After I had finally gotten all the papers signed and the girls ensured each permit was in the correct bag, they began directing the children outside. Lepard was also assisting, as it was quite an ordeal to get them into the large minibus, making sure everyone was buckled in, unable to open their seatbelts, and that their bags were loaded.
I, meanwhile, was focused on cleaning the kitchen, not bothering to immediately answer Damon, who watched the whole event with considerable astonishment. Perhaps he would grasp a hint, or perhaps not.
He then asked, "I'm still waiting. What have you done now?"
Number Ten, who was also in the kitchen, approached me and said, "It's not just Mimi; we're backing her up. What she's doing is being a pack leader, and you have no idea what that entails. Once again, the three-hour rule got you, plus Mariella's manipulation, and there we went, all down the drain. All that mattered in that small mind of yours was Mariella, her pussy, and her well-being. Don't try to deny it; we've been spying for the past three weeks. Our discussion sessions were very enlightening. When you combined your pheromone interpretation with the pretender ability, the truth came out pretty damn soon."
Number One remained silent, then stated, "Fine, I'm not perfect, but what's with the slips and the whole damn circus? We could have helped too."
It was my turn to snarl as my temper flared up once again. It hadn't been easy to get everyone going, especially when over half of the children had something to complain about, and someone was always telling me what was needed.
And now, this idiot whined at me, my snarl was dark, "Well, perhaps Amber mistook a room when she went earlier to look for you and Mariella, but you were again in the room, behind closed doors. So, there you are, father of the year. It's a good thing Amber isn't biologically yours; her real dad could help her better."
Damon remained silent, his expression angry. I could tell he was trying to shift the blame onto me.
Just then, Four, Five, and Eight emerged from the gym. Eight, having grasped what was happening from my mind, said to Number One in a flat voice, "You, follow me. Let's see who you're so eager to blame after this."
Number One maintained his arrogant expression as he went with Number Eight. I knew what Eight intended to show him: my bedroom, filled with the fear and terror from that night three weeks ago. Eight had sealed the room and sworn that if Number One came and gave him any lip, he would take him there and see what his attitude was like afterward.
Numbers eight, four, and five, despite combing through all their memories, had never felt such a profound and visceral fear as they did in that room. Even Wulfe had been there, and he had been so desperate to blast the whole place to pieces, to eradicate that fear.
My own nights, however, were a matter of strict routine. First, there was my nightly drink, a potion Wulfe brewed. He'd mix it with a glass of incredibly strong blood, and though his own blood was certainly part of the concoction, it was difficult to identify other components.
Following my drink, I'd go to bed, which was always prepared freshly and cleanly for me. I would then share my bed with two to four men, who were merely sleeping. Typically, one of the Salvatores would pull me close, or I'd find myself sleeping almost crosswise, using the men as supports.
Indeed, one night Adam learned the hard way – my toes had made their way to his ear. I would shift and kick, attempting to lodge my toes further into his ear, while my arms would flop around, reaching for numbers five and eight, lost in dreams. My movements were designed to disturb them, to grab or tickle them, ensuring they didn't get much sleep. I possessed a natural nimbleness, flexibility, and creativity when it came to sleeping positions.
Consequently, I often found myself tightly held against a man's warm body, my limbs restrained to prevent me from disturbing my poor husbands throughout the night. I was spared the night shifts with the babies, as the girls enjoyed attending to them during the nighttime hours, and then would take them to daycare, sleeping in the afternoon and early evening.
My own tasks involved clearing the kitchen, preparing the babies' new bottles for the warmer, where they would be kept well. I'd sip my coffee and nibble on fruit cubes while loading the dishes into the machine and putting away the toddler chairs. Today's workload was substantial, encompassing seven floral arrangements or bouquets, ten dreamcatchers, seven different wire-wrapping projects, and I also had to submit the children's lunch order for camp, all while the men took on the majority of the chores.
Our days were undoubtedly busy; that was simply the nature of our lives. There was no question that managing a household of this magnitude and complexity was a significant undertaking, even for me.
Damon and Number Eight returned, and as Damon looked at me without a word, I felt him probing my mind. I surmised Number Eight must have explained the ordeal of my nightmare, which had lasted for hours.
