Saying goodbye to Queen and the other mares was bittersweet; they had been perfect companions throughout the journey. I would miss them terribly, unsure if I'd ever see them again, but at least they would have fulfilling lives with their foals. Their soft whinnies echoed one last time before Salvatore teleported them away.
Now, I would resume my role as a wife, cared for and dependent, a stark contrast to the weeks I'd spent not sleeping but letting my neurosis run wild after incapacitating Wulfe with drink.
My neurosis, a near-obsessive need for activity, had bloomed then—a direct result of my "Mimi's Nightmare Distress Syndrome," as Charles had long ago diagnosed. This meant sleeplessness, a mental knot of self-blame, self-hate, nightmares, and an obsessive need to constantly move.
Charles's treatment was simple: he held me, put me to bed, and made me sleep. Once it took hold, I could sleep for over a week, neglecting food and bathroom breaks. The sense of safety and love he provided quieted my mind, resolving my distress unless triggered anew.
But as alpha, and even more so now, I concealed this condition. Charles had sensed it, but I'd become adept at hiding it. Wulfe's increased presence made concealment harder, yet I remained skillful—until Number Two exposed my problem to the entire pack.
I questioned whether my struggles should be everyone's concern; Mariella and Number One were clearly disturbed, and Salvatores swarmed around me. Number Two, however, remained close, holding me as our saddlebags were redistributed and lightened for the horses.
Number Two murmured, "My love, as we continue, tell me exactly what happened, and I'll see what I can do. Talking helps, but as you've witnessed, I'm tired of that gossipy telltale spilling secrets to Number One. No one wants to talk to her; she's a walking spy. Let's see if she ever learns. You'll also be sleeping and eating properly—no more starving yourself. I'll be keeping an eye on you, but I'm not the only one. The Salvatores and Wulfe are involved. Wulfe has issues with your domes, so he might tamper with your mind, linking your will to his. He'll feel it when you use your will, not stopping you, but knowing and monitoring your actions. I can do that too."
I was confused, and lyrics from "Breaking the Habit" echoed in my mind. I had bad habits, but could I break my tendency to get mentally twisted, my neurosis, or my habit of covering my weaknesses?
This trip was full of surprises, and I couldn't predict their future impact. Would we learn anything? Should I just adopt a wifely role, something I haven't done much in the past? But realistically, I have my organization to run, plus the ever-present threat of a world-saving mission.
What if I had to leave without telling anyone? Would they understand or just assume? And what about the breeding season? Number One was the only one to get me pregnant, but would there be another breeding season, and would I be involved?
My neurotic mind raced until Number Two's love flooded my mind, calming or distracting me from tying myself in knots.
He murmured in my mind, "Oh, my poor baby, you're a freaking mess, but worry not. Once we get going, Wulfe, Lepard, Salvatores, and I will clean this up. You've got some talented knotting here, but we'll help."
He squeezed me harder. I heard Mariella say, "Of course she had to do that; she has to have them all and make me the bad guy. I was just trying to help her."
Number One snapped, "My love, 'helping'? You used what she told you to get me into this mess, too. It takes time for me to get my head sorted, so don't assume I'm overly loving."
He was furious. I sensed his unhappiness and confusion. He, too, saw my past flaws—the ones that had torn us apart. He sought reasons to hate himself, but there were few.
It wasn't other women or Damien; it was me. As I grew stronger, more skilled, and more dangerous, his focus shifted. He saw me as a challenge, then as something to possess, a trophy—a prize to be controlled. Unlike other women who cooed and crooned at his care, I fought back.
This cycle changed our love. He needed to possess me; I needed my own life. I was no trophy, and I wasn't sure if there had ever been a way out, if it hadn't been too late. Our love had irrevocably changed.
He'd been timidly trying to love me again, and here I was, rubbing it all in his face. No wonder he was with Mariella. As I said, I have no filter regarding what, whom, or how I share.
Wulfe said in my mind, "Oh, my unicorn, it's not that simple. Number Two will help, as will I. Your dome was a masterpiece—thank you! I know how to make this better and untangle this mess. It takes time, but we'll get there. And what Number Two did to Mariella was exactly right. Don't doubt it. It makes Number One look like a weak leader with Mata Hari spying, and Mariella looks plain stupid. Let's see what they learn from this blunder. I'm not optimistic."
His voice was both bored and protective, and I felt almost overwhelmed. It was the feeling you get when a long-held secret is finally revealed—the exhausting weight of secrecy giving way to overwhelming relief. At times, it felt almost too much to bear.
