Damon, without revealing his plans, was intent on thoroughly exploring and redecorating our castle.
He’d often stop in a room, whether it was a bedroom or one of my lounges, to clear out items like rugs or curtains.
These he would then teleport to the nearest storage room, replacing them with new ones, or even updating sofas and chairs.
He took a particular liking to my special chairs, sometimes marking them with his scent, other times exhibiting a seductive charm, as if imbuing them with a special significance before moving on to other houses.
Meaning he kind of promised them to be fuckchairs, just for the two of us.
Damon was also mentally cataloging everything within the castle, recognizing its immense scale and potential.
He wanted Max and the renovation group to join him, seeing this as the largest, untouched building they had ever encountered and one that had belonged to me.
He envisioned significant transformations for it.
All rooms previously inhabited, such as those of Colin or Wulfe, were being emptied, awaiting his future plans for them.
He was ultra possessive, and now the scent of others made his eyes flash yellow, him coming to me, kissing me, and biting me again.
He exhibited a strong sense of possession over the castle, or rather, *our* castle.
Given my extensive collection of art and sculptures, he would frown, adding them to his list for relocation to our museum or a more secure location.
While he was familiar with my feline room, he was unaware of all my hidden, enjoyable spaces.
I mostly remained silent, not wanting Mr.
Salvatore to become the decorator of the century and completely overhaul my beloved, perfect castle.
However, I mused that one of my own hobbies, a rather enjoyable pursuit, might be something I’d revisit someday.
It was a secret I hadn’t even shared with Magnum or Colin, let alone Murdock, fearing they might appropriate it or subject it to scientific scrutiny.
I was relaxing in one of my lobbies when Damon was once again engrossed in revamping a bedroom.
He was transforming a formerly gentle, pastel-shaded haven into a vampiric sanctuary—dark, dramatic, and undeniably sexy, a real vampire sex nest.
It was, in a way, satisfying to witness his genuine enjoyment and happiness as he decorated.
He had not done this much decorating in over a century, and it reminded me of our past, when he used to decorate and make rooms with me or just by himself and present them.
My lounges were also something pretty unique, as we did not have so many of them in our normal houses; I guess Mariella had no vision of them.
I did, and I had made them perfect.
His curiosity piqued, Damon then asked, “Why don’t you show me your fun hobby after we eat? I think it’s kitchen number 4 now.”
We had already meticulously surveyed all the kitchens; he had assigned them numbers, and a magical map now automatically updated, detailing his progress and mapping out newly discovered areas.
As he explored, he named specific rooms, secret corridors, and other features.
He was truly settling in, or “nesting,” and I remained uncertain whether this was a positive or negative development.
After food, meaning lots of beef and not much else for both of us as we were carnivores, I said, “Fine, I’ll show you. I’m not sure if it is your type of fun, but it is freaking fun for me, and I have told no one about this, as most guys would turn it into science or serious study, and I want to keep it fun and quirky, no matter how useful it might be.”
I led us to the cellar floor, not in the feline room but on the north side, and there were big rooms here.
I pointed out a few like aquarium storage or car part storage or an armory, which got Damon very curious, but it was not yet time to study it.
There were several storage rooms for sofas and such, as well as big appliances and also medical machines, and prototypes that had never gotten to market, mainly because they had taken too much money as they were used.
They were unused, but some of them were a few decades old.
I was a hamster, storing everything I thought I would use someday.
As we finally reached the correct door, I opened it and showed the first smaller room and said, “This is our supply; take a look at what there is.”
There were a few spell stations, yet Damon had no idea what this was all about, and he was very confused.
He walked around the room and touched this and that, furrowing his brow.
Despite this being a cellar floor, there was no musty smell or too much coolness; I had my castle perfect over time, and he now realized just what a sanctuary this is for me.
I opened the door leading to the fun room and said, “Come on now, let me show you.”
