Mariella sat before Damon, her mind reeling from recent events. She regretted her habit of confiding everything in him, realizing she needed to be more discreet. The scent of eucalyptus and the rhythmic sound of horses' hooves—a familiar soundtrack of her nomadic months—offered a stark contrast to the thought of returning to a settled life.
While the pack life had been challenging, they had adapted, and Damon's granting her free time, coupled with observing Mimi's work, had made her feel like a traitor. The fact that Mimi was doing now what she was supposed to be doing made her feel like a lazy bum, and somehow she knew that others would see her as such, too.
Her "princess mode," as she called it, had prompted Damon's protective instincts, exacerbating the situation. She knew exactly what she had done, though she hesitated to admit it, acknowledging her own pettiness and jealousy. On this trip, there was not really room for princesses and she regretted her behaviour, hoping to grow the hell up.
Damon's calm voice soothed her inner turmoil. "It's good you recognized that, darling," he said, "but honestly, Mimi's feelings weren't exactly news. She's been more of a possession than a wife. You, being my wife, not my possession—that's the rarity of our situation."
Mariella remained silent, sensing Damon's internal conflict but choosing not to pressure him. The silence spoke volumes. She had sworn she would understand him, but what did it actually entail? Had she given the promise to herself or Damon? Was it always wise to be on Damon's side, understand him, or did he need her to do something else?
"You don't know everything about me and my past," Damon finally said, "not even close, despite the stories I've shared. I've carefully chosen what to reveal, to present myself favorably, at least."
His voice was calm, yet Mariella could sense this newfound vulnerability in it, and it made her want to protect him, understand him, and let him know it was all good.
This only piqued Mariella's curiosity, but she waited patiently. Damon typically revealed his stories when the time felt right, and this was no exception.
He mused, "Damien once told Mimi that I hurt those I love. He was right. He tortured Mimi, but there were many women before her, and you. Yes, I hurt those I love. I fall in love easily, then get bored and try to…make it something."
There was pain in his voice, sure, but also this clarity. Somehow, something had made him see himself in a new light or confess his flaws out loud.
Mariella said, "That was the old you, not this version. You've grown, changed. And besides, according to Mimi's theory, it was not always you but the version of you, say, like number ten or nine."
Damon chuckled. "You and Mimi—you really think I'm so much better? Let me connect you to Number Two. He's telling Mimi a story about my past. You can listen, but no comments."
Mariella listened to the story of Kira, Rikhard, Damon's possessiveness, his stalker-like behavior, and Kira's tragic fate. She also felt Mimi's understanding—that granting Number Two absolution wouldn't help him. Mariella struggled to understand why things had gone so drastically wrong and why Damon had killed Rikhard, believing he could then have Kira. However, the man in that story wasn't the Damon she knew.
Mimi understood that sometimes possessiveness morphs into obsession, leading to ugliness. Everyone experiences these ugly feelings, the ones we don't want to admit. Mimi was no saint, according to herself, and she very clearly understood these darker aspects in one's mind, or soul, even, as she possessed those as well.
This ability of Mimi's to pinpoint the problem confused Mariella. Why did Mimi see things so differently? Mariella's default was understanding without judgment, yet she realized that sometimes we need judgment, someone to tell us how wrong we were.
This confusion about when to understand and when to judge—or to tell Damon he'd done wrong—troubled her. Would she be betraying her vow to understand him, to be there for him? But if her understanding wasn't helping, should she change her approach?
Should she be as bold as Mimi had been, telling it to Damon's face how wrong he had done, but would it help if she, the one who had told Damon she would always be on his side, would not understand him? Like said, really confusing.
After the story, Damon said, "As you see, darling, my habit of possessing females is a long-standing one. And as for you, just think: when have I ever let you make your own decisions?"
Mariella furrowed her brow. "It's not possession, it's love. I adore it when you take care of me."
Damon hummed contemplatively. "That's because your mind has chosen to feel that way. If I were this controlling with Elena or Katherine, they'd be livid. And you saw how little control Mimi can stand."
Damon fell silent. Mariella had no answer. Then a change came over Damon; danger radiated from him, wrapping around Mariella, trapping her, leaving her unable to move or defend herself. She was before him, seated on his horse.
Damon said softly, "Time for a few lessons, student. Let's see what I can teach you this time."
Mariella gulped, speechless.
Damon continued, "Let's make you a little more receptive to knowledge. It's important that you be honest."
A sharp pain lanced through Mariella's neck as Damon's fangs sank deep, injecting something into her. Warm fuzziness washed over her mind; it was like being underwater, struggling to comprehend anything.
Damon's voice, deceptively calm and soft, purred in her ear. "Now, my darling, let's begin. What I've given you is a version of veritaserum—a truth serum, but modified. Don't try to fight it; you have no will of your own now."
Mariella nodded; he was right.
"Now," Damon said, "let's take a walk down memory lane, shall we? Starting with the morning you spoke with Mimi. Tell me everything, and I'll ask questions as we go."
She nodded. "I woke up, needed to pee, and felt surprisingly content, even without you. But as I woke, this happiness, this smugness—it was overwhelming. I'm very attuned to the hive mind, and this smugness… it hit me hard."
"It was Mimi's smugness, wasn't it?" Damon asked.
Mariella nodded. "She was making breakfast, even making eggs for herself, and her smugness intensified. I hesitated to intrude—I had several Salvatores with me—but I had to. Finally, I went to relieve myself in the bushes, making sure no one was following me."