Yet, somehow, I'd found someone who understood, someone who caught me, and for that, I was incredibly grateful. It had been exhausting being such a neurotic mess, constantly perceiving and hiding my weaknesses.
Number Two said, "Oh, baby, we'll have so much fun. And I'm not sure I'll let you ride anyone else's horse but mine. I might keep you all to myself for the rest of the trip. Not bad, not bad at all. As for Number One's possessiveness, I'll talk to you about it once we're on the move. I'll help you see it's not your fault, it's just who he is. And his timid love? He's tried, and he might get there. Again, don't see something that isn't there; you aren't pushing him away. You only gave Mariella a weapon, and she's using it—for how long, I have no idea."
Then it was time to go. Number Two had his saddle ready and mounted his horse with ease. He then scooped me up and placed me in front of him, my back against his chest. He wrapped an arm around my waist, and I felt a magical sense of security envelop me.
It didn't feel like he was trapping me, but rather sheltering and protecting me. I saw Charles and others with women in front of them as well, including Mariella with Number One, and she looked happy.
The horse's rolling gait jostled me, and I realized I couldn't keep up. It was uncomfortable, but survivable.
Number Two interrupted my thoughts, asking, "Now tell me exactly what's on your mind?"
My internal monologue responded: "Well, do you remember how things were in the beginning? The shop, New York, our life at home, even my teaching—it all changed. It lost something. He became obsessed with possessing me, seeing me more as a trophy than a loved one. Our therapy sessions certainly played a part, but his lessons did too, especially that long one in Austria. From the start, he shouldn't have treated me like that. And I realized that while he's my counterbalance, my control over my chaos, I was actually the cause of this change in him. I became much harder to control, forcing him to up his game, and our love became a collateral victim of our war."
Number Two grunted. "First," he said, "I must say that Number Five and my session in Austria wasn't my finest hour, and I don't want to explain it, or have you try to understand why we did it. But first, let me tell you a story. My love, you're wonderful, but you're still raw, even naïve."
I blinked. Raw, perhaps, but naïve? I had no idea what he was talking about.
He continued, this time mentally, "You believe you changed us, that you did a lot to us, but it wasn't you. We had that penchant for possessing women long before you existed. Let me tell you a story, so you can see for yourself. And maybe, just maybe, you'll learn that I'm old, I've been playing these games for a long time, and despite how amazing you are, yes, you've changed me, but it's not always because of you, not in the slightest."
I replied, "The evidence suggests otherwise. You were pretty stable before this chaos entered your life. But sure, tell me your story. Convince me you haven't changed solely because of me."
His voice was calm in my mind, yet he was unwilling to share this aloud. "I was living in Greece a long time ago. I wasn't doing anything; I had money, some free time, and a volcano. Damien was asleep, and after having some fun—and he'd had enough and left—I was in 'cruel mode,' torturing and painting villages red. But there I was, in Greece, simply enjoying life. As you know, I don't need daylight rings or anything; I'm not that kind of vampire."
I nodded; he was a good storyteller. His voice conveyed his emotions, transforming his story so vividly that I could almost see it, as if he were projecting it into my mind telepathically.
"I met Kira there. She was a tall brunette, funny, and—well, I bought her coffee—and we talked, chatted. She told me point-blank she had a fiancé, but he wasn't there. However, we could hang out; she could show me the local sights and teach me to bake—she was a baker's daughter. Her father had died several years earlier, and she missed him every day."
Number Two actually sent me pictures or snippets of Kira. She was a pretty girl with an animated, perhaps slightly long face, but her smile lit it up.
The story continued: "Days and weeks went by. We talked, walked, and baked, and I became infatuated. I had to have her, regardless of her fiancé. Then she told me her fiancé was returning, and the wedding was planned. Something inside me snapped. Kira was mine, not anyone else's. Sure, she was fun, but she was mine. And when her fiancé arrived, she was busy with him, not me. I got mad."
He paused briefly. I wondered idly if he'd really…
"Yeah," he said, "I stalked her. At first, it was random; I'd bump into them, chat, and try to get her attention, but no. Her fiancé, Rikhard, had it. Rikhard was tall, blond, somber, and poor, so I decided to up my game. I started using money, buying things for them, for her, but it didn't help; it just angered her. She snapped at me several times. So that was it. The next thing she knew, she felt chased, hunted, and so did Rikhard. But oh no, I didn't stop there, not at all."
He swallowed. I leaned into him, offering my love, letting him feel my support.
