7.Like A Fool.

The days passed in their usual manner, with a sense of predictability. Three females were pregnant and soon to give birth, just as I had suspected. Damon had coerced Adam and Charles into tending to the wolves, leaving me alone. However, there were always a few Salvatores lurking nearby, and the second one had an intense gaze fixed on me.

I could feel his presence in my mind, and it frustrated me. I needed to drive him away, to distance myself from him. I needed to keep my secret hidden, as it was crucial to my plan. This mysterious figure had been protective of me thus far, so I hoped he would allow me to bring my plan to fruition.

Nonetheless, I made a firm decision - I would avoid him. And so I continued with my little scheme. It was easier when Mariella was around, as I could glance at the second Salvatore with a hint of curiosity, which was enough for her to attack him, drawing him into her embrace and seducing him. It was a good plan.

However, as dominant as Damon was, he paled in comparison to Charles when he was in the mood. The wolves soon grew tired of him and sought the company of the Salvatores who desired pleasure, not dominance. And so, Charles was freed. He had never been as dominant with Mariella as he was with me. He understood me - what I could endure, what I craved, and what he was capable of doing to me.

As I walked down the corridor, the females had just given birth to their first litter. There was little enthusiasm in caring for them, and it was because of me. This was yet another reason for Damon to despise me. You see, when the alpha female is not involved in breeding, the others are less inclined to tend to the babies unless the female emits certain pheromones. Typically, these pheromones are released when she has her own litter.

However, I hadn't quite mastered control over my pheromones yet, and I didn't feel particularly motherly, so there were no pheromones present. Despite Damon's insistence that it would benefit the wolf cubs, he was attempting to force me to release those pheromones. It was Mariella's idea, once again. And so, Damon was free to blame me for disrupting his breeding season, more or less.

But I didn't care, not even when he shouted at me in front of the entire pack. I simply absorbed it all, allowing myself to feel the pain and rejection. And I let him see it on my face. Of course, everyone else witnessed it too. Mariella seemed content, her hormones raging as always, and she assumed more control over the Salvatores. I didn't defend myself.

Adam and Charles were left to tend to the wolves once again, and Damon ordered Charles to be more gentle with them. They weren't just any crazy bitch who got her kicks out of pain; he meant me. Once again, he made a snarky comment, causing me to suffer. Our relationship spiraled down the drain, our bond weakening almost daily.

We went to the shop a few times, and of course, I manipulated Damon into taking me along. Oh, the countless times he berated me there, expressing his exhaustion from constantly ensuring I wasn't poisoning myself. I felt like an idiot, a beast. And then he would always go to Mariella, kissing her, telling her how perfect she was, not caring if I saw them. It seemed to give him more ammunition against me.

I must admit, I wasn't innocent. I sought solace in the arms of Adam or Charles, kissing them right after witnessing Damon's betrayal. I made them profess their love and devotion to me, fueling Damon's jealousy and making him even nastier to me. And Damien saw it all. I wouldn't control my expressions, letting it all out, knowing he might have crystals or something to witness my pain, our dying love.

It went exactly as I had hoped, except for one slight complication. Number two was still suspicious of me. He seemed to know me better than I liked, making it difficult to push the version of events forward. He resembled my Damon, not being so much or so gentle with Mariella. But then, I had a little insight on how to truly convince Mariella.

I was in the kitchen, cooking. The females had just given birth to their third litters, sending the previous ones off to the magic house. Number two walked in, his gaze piercing as ever.

He took a few steps and stood behind me, whispering in my ear, "Baby, I will find out. I swear I will. There's something you're planning, something you're keeping from me. Remember England? I helped you then, and I'll help you now. I'm not number one, not in the slightest."

I turned around, trying to maintain my composure. He was so scarily like my Damon, the one who I thought I had lost. I heard footsteps approaching and caught a whiff of the scent of peaches. Alright, let's see if we can make this work. Losing this will be the hardest thing for me.

I swallowed hard and said, "Damon, you are not most definitely number one. You are the closest to my Damon, and I can almost smell your scent. It's sweeter, and not as sharp as number ones. You have a certain vibe, and I..."

Before I could finish, Mariella arrived swiftly, wrapping herself around number two and redirecting his attention away from me. Number one looked at me sharply, but a slight smugness played across my face, making him assume all the wrong things and igniting his rage. He went to Mariella, who was now directing Number Two into the bedroom, speaking about a little potion that would help him.

The piercing pain tore through my soul, leaving me feeling a deep loss. I knew he had been so close, yet now he was gone. The scent of Mariella's not-so-little potions lingered in the air, their potent fragrance often causing complications for Salvatores, making it harder for them to place memories of Number One in a different place, amplifying their feelings for Mariella just as strongly as they had been same as Number Ones. They were, in essence, love potions.

I knew that Number Two would never be the same, and this loss weighed heavily on my soul. It was just another thing that Damien had robbed me of, fueling my growing hatred for him. My intuition was right; in a few days later, Number Two was all over Mariella, his scent more pronounced, as he fawned over her, completely oblivious to my presence.

There were moments when I regretted this situation, but then again, my life was filled with a multitude of regrets, so this was just one more thing added to the list. I had single-handedly ruined my chances of happiness and better times, all for what? To have Damien killed. Even with him gone, my life didn't become any easier. It was only a matter of time before I started questioning my motives, my plans, and my sanity. There was no one else to blame for the misery that awaited me, but myself. I had no idea how perfect my life could have been. The question that had plagued me for so long was whether Damien was truly such a threat or if I had allowed my hate to consume me. As I reflected on what I had endured after his demise, he seemed like such a small threat, not worthy of my love, but rather a burden of my own making.