Damon continued his interrogation. "And then? What made you go to the river?"
Mariella's voice was quiet, but she answered. "I felt love, lust, a genuine connection—and it sparked in me a bout of jealousy. That connection. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt, not even with you. It was forged from trials and tribulations, and I realized Mimi had Salvatore number four. I wanted in—not necessarily to take him for myself, but if he was going to rail Mimi, he could damn well rail me too. I was his wife as well."
Damon's grip on her waist tightened, his vampire claws digging into her skin. She gasped as pain shot through her.
Damon murmured, "Keep going… and then…?"
Mariella droned on, "I walked to the river, seeing Number Four almost fucking Mimi. They were slowly seducing each other, and I just lost it. I went to butt myself in; Mimi left, and Number Four switched to medical mode upon noticing my dry skin. He was not interested in me. I took it as a personal insult. Livid, I hid it, then told Dexter, Wizards, Murdock, Tim, and Taylor about Mimi's invention—netting in the river so everyone could wash there. Soon, they arrived; Number Four remained in medical mode, took some lotion, and applied it to both Mimi and me, as she also had dry spots. That lotion was what you'd made from your bumps and dentals when Mimi got poison ivy—and she still had it."
Mariella couldn't stop confessing everything she felt; there was no prettifying the truth. She had to admit it, and it sounded so damn ugly, even to her own ears. She was truly a despicable hag, always robbing Mimi of her happiness.
Damon, merciless, whispered menacingly, "And then, what did you two talk about?"
Mariella tried—she really tried—not to reveal Mimi's stint as a waitress, but the veritaserum took over. "Mimi told me how she worked as a waitress in Las Vegas, wearing fishnet stockings, high heels, a tiny skirt, and a top that let men grope and swat her ass while she collected information. She was playing a giggling bimbo. She still has the outfit, but she's unsure if you'll give her a lesson or fuck her brains out if she wears it."
Damon smirked. Interesting. Hmm. Either way was possible.
Mariella continued, "We talked, and I wondered why no one talks to me. Mimi theorized that I have no stories of my own; she does, and it makes things feel…I don't know…different. Then she confessed about the Austria incident. She told me how you wouldn't have hurt her like that initially; she truly thought something had changed, that you'd stopped seeing her as beloved and started seeing her as a possession. And…I must admit, I agreed with her. You've mostly treated her like a possession, and not even a wanted one at that. So I couldn't deny it. I fled, came to you, told you about it, and seduced you, thinking you might be horrified by her revelation—after all you'd done for her on this trip—and she still thinks…"
Damon's sharp words cut her off: "So you thought you could use her confession as a weapon to pry us apart? You spun a tale about what she still thinks, but it's not like that, is it?"
Mariella whispered, "No. I was jealous, and I thought she'd get to you too soon. So I made it sound worse than it was; I manipulated you, using Mimi's confession as a weapon. I wasn't a good pack member; it's no wonder no one talks to me. I only manipulate or use information to satisfy my jealousy."
Damon replied in a calm, yet creepy voice, "Now, darling, remember this lesson. To make it sink in, I'll tell you: after this, you'll either tell me the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, or you'll use your brain to decide whether I really need to know."
Fear, the feeling of being hunted, terror—it all flooded Mariella's mind, muddling her thoughts. The sedative organ embedded in her spine, the hell was in her DNA, and the flood of chemicals in her bloodstream were all part of Damon's psychic assault, his unique teaching method.
Time became meaningless; only fear and terror remained, punctuated by her terrifying heartbeat against her back. Her hunter was closing in, passionfruit vines entangling her ankles, hindering her escape. Her pulse quickened as the hunter drew nearer; the fear and terror did not subside.
She knew betrayal, lost trust, and manipulation had angered the beast now chasing her, but she couldn't run fast enough, far enough. No one was coming to save her; her terror seemed endless. The lesson, she knew, would be learned the hardest way possible.
Damon maintained a neutral expression, yet his mental assault continued, flooding Mariella with terror, fear, and the feeling of being hunted—and he reveled in it. He loved the power he felt, the trembling of Mariella against him, the fear his heartbeat instilled. He knew she would learn her lesson, albeit slowly, forcing him to be a more efficient teacher.
He idly mused about what kind of lesson Mimi would have, considering her past attire and behavior—tsk tsk, not suitable for a leader on missions. He worried she might get this idea again, so he planned to remind her not to do it, or if absolutely necessary, to be present as one of the vampires, ensuring no one pawed his wife.
Yes, he was feeling possessive, but she was his, belonging to all of them. He'd sent a snippet of her waitress days to all the Salvatores, knowing himself and his versions, and as a decent pack leader, Adam, Charles, Alaric, and the rest of the pack's males now shared the memory—and they weren't happy.
Mimi would learn she wasn't the only one seeing her as a possession; the entire pack felt the same. What Mimi hadn't understood was how much being a hive had affected them.
For her, it was just another thing to control, but for the rest of the pack, the feeling of belonging within the pack of shifters or hybrids now felt lame after experiencing the hive mind. It wasn't enslavement; rather, they were part of a larger consciousness, a supermind that opened new horizons for them all.
Damon wasn't entirely sure what the hive had done to Mimi, but she would tell him someday. He'd dropped the ball again; Number Two had picked it up, and he was now fixing Mimi's mind, which she'd tangled over nothing. But she was who she was, and that was one reason he loved her, absolutely adored her. His possessiveness was simply his way of loving, his way of keeping her.