He continued, "Rikhard was a marine biologist. Back then, it wasn't a glamorous profession, and he often dived alone. One time, he never resurfaced. His body, badly mangled—like a shark attack or something—washed ashore three weeks later. Kira was a nervous wreck. I hadn't stopped stalking her, of course, but I didn't reveal myself. When Rikhard went missing, she called me. She was a mess—unslept, uneaten, trembling. But all I felt was a deep satisfaction. I was breaking her to build her back up, but, as you know, that never works. Rikhard's funeral was poorly attended; his reputation, tarnished by me, had suffered. There were a few kind words whispered here and there about his hard work, but the truth was, he was a drunk with a penchant for teenage girls. I wasn't a nice guy," he admitted.
"No, you weren't," I replied. "I wish I could make things better, but I'm just being honest."
He chuckled inwardly. "Yeah, baby," he thought. "Mariella would say she understands me, but when I don't need understanding, I don't know what I need. Validation for my creepy, nasty actions certainly doesn't help."
I nodded, saying, "Been there, done that." Understanding, as grand as it feels to say, felt hollow. "Sometimes," I confessed, "I want someone to tell me to my face just how wrong I am."
He laughed and continued, "Well, after the funeral, I planned to make Kira fall for me. But a week later, keeping my distance, thinking she must be desperate, maybe drinking, and I would swoop in—no. She had killed herself, leaving only a letter for her lawyer. She'd taken poison Rikhard had gotten for her, in case of need. They'd made a pact: if one died young, the other would follow. They both had a heart-shaped pendant containing an extremely potent poison. She loved him, never me. I got mad, burned her house and her body, and left. I returned decades later on an assassination mission, only to find Kira and Rikhard's story immortalized in local lore—the ultimate insult. The memory of our good times faded, and I spent years doing what Damien once told you: hurting those I loved. I sought out women, fell in love, and they became my victims, suffering as I tortured them, burning their chakras, and more. Most didn't survive; those who did… well, I was known as the Dark Angel again, leaving only ashes behind."
I was silent, considering what to say. His history gave me a new perspective on Damon, but as tragic as his story was, I recognized his behavior, his patterns. I understood that not everything was about me, not all the time, and maybe I could learn that, too. It wouldn't be easy, given my tendency to blame myself, but old dogs can learn new tricks, right?
I finally said, "I get it. I recognize your pattern, and I'm starting to understand that my influence on you may not be as great as I thought. However, action causes reaction, and this might stir up old issues in your—or Number One's—mind, issues I'm blissfully unaware of. So, even if I'm not the culprit, I'm the catalyst for dredging up this old shitty stuff."
He smiled, and I felt him chuckling against my back. "My love," he said, "now we ride and enjoy. I'm not sure how long this trip will be; there are warnings of heavy rain and possible floods, and Number One just handed out our tents."
I giggled. "Well, in that case, we'll be soaked, but hey, I can always crawl under you to stay dry."
In a quite seductive voice, he said, the past forgotten by both of us, "Oh, baby, I thought you loved being on top of me, but sure, if you're certain I should be the one on top, I can put my internal heating rod to good use as well."
My voice murmured, "Oh, cream of love..."
Our seductive banter mingled with the cadence of horses' hooves, birdsong, and the chatter of other pack members. Inevitably, once our conversation was overheard, lewd suggestions spread among the females.
Mariella, of course, was jealous, muttering something about me faking my problems. Wulfe snarled at her to stop talking unless she wanted to spend the rest of the trip as a tick. Damon didn't defend Mariella; he merely smirked, reminding her of actions, consequences, and the realities of living in a pack of powerful telepaths.
I said to Number Two, reeling my thoughts, "You know what? I've had an epiphany, sort of."
He scoffed and smirked, saying, "Oh really, baby? New to you? You're usually quite set in your ways."
I rolled my eyes. "I get it now," I said. "A few reasons why Jake and Rob were so important: they told me when I was wrong. After them, not even Magnum or Ric had the guts to do that. But those two did, and I realize that's what I've been missing."
Number Two smiled. "Sorry, baby," he said, "I'm too much in love with you to be that kind of partner. From me, you get flowers, chocolate, love, and lust—not arguments."
Mariella and Number One rode beside us. Mariella seemed subdued, probably because of Number One; however, it wasn't my place to comment. I hoped the rain would hold off and the trip would improve.
I felt foolish for overreacting, but Number Three's voice echoed in my mind: "Baby, never stop reacting, even if you bloom out MDNS; we'll be there to help you. And it wasn't just one thing; there are many issues swirling around in your mind, my love."
I could feel a cleaning crew tidying up my thoughts—a tangle of problems and anxieties.