Adam and Charles tried to be there for me, but Damon, following Mariella's orders, sabotaged our relationship as much as possible. Once again, my happiness took a severe blow. And what truly fueled my hatred was Damien's incessant calls. He would call almost every day, whether we were out shopping or in public places, and somehow, he seemed to have found a way to listen in on our conversations at home. The protective magical bubble around our houses could only do so much, and I was unsure of how he managed it. But the time would come when I would find out the truth. 

I sat on the edge of the worn-out bed, the smooth crystal cool against my palm. Constantine's words echoed in my mind - when the crystal turned black as night, the strength of my hate would match. Currently, it remained a somber shade of grey, not yet dark enough. But that was no issue; my hatred would intensify with each passing day.

I needed to discover which actions of Damon fueled my animosity, and which taunts cut the deepest. As my darkness grew, so did my vampire side. My feline instincts despised Damon; they saw right through his facade, recognizing him as Mariella's puppet. It would take time before Damon could even be considered an alpha male.

I simply sat there, allowing the overwhelming emotions to consume me. The feelings of not fitting in, of never being enough for Damon, of being a freak, of being ugly - he had a way of articulating it that made it feel true, and I absorbed it all. I played my role, ignoring everything else, and letting my emotions fester. I felt them poison my love for him, watching it slowly die away.

Occasionally, I would call Jarod, seizing the opportunity to further fuel their hatred towards me. I confessed the horrors Damon inflicted upon me, how he loved Mariella, and how he tainted everything good in our past. Jarod was my partner in these little schemes, always understanding me, as a fellow pretender. He knew me better than Damon ever could, and we spent hours on the phone, strategically aggravating Damon with my behavior. This time was agonizing, but it was necessary.

With each burden I carried, I believed I deserved the pain and the misery. It was payment for all the lives lost. Two months had passed, and hope seemed nonexistent. I knew we were beyond repair, and only time would reveal the extent of the damage to my relationships with Adam and Charles. They would be furious with me for not trusting them enough to confide in them about this entire ordeal. It was likely that I would lose them, too. And that thought fueled my hate even more.

Now, it wasn't just my love that suffered at Damon's hands, but my very soul, my relationship with Adam and Charles as well. Of course, I couldn't have a life of my own. If I found solace in my flower room, Damon would command me to tend to the cubs or prepare meat pulp for them. Whenever he caught me enjoying myself, he would ruin it, his anger and pettiness directed at me - exactly as planned. 

As bitterness consumed me, my rage exploded like a torrent of fire. The darkness inside me grew stronger, its suffocating tendrils wrapping around my heart. Thoughts of bloodshed consumed my mind, a relentless urge to eliminate everything in my path. The need to kill surged within me, an insatiable hunger that could not be starved or tamed. It remained constant, powerful, and unyielding.

Darkness and bitterness took on lives of their own, growing with every moment I surrendered to their allure. Damon, the embodiment of my torment, reveled in my bitterness and anger. He delighted in making me feel utterly wretched. I felt stripped of my femininity, reduced to nothingness. I knew this transformation would forever alter me, but it was a price I would pay.

What about my happiness? What about the good times I once knew? They were overshadowed by the weight of the lives I had taken. Boxes of diaries and letters from Jake and Rob remained untouched, their contents too painful to bear. Perhaps someday, when my heart was not consumed by hate, I could bring myself to read them. But not yet. My hatred needed to grow, my strength needed to be fortified. I had to do this alone, without confiding in anyone, even when Damien lay lifeless at my feet.

This burden, these choices, weighed heavily upon me. It was entirely possible that Damon would cast me out of the pack for my actions. But I would bear it, for it was a consequence I was willing to face. 

During that time of my life, I lacked wisdom. I assumed the role of fostering hate within myself, unaware of the consequences. Looking back, had I been courageous enough to share my knowledge, my pack would have studied and discovered the power behind destroying such books. History revealed that a collective of haters, unrelated to the book's target, amplified the hate.

Unbeknownst to me, our pack housed magical homes filled with witches, victims of Damien. It would have been effortless to harness their hatred. But I was neither wise nor trusting. The cost was often overwhelming, and I acknowledge that the fault lies with me for breaking our bond. It burdens my heart, which now bears scars and darkness. Strengthening myself enough to sever that connection changes a person down to their core, as I can attest.

I acquired a new nickname, "The Beastie," as they witnessed my proficiency in torture and extracting information. While the knowledge gained from my victims was not of great importance to me, I relished in their pain and agony. To kill Damien, I had to embrace my own darkness. I became someone who found pleasure in inflicting harm, reveling in the suffering of others, even if they were evil.

That side of me still lives, occasionally resurfacing. I am not the kind, perfect, and serene pregnant wife I may appear to be. I am much more than that. I wonder if I had been wiser, who or what would I have become? Certainly not this beast that occasionally consumes me. My husband's voice slips silkily into my mind, warning me not to dwell on the past, or else we will have to share a few special, sleepless nights after our babies are born.

"What is done is done. You nor I cannot change it, only learn from it, my beastie. So now you must divert my thoughts from past regrets, lest your nights become less enjoyable than your husband's."

He is sometimes a very good teacher but his ways of teaching can be painful.