I woke up, feeling secure, but the discomfort that had roused me was undeniable. I was soaked, drenched to the bone, and rain lashed down relentlessly. The smell of wet earth and something else – number two – filled the air. I was leaning against his chest, having apparently been turned around at some point.
The scent was strong: wet horses, the earthy aroma of rain-soaked forest plants, eucalyptus, conifers—the pungent mix of scents one finds in the thick Australian jungle during a downpour.
My mouth felt sticky, and I struggled to fully awaken. I felt pulled from the deepest sleep, yearning to return, but my miserable, wet state prevented it.
Number two said, "Oh, Mimi, baby, you're awake. My dear wife, you've slept for six days, more or less. Sorry about the rain; can't help it, we're all soaked. According to number one, it's all part of the experience, but let me tell you, if this heavy rain continues for a few more days, we'll have floods. Then we'll see what our esteemed pack leader does next. Worry not. We have meat, and the hunt was wonderful—a new lesson for us, changing roles so everyone can do anything. Number one was a little too strict about his ideas, but next time, we'll do it differently."
I mumbled, "Don't care, I wanna sleep. I'm dedicated to my sleep."
He chuckled softly, "You've slept quite a while; your mind is pretty much cleared, but it's taxing on your body. It whips up your metabolism, floods your blood with cortisol, like a multiplying enzyme, and recovery takes time. It's something we're learning, even if Adam and Charles are reluctant to discuss it."
I was a little perplexed. While I've always treated my syndrome more as a state of being than an actual medical issue, I got the impression that the pack viewed it as a medical condition they needed to address.
This was irritating, yet it also created a sense of safety; the more the pack knew, the better they could help me—if I let them. However, knowledge is power, and they were arming themselves with it. Charles and Adam, my two protectors and caretakers, understood the condition better and were less willing to share their knowledge.
Caring for me during this time had become an obsession for Charles, strengthening our bond incredibly. Now Salvatores and others were coming between us, or so it seemed, from Charles's perspective as I delved into the hive. As the hive queen, I routinely checked on my hive to ensure everyone was okay and to offer help.
Then, Number One's voice surprised me: "Baby, stop. You're still recovering and shouldn't flood the hive with a burst of power. I'll limit you, my queen. Regarding your syndrome, we're working on it. It's unhealable; it's part of your mind, meant to be just one thing breaking you."
My reply was terse and bored: "Old news. I know that. Boosting the hive doesn't weaken me. No need for overprotection."
His power slammed into my part of the hive, causing me to curse colorfully, which prompted a smirk and a comment on my vocabulary from Number Two.
His gentle, patient voice continued, "You see, baby, we protect you, even from yourself. Giving the hive bursts of power affects your condition and disrupts others, including Number One. We suspect you were trying to make us back off, stop hovering, but that's not happening. We will hover and care; just deal with it."
I rolled my eyes, irritated by the overprotective males. Fine, I thought, I'll give them something to hover over—and not just me. I'm good at this; I just need time and rest. Soon, the other females will be loved and cared for, too.
All I need to do is educate a few key males about certain aspects of hive bonds—knowledge innate to me as the hive queen, but something not explicitly encoded in their vampiric DNA.
First, I needed to understand my victims, beginning with Mariella. She was riding with Number One, slightly damp but unconcerned, though her mind was preoccupied with my syndrome and other matters. Delving deeper into the Hive, I examined the bonds between Mariella and the collective, meticulously studying each strand until I located what I sought: her sensations and troubles.
Turning my attention to Number Two, I mentally remarked, "I know you're adept with packbonds, but hivebonds are my specialty. Did you know we have those? Let me show you."
I accessed his bonds, finding a few strands. I then directly infused one with my love, causing him to gasp.
Further enhancing his awareness of his bodily sensations, I watched him frown and snap, "What the fuck? How did you...? Show me, Missy, now!"
I responded, "Hivebonds. I have access to all of them. I can heighten awareness, soothe pain, and perceive problems—it's innate, part of being Hive Queen."
Number Two joined me in the Hive, somehow linking a part of his mind to mine. I also sensed Wulfe coming online, furious, his irritation stemming from my control over the Hive, mirroring his own control-freak tendencies.
I instructed them, "Feel this hivebond between Mariella and the Hive. See all the strands; touch one and learn what it does. You can't manipulate them like packbonds—you can't implant suggestions—but you can learn."
Pausing briefly as they probed Mariella's bond, I demonstrated, "As you can feel, there are thousands of strands. Identifying them takes time for you, but it's easy for me. Let me show you a few. You might develop a method for others. This one represents her stressors; there are about 300 stressor strands, indicating significant issues."
I felt Number Two seize upon this, studying it intently. Soon, Number One entered this part of the Hive, clearly unhappy, yet he too began to learn. I didn't reveal that my own bond would be far more difficult to find or interpret; they had their hands full with the pack members and Mariella.
Mariella, cold and suffering from a headache and neck strain due to her awkward posture, was self-critical, wondering why she was such a poor protector or savior. Her issues were palpable, and I felt Number One, along with several other Salvatores, begin to care for her.
In a bitter voice, Wulfe's thoughts invaded my mind as more Salvatores flooded the hive. "Well done, my unicorn," he sneered. "You skillfully deflected attention to the other females. Don't worry, I'm not that easily fooled. I'll be watching you."