My fun room was a gun range, but instead of normal targets, I did here a lot of quirky experiments inspired by something I had watched as a human on Facebook.
I said to Damon, “The name of the game is ‘How many things will it take to stop a bullet?'”
I showed him my guns; I had a wide array, anything from small caliber to large.
The biggest were my sniper rifles with huge bullets.
I continued, “So you choose your target, say, watermelons, and this magic lines your target, then you start with a small gun, going up, and see how big a gun it takes to, say, blow 20 big watermelons into mush.”
I showed him my logbooks, where I had previously written everything up, making him shake his head as he tried to decipher my handwriting.
He made a spell of clarification, one that Wulfe had taught him, meaning turning my scripts into his handwriting so he could actually read what I had done.
Now Damon was smiling slightly as he got my idea.
He checked on my guns and my bullets and said, “Okay, let’s play. Show me how to choose what I use.”
I showed him my AI-based station where you could choose anything I had in my supply room, and magic would then teleport it into place, and then it would be time to have actual fun.
We began to have fun.
Initially, we each worked on our own projects and compared the results.
However, he soon suggested that we collaborate.
We decided to take turns shooting, then marvel at the results together.
He became visibly more relaxed and less tense, his earlier smiles replacing a previous strained demeanor.
I had struggled earlier to discern if he was irritated or simply focused, but now that ambiguity had vanished.
It felt like our early days, filled with good times.
Just as I was about to aim at a large stack of phone books with the Desert Eagle, he startled me by blowing gently in my ear, seductively, causing me to shoot slightly off-center.
Again, it was a blast from the past, just like he used to tease me while teaching me how to shoot.
He then inquired, “Where did these guns come from? I mean, there are quite new ones, but old ones as well, and used ones.”
I explained, “Most of them are from our old stock gained at fleas. From my first flea. You know, we refresh our inventory from time to time, and I select what I use here; the rest is scrapped. But because we operated with such secrecy in the past, we accumulated a huge storage of these guns, so there was a lot I could choose from, especially from the earliest fleas, as it was not easy to get, say, 200 guns melted in one go without raising questions.”
I walked over to the computer to see what medium we might test next after we had thoroughly shot through these books.
Damon then came up, wrapped his arms around me, and said, “Come on, babe, let’s choose together.”
We then selected mortar bricks as our next target, which would be interesting to see, although the force of the bullets might also chop them in half.
He used quite a versatile array of my guns, or rather, our guns.
He jokingly, or perhaps a little seriously, mentioned he might take a few pieces for himself, as they were still in decent condition.
This prompted me to inform him about our optimization process.
“Actually,” I explained, “we have a new protocol at the fleas now, so beware. We optimize gear, guns, ammunition—everything. This means I mostly lost my guns to Adam and Charles, and now my personal collection comprises Desert Eagles and larger Berettas, with a Walther mixed in as well. Magnum handles gear, so no more ill-fitting equipment for me, but snug and effective gear. Murdock handles the guns, and so on. This is just so you can get oriented should you ever return to work; you’ll be optimized first.”
He grunted, a playful sound, and then spoke, “Not a bad idea, actually. It works fine by me, but, babe, we won’t be working anytime soon. I’d say about a year, or so, maybe even longer. I have my plans, and soon everyone will see them. But for now, let’s play a bit more before.”
His tone was as playful as ever, and he radiated a smug confidence, as if he held another big secret, much like our riding trip in Australia.
I wondered if this was going to be one of those moments.
As our little game continued to be fun, it led my thoughts to other forms of pleasure.
Being who I was, I couldn’t help but let the ultimate pleasure flicker in my mind—the feeling I’d experienced in that hellish place when I’d killed all those Sarks and Krychecks.
Even the faintest hint of that darkest pleasure made me almost sigh.
However, my astute husband, with a mind of his own concerning my pleasure, put his gun down.
