seen us sharing and talking? If you'd told us about these earlier, things would be easier, but we still have time. Let's see what others have."

Mariella had washing strips—a detergent alternative—but lost them when Damon implemented new washing rules. Clothes washing became a group effort; those with time would wash, while drying would be done by spell or at night during camping trips, eliminating the need for everyone to wash clothes at the river. Consequently, everyone had to contribute their washing supplies, and to my surprise, few had reserved any. I did, but had to give mine away.

Teamwork was becoming routine. Mimosa and Shadow then contributed skincare items like lip balms and lotions, and travel-sized shampoos and soaps—again emphasizing sharing, as not everyone, like Constantine, had remembered to bring shower soap; he only had a bar of soap, which Mariella advised him to discard because of its irritating effect on his skin. 

Salvatore's tools were examined, but everyone now knew what he possessed. Wulfe had flashlights, glowsticks, and candles—no need for magic when simpler methods worked. Damon, however, was unimpressed, having used spells for illumination and feeling Wulfe hadn't shared his candles.

I wasn't the only one to face scrutiny; when my turn arrived, Damon instituted a new rule: he would select an item from each pack, and we would explain it. He chose my veterinary kit. It seemed he somehow had snatched my secrets or the fact that this was not good for share according to me from my mind and his curiosity was burning.

"My dear," he sneered, turning the locked box in his hands, "what treasures do we find within?"

His inability to open it only increased his irritation. He tilted his head, his gaze unfriendly.

"Open it, my wife."

I retrieved my key, a spell-enhanced bracelet acting as a wrist tattoo—a detail that further fueled Damon's annoyance.

"These are essential supplies," I calmly explained, "a precaution, not a sign of distrust in your healing abilities. It's simply responsible."

I opened the kit, revealing detomidine, romidifine, a numbing agent, horse antibiotics, a portable sonography machine, hoof-care instruments, a suture kit, and other tools. Silence followed.

Damon took the kit, examined the drugs, glared at me, and then, after several deep breaths, said in a cold, quiet voice, "Explain yourself further."

My voice remained calm and professional, though my alpha side yearned to slap him. "I'm the only veterinarian in this pack," I stated. "We have thirty horses. Do any of you know how to treat colic, a hoof injury, or other equine ailments? You've cared for horses, but you aren't vets. This kit contains essential supplies for emergencies—not that I anticipate or desire any medical issues for our horses."

Colin smiled reassuringly. But Damon, number four, was the first to speak.

His ice-blue eyes glared sharply as he held his kit, his voice laced with determination and displeasure. "These drugs are now under our control—under my control. You're our vet on paper, but after this trip, that changes. However, there are others. You know we're telepaths; we can extract information from your mind if necessary. We can solve most problems with our magic. Prepare if you wish, but don't use those drugs!" He gestured to the vials, clearly agitated.

Number one then asked, "Give us an example where your skills would be necessary and our magic would be insufficient."

I rolled my eyes, having noticed Queen's slightly lame back hoof. It wasn't serious, and I suspected what the problem was. Standing up, I approached Queen, followed by the rest of the pack.

"Is anything wrong with Queen? Use your magic, experience, whatever."

Charles, ever cocky, examined Queen, running his hands over her body, lifting her legs, checking her teeth.

Finally, he declared, "Nope, she's fine. Impress me, honey."

I told Damon, "You two check her out and confirm she's fine." Damon and several Salvatores examined the increasingly irritated Queen, who tossed her head and neighed.

Damon concluded, "Nope, she's fine. Tell us peons what you've found that we haven't."

I took my kit from Damon, selected a slender hook, and, raising Queen's hind leg, propped it between my knees.

"Watch," I said. "Her gait was slightly uneven, nothing sinister, just something my veterinary training picked up on."

Probing with the hook, I snagged something. Wiggling it slightly, I dislodged a tiny, sharp piece of rock. It was small, but its sharp edge, combined with Queen's weight, had embedded itself like a splinter. I removed the shard and handed it to Damon.

He examined it, saying, "Surely that wasn't the cause."

"See," I said, "it had gotten quite deep. She's a heavy horse, and as she galloped, it went deeper. It didn't seem too bad, but it altered her gait. As you saw, there was no mark on her hoof where the rock went in—a sharp edge had simply pierced it. Once, during my studies, I encountered a similar case. Actually, several Arabians had become agitated. This lovely old vet—he saw the problem immediately.

Damon said, "So, tell us more."