Number One, feeling defensive and disliking his mistakes being pointed out, stated tersely, "So you need some headwork. Good to know, but I'm still waiting for an explanation of this whole damn circus."
I was sick and tired of this same pattern repeating itself, so I retorted, "Let's flip the script, shall we? You're so big-headed you just don't see this goddamn merry-go-round you have going on. Let's say you had done what I did with Mariella. You would have done to Wulfe what I did – meaning used him as a meal, then asked the kids to feed off him too, teaching them how to be vampires, and then call me. Now, tell me, what would I have done?"
He fell silent, sulking, as he knew the answer perfectly well.
I pressed on, "I certainly wouldn't have made my kids feel like this was something semi-naughty, not good to happen. Nor would I have focused my attention on Wulfe, forgetting I actually have a family, a pack, and I wouldn't have forced over half the pack to worship poor Wulfe over this horrific experience, only to notice weeks later that pack life was still going on and someone else had the sense to lead and make things happen. Don't you see it, Damon? This is what you do. You have a crisis or whatever, usually connected to Mariella, making you forget us, the pack, your role as pack leader, as a father. Then, when you realize what a damn idiot you've been, you barge in and demand explanations, apologies, groveling more or less. No more, you hear me? No more."
My voice was tight, my expression furious, causing Eight to move closer and look at me sharply, also sniffing my pheromones to gauge if I was about to lose my temper.
He grunted gruffly, "So, I blew it, again. I'm not perfect, and I am working on it, but where do we go from here?"
I rolled my eyes and replied, "You go back downstairs to Mariella. Live with her, get to know her. I'll keep the pack running because it's not your thing, nor is it Charles's, as he wants to be an accountant. I'm best suited for this, and if and when you feel you actually have what it takes – stamina, eagerness, skills, and not a three-day rule or Mariella's pussy distracting you – then we can talk. I'm not wasting my time doing this same dance over and over again, where you seemingly perk up, do the job for a week, maybe a month, and then drop it like a stone, forcing me to pick up the pieces. I have gotten my system up and running, and I have my guys. It's just not you, but it is what it is. It's up to you if you want to be part of us, but for now, go back. Live your life; be a husband and boytoy to Mariella. I'll take care of the kids – hers and mine – as well as the paperwork and everything else I need to handle, with my backing, of course."
He didn't say anything but turned around and walked away.
"Hairy balls of Lucifer and slimy cunt of Eve," I muttered under my breath as I continued my tasks.
Next, I needed to check on the babies and then go to the flower room for a few hours to get at least some arrangements done before lunch. Soon, it would be time for the kids to return, which would take a few hours as we had to feed them, unload their bags, take their reports and other paperwork, and spend time with them. But this was a good way of life.
Too bad Damon wasn't equipped for it. But he was what he was, and maybe time might change things, though I didn't hold much hope for that either. At least I had most of the pack backing me up, and we were doing this together. It wasn't just me going behind everyone's back anymore.
Number Eight said, "Well, maybe he'll get his senses back someday. In the meantime, my love, I am eagerly awaiting our weekend. You promised us karaoke in a warm room with very little clothing."
I simply smiled. This version of him was learning how to seduce properly, not just to engage in mindless sex. There was so much for them to learn, and so much for me to teach. I then recalled something I had to take care of, but Salvatores would be better suited for that.
"Actually, I need you and the others for one thing. May brought these on Monday, and they're for next month. They're starting to offer snacks and more substantial meals in the daycare and need dietary restrictions. Oh, wait up, I'll dig them up."
He furrowed his brow, and I walked over to our business shelf, as we called it. It was just one bookcase, but all the children's papers and post that needed to be addressed and dealt with were kept there. I leafed through the pile of papers until I found a stack detailing meals, prices, ingredients to be used, and portion sizes.
This meant the state grant would provide eight dollars per child for food, with the rest being our responsibility. Now, this was needed three times a week for a four-week period. Then, if the sum exceeded what the state paid, payment information would also have to be included. Currently, one item could cost anywhere from $1.25 to $3, depending on its nature. This allowed for a limited amount per day, but since our lunch bags were already substantial, we might not need as much.