He walked up to me, slapped me across the face, and said in a tight, low tone, “Stop. That stops right now, do you hear me? You do not dig that part out, missy. Fine, let me make myself quite clear, as you can be stubborn.”
Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over me, even as the flicker of pleasure lingered.
I blinked, my thoughts shifting entirely to something else, and I didn’t resist as Damon quite forcefully pushed my killer side deep down, adding additional restraints to my mind.
He then spoke, his voice calmer now.
“You will get nausea every time you try that trick, and it won’t go away. You see, this was originally what Kendrick had in mind: to attach your pleasure center to the act of taking life and to strengthen it with each life taken. I discovered some of his notes from my CIA contacts, as he tried to do this on humans. And since Krycheck was a student of his and also part of your creation, he must have strengthened that connection even further. But I will get rid of it in time. And by the way, the Salvatores did this same thing to everyone. As Krycheck might have done the same, there is no more pleasure from killing.”
I nodded.
His explanation made perfect sense, and I was actually happy that he acted like a vigilant guard dog, ensuring my mind didn’t stray down the wrong path.
Because in that state, I wasn’t myself.
I was the so-called “Dark Mimi,” and she was far from a kind soul.
It was rare for me to feel this way; I mean, I had been most of my life one damn superpowered wild creature who was always the strongest, well, if not strongest per se, at least most resilient, but now, I seemed to have someone matching me, keeping my less good sides under control, and even Wulfe had done it in the past.
I had overcome him a few times as well, and this recent thing with the damn facility had just shown me how vulnerable he could be too, how easy it was to take him out of the game and nullify pretty much what he was doing in my mind.
Sure, Damon might have his weaknesses, but then again, him being my biological half and now almost matching me with powers meant he was way less easy to take out, as I knew I was pretty impossible to influence as Wulfe had.
Sure, Damon is a wizard; he has his magic, and maybe it might make him vulnerable, but then again, your connection, plus biology, might give him quite an edge.
Moreover, he was no longer afraid of me; he was making sure I stayed under control, and he was not fazed anymore by my darker aspects, as he had been in the past.
He too had grown, and it was just good for my point of view, but let’s just say my darkness, my vampire side, and all other darker sides of me were not too happy as he pushed them all down.
And secured with will, his power, and his magic, combining it with his chaos, making it much harder for me to siphon it off.
“I had not kept my eye on the clock, so to speak, meaning I had no idea how long we had been here or how long it had been since our escape,” I commented.
Damon said to me as we finally walked out of our fun room into the kitchen to eat.
“About 5 months; we were nesting a little over 3 months, and we have spent 2 here now. Let’s eat, and then you will have 2 weeks’ time to make arrangements for fleas in peace so there are no bigger issues, as the pack will be busy for a year or so. And after that, I will tell you where to come; the same goes for others, so deal with fleas. Salvatores will make preparations for a few things, and you can use the rest of the pack if needed.”
I nodded as we were eating, still wrapping around my mind that we had been together five months; I mean, it must have been one of the longest separations from him for Mariella, yet he had no issues, and somehow I knew he was not going for Mariella, as it was almost as if he were teaching her to be herself, not hanging on him all the time.
Well, two weeks, it was time, but was it enough?
I was not sure, but I would go to one of my newer places and make it my base.
I was thinking of my chic, expensive, luxurious mansion in Des Moines, but Damon said, “You go to the Pennsylvania mansion and find yourself a new study, as your old one is now a gaming room, but that is your base for the next two weeks. The mansion in Des Moines will be visited by the Pack in due time, but not just yet.”
I nodded, and I did not need to argue; he was directing something, and, well; it was fine by me.
I had learned to let go, not be so stubborn about being the one to say the last word.
If he wanted me in Pennsylvania, it suited me.
It was still one of my favorite houses, one of my first that I had bought, actually, so that building and I go a long way back.
Nostalgia was fun sometimes.
But now it seemed something new was coming our way, and well, let’s go with the flow and see what happens.