I replied, "I merely shared my knowledge. And speaking of busy, wait until they reach Mimosa. She needs some telepathic cleaning. You know she was created in my mind, but has anyone studied her psyche? We were close, and I know she suffers from occasional neuroses, which she handles quietly."
Wulfe grunted, then conceded, "Fine, I'll deal with her. But you, my love, well done again."
A little smugly, I retorted, "I am rather good at what I do, am I not?"
Just before disappearing from my mind, he gruffly admitted, "That you are, you truly are."
Freed from his mental presence, I focused on enduring the relentless rain. The downpour added a new, unpleasant dimension to the trip, but perhaps, I mused, misery sharpens the appreciation of sunshine. My mind was calmer, though I knew it wouldn't take much to unravel me.
I had plenty of potential triggers, but I was concentrating on the present, determined not to reignite the exhausting cycle. My unique biology was easily disrupted, often for reasons beyond my comprehension. Damon, irritatingly, understood my physiology better than I did, a power I couldn't change—a quirk of the universe.
I was unsure how long the rain would last or our precise location in Australia. Some areas experienced months of heavy rainfall and flooding, making this downpour potentially the new normal, at least for the duration of our pack leader's trip.
Despite the rain, the trip had been mostly fun and a wholly new experience. I felt much more integrated into the pack, and the hive confirmed that others had enjoyed the hunt.
I wasn't sure how much heat the hive's functions would generate—how much they'd want to learn, how many secrets I'd have to reveal. This wasn't about my octopi, but the hive itself. I'd have to tread carefully, sharing information without surrendering control, without revealing every detail.
I possessed a unique understanding of certain hive aspects, a fact that Salvatores might not take well. However, this was my role, a role I understood far better than others. My queen status grants me insight into the hive's inner workings.
It was innate for me to view the hive as my power, something I controlled, though I couldn't destroy it. I was contemplating this when a weight landed in my lap: my alpha vampire book.
As I touched it, the text materialized: "Please be aware that we, this book, are also part of your hive. We are honored to be here and offer our knowledge freely and with pure intentions."
I replied, my words appearing in the book. "I thank you. It is an honor to have you in my hive."
A shift occurred; I felt additional mental pressure, not unpleasant, but significant. The book had partially integrated into the hive; it remained in my hands, yet it was part of the hive, and it felt right.
Then, Number Ten's voice echoed in my mind: "Oh hello there! Wow, baby, is that your vampire alpha book in our hive now? I wonder what Number One thinks?"
I replied, "Well, she's still not too impressed by him, and she might have some strong opinions, so prepare for his irritation. As you know, my book is quite opinionated."
Number Ten's amusement was palpable. "My love," he said, "your mind is still quite messed up. Take it easy; we still have things to clean up, and we're constantly working on those emotional connections. I know you want to help by dredging up those worrying memories, but you're not stable enough yet. MDNS would bloom if you do too much."
I rolled my eyes. I'd hoped sharing my knowledge with the pack would free up some time, but that was false hope. Salvatores still clung to me like burdocks—sweet, but I was too independent to tolerate them in excess.
Rain continued to fall as I sat on my horse, my face nestled against Number Two's chest, listening to his heartbeat over the constant humming of the rain on us, the horses, the trees, and the leaves.
The sound of horses' hooves hitting the wet ground and all the accompanying smells created a relentless stream of stimuli. Even the rain, usually pleasant in small doses, felt overwhelming. This feeling of being cared for, protected, as much as he could protect me from the rain, was something new. I'm no princess; Mariella and others could use their energy to create a shield and stay dry, but that felt like cheating to me.
As an energy creature, they had advantages, but my aversion to cheating stemmed from several factors. I'd worked hard to control my powers; conjuring a shield to avoid getting wet felt like a wasteful use of energy. Furthermore, since we were away from the pack houses and the energy grid, our energy source was limited. I wasn't going to become a battery for seventeen power-hungry creatures who would waste precious energy on comfort.
If I had to be miserable, then so be it. As they say, misery loves company, so here I was, sharing and halving my misery—not cheating, but experiencing. Perhaps Mariella would once again embrace these novel sensations, both good and bad. I wasn't sure what she liked about the smell of a soaking wet Salvatore—sweaty, tired, and clinging to me for days.
The aroma was, let's say, unique: a masculine mix of sweat, passionfruit, and burning forest, as his vampire side felt my closeness and yearned to feed. There was his alpha cat musk, a feline scent difficult to describe, and of course, given our proximity and the moving horse beneath us, the strong scent of arousal and lust. Maybe this was the scent of love, or companionship, or family.
As a feline chimera—with a significant vampire component—scent and pheromones were my language, my primary source of information. Unlike telepaths, who receive random ideas or, with careful probing, extract thoughts from minds (but rarely in the true emotional context), I processed information through scent.
Damon, being partly empathic, sensed emotions, but it seemed a confusing and potentially overwhelming process for him. For me, scents told stories; some made me wrinkle my nose, but they always revealed something. I'd shared my ability with others, or perhaps they'd taken it, but each used it differently.
Mariella, for example, didn't receive the same depth of sensation and life stories as I did, but rather a more carnal flood of information—who was aroused, who wanted sex, and who was fantasizing about whom.
Damon, however, was less forthcoming about what he smelled. Was it darker, lustful for him, too? He'd used this ability on me, but it had taken effort. For me, it was as natural as breathing; each inhale revealed the world around me. I was, to put it mildly, unique.