I nodded. "The vet had noticed, after the stable owner mentioned their new gravel path—just casual conversation, really. But the gravel was poor quality, cheap stuff, full of tiny shards. The horses had been walked daily on that path to pasture, and these slivers had worked their way into their hooves. The Arabians, being feisty, became quite agitated. We spent hours digging those slivers out. He showed me how to locate them using sonography; it was simply a matter of extraction. The owner was less than thrilled, of course. He'd changed the gravel to prevent further incidents, but not all the horses were his; he rented stables to others, and they were responsible for upkeep."

Damon nodded. "Fun story. And yes, we'll be vets soon enough. As you can feel, baby, there are curious telepaths in your mind right now, educating themselves. I suggest you don't fight us too much, unless you want a hell of a headache."

I nodded, sensing the Salvatores in my mind. I knew they were relentless. One might consider it cheating, but they're already surgeons, possessing considerable skill and knowledge—they're simply expanding their expertise. There wasn't much I could do. 

I simply sat there, letting them delve into my mind without resistance. Colin watched me anxiously; I sensed his displeasure regarding the drugs. Number Four was actively searching within my mind, trying to pinpoint where I'd obtained them. However, as a zoo veterinarian, my access was readily apparent.

Number One, meanwhile, was subtly suggesting-or, or perhaps implanting the idea—that he would prevent my future access to certain drugs, citing his role as my guardian and the potential for others to use the drugs against me. He had numerous clever schemes to limit my work and proximity to the drugs.

While I could have been irritated, my status as a hive queen allowed me to access their deeper motives. I saw flashes from their memories of Annaliese poisoning me with etorphine—a traumatic event for all of them, especially Wulfe, who was also working to keep me away from those drugs. Their actions, while slightly irritating, stemmed from worry and care; a form of TLC. I simply needed to accept this fierce protection.

I then produced a small package from my saddlebags, seemingly a fabric shroud.

"This is from a recent camping fair," I explained. "As you've noticed, supplies can be bulky and heavy. Tents and mattresses, while foldable, still take up space. And if you're camping somewhere warm and don't need a tent, this might be useful."

Opening the package and unrolling it, I continued, "This netting can support up to 200 kg per 0.5 square meter, making it durable and easy to use. It's compact, unlike stiff nylon cord, yet as you can see, the thin, interwoven filaments create a strong, non-sparse fabric."

I offered it to Adam first. "It can be cut to size without unraveling," I said, answering his unspoken question.

"How much do you have?"

"Quite a lot," I replied. "I brought it for hammock sleeping or general netting needs. I'm not sure about fishing—we lack boats and it depends on the size of the fish—but it has many uses."

Damon grunted, then, wanting to study it, said, "You amaze me. I must say, I know most of these things are pretty damn practical, and I hadn't even realized how ill-fitted some of my choices have been. I mean, I should have thought like this."

I replied, "Well, I could spin myself into some clever, resourceful creature and say it was all in my mind, but let's be honest—it's all because of my experiences. Imagine spending a week in a cool Utah forest, sleeping on a bed of dry hay and moss, trying to stay dry during a rainstorm while on a scouting mission. You remember that feeling and swear it won't happen again. Or picture yourself in a vast Bavarian forest, sleeping on the sodden forest floor, surrounded by millions of trees where you could hang a hammock if you had one. My memory provides excellent lessons, and I've sworn this and that to myself under less-than-ideal circumstances, so I know what to prioritize—like a decent amount of underwear. After spending time in the forest, I nearly developed a heat. I had spent three days there, and the heat had gone away, but I was on a schedule with no time to change my clothes, as I was on an emergency mission. Unfortunately, it was to a facility conducting strange experiments, mostly on naked young adults with piercings and such. Well, humans smell my heat as arousal, and let's just say those rescuers didn't exactly meet me with loyalty. I heard a few mutter something about my 'kinks,' even though I saved them. They had smelled my condition. Because of that, I always carry clean underwear."

This made Mariella smile, Mimosa laugh as she recalled a similar experience, and several Salvatores raised their eyebrows. As I said, my life has been varied, and I have my reasons for carrying so much.

At least I can provide some comedic relief. Never mind, my reputation—I don't have one! This trip was full of surprises, as our lives are, and somehow I knew the surprises were just beginning. 

Sharing my stories proved surprisingly funny and even educational. This was a novel experience; I'd always considered such moments boring, hardly worth mentioning. However, seeing my pack listen intently, discussing my seemingly mundane tales and incidents, or sharing similar experiences, or swearing they'd never find themselves in such situations, brought a profound sense of belonging, far surpassing anything I'd known before.

Perhaps this could become my new normal. I realized I had a wealth of such amusing incidents, and so did others. Not everything needs to be traumatic or dramatic; sometimes, the smallest stories have the greatest impact.