However, Salvatores could determine which cracker would be suitable or which juice.
I handed the papers to Number Eight and said, "As you can see, the state pays an eight-dollar limit, so the selection isn't very wide, and our bags contain a lot already..."
To my surprise, Number One, Charles, and Mariella walked in as well. Mariella asked me, "Could you bring me up to date? I want to be a mother, not a therapist listening to what happened in 1456 when Salvatores met some guy with bad breath."
She seemed irritated, and Number One and Charles went over to Number Eight to look at the papers. Furrowing their brows, Charles glanced sharply around the kitchen, noticing a few changes here and there, clearly unhappy about his weakness once again.
I made sure the kitchen was orderly behind me before speaking to Number Eight. "I'm off to check on the babies, feed them, and then I'll go to my flower room. I'll be back by lunch, hopefully," I said.
He replied, "Yeah, let me know if you need anything. In the meantime, I need Number Four's input on these snacks. They seem pretty flimsy, and I'm not sure we'll opt for many on this list, but we've got this."
I just nodded and grabbed my prepared bottles as I walked to the nursery, with Mariella following me.
She said, "I'm sorry, it wasn't that bad of an experience, not at all, but Damon, he sometimes makes me react all wrongly, like I need him or something."
I just hummed under my breath, not bothering to tell her there was no need for an explanation or such blatant lying to my face. I let her hang around, trying to lie to Number Eight and get proper feedback.
As I stepped into the nursery, soft coos welcomed me, assuring me that my babies were indeed awake and soon hungry. I placed the bottles near my feeding chair and proceeded to gather the clothes, nappies, and other items for an upcoming change, either before or after feeding, or perhaps both.
If I were to change them before feeding, I wouldn't dress them yet, just in case a change was needed afterward as well. Mariella stood by the door like a lost lamb, sensing both my caring pheromones and my warning pheromones, which told her these were my babies, I would care for them, defend them with all I had, and intruders should beware.
I first picked up Fiona, as she was about to make a fuss. She wasn't wet yet but was hungry, so I cooed to her, "Hello, princess. Shall we go and have something to eat? A nice warm bottle is waiting for you, yes it is. And then your tummy will be nice and full, yes, that's Mommy's little princess."
I smiled at her as she smiled back at me, kicking and writhing, eagerly eating her fists. I sat down in the chair, picked up a bottle, checked its temperature, and then gave it to Fiona, who was very hungry and eagerly started to drink. Mariella stood there for a few minutes before turning away and walking off, God knows where – not my problem.
Instead, Number Eight walked in, followed by Number One. Number Eight went to coo at Violet, who was also hungry and getting angry about not being fed.
Number One said to me, "Baby, we need to talk. I want this to work, yet I keep messing up. Tell me what to do?"
I calmly told him, "It's because you aren't committed to this family. You see this as a project, not your life, and you feel it's something you have to do, almost as if it's forced upon you. Consequently, you lack real motivation here, and without motivation, there's no drive or need to make this work."
He remained silent. Number Eight picked up our daughter, took her bottle, and began feeding her, eliciting a smile. He promised her that Daddy would dress her as the prettiest princess in the world, and she eagerly drank her bottle. I had recently gotten them larger bottles as they were hungrier, and it seemed they might soon be ready to try solids.
I then said to Number One, "I suggest you take your lying wife with you and go back downstairs to manage your side of the family, meaning you'll be Mariella's manservant. I will take care of my children, who are biologically yours but not mentally – that's clear. We'll take it week by week. If you're in the mood for paperwork, I can spare some, but I have my order and rules that we obey. Therefore, there will be no preferential treatment for Mariella's brats or for her. If, at some point, you feel you could do more, or want to do more, we'll reconsider then. But until then, feel free to live as you truly wish; no one is forcing you to do this simply because it's a must."
He grunted and walked away. As I said, this is a family, not a slave camp. If he doesn't want this life, he can be with Mariella and let those of us who are truly committed to this family run things and this household. Thus, everything is working. Life, as crazy as it sometimes is, has its own ways of showing us what's truly important, and for me, nothing was more important than caring for my family. As for Number One, well, only time would tell what it would take for him to truly grow into his role.