The first thing I registered was a fucking uncomfortable sensation: my throat was raw, I was freezing, and completely immobile. My mind was a freaking drugged haze, and it took a while to grasp what the fuck had happened. My last memory was leaving the Armani store, heading towards De La Renta, but then…nothing.
When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was thick, closely spaced bars directly in front of me. Shackled at the neck, arms, legs, and waist, I was practically welded to the wall. It took considerable effort to shift my weight and ease the pressure of the shackles against my flesh.
I, Mimi Salvatore, along with others from our pack, was in a horrifying place, and the situation looked bleak. I blinked, focusing on my surroundings. Harsh clinical lights high in the ceiling illuminated what appeared to be a giant fucking warehouse filled with cages—many cages, filled with women.
Across from me, in the next row, I saw Mimosa, Shadow, Elena, and Katherine, still dazed, slumped at the bottom of their cages, shackled by the feet, and wearing only disposable gowns. The scent of peaches indicated Mariella's presence nearby, but there were no men in sight.
I wondered where the hell they were, what this place was, and if it was another spell. But, as far as I knew, Freya had lost all her magic and was now merely human, with no hope of regaining it. The same applied to Drusilla. So what the hell was going on? I knew that answers would eventually surface, and then perhaps I could devise a plan to get us out of here.
As I slowly regained consciousness, my movements remained sluggish. I saw an IV bag nearby, a cannula in my central vein, but a shackle around my neck prevented me from reaching it. At that point, I realized my rage was absent—the drugs had dulled it, and I knew it would take time to return. Patience was key.
Using my nose, I detected a potent mixture of panic, fear, pain, exhaustion, and confusion. This was clearly not a good place; my fleeting hope that this was an extreme sex game vanished. The smells were all wrong—this was a dangerous, unpleasant situation, and we needed to escape immediately, but the others had to wake up first.
My mind was racing, and I couldn't access my rage. I soon noticed my connection to the hive was severed. I felt it instinctively, and despite repeated attempts, I couldn't reconnect. This was freaking alarming, indicating a knowledgeable opponent. As the hive queen, this significantly narrowed the suspect pool, but the question remained: how had they managed this?
It would require considerable cunning to secure our freedom, especially since the men weren't present to assist. My drugged mind raced, trying to process the situation. I suppressed the rising panic, reminding myself that I'd faced worse, though it had been a while since I'd been in such dire straits. I attempted to siphon energy, but found my reserves critically low.
Examining my cage, I realized it was a modified Faraday cage, preventing energy and magic siphoning. My method required physical contact, and the unshakeable shackles, combined with the drugs, rendered me incapable of breaking free. This was far from ideal. Someone clearly knew my weaknesses and had meticulously planned my confinement. But I was chaos, unpredictable; I had to remember that. There was no time for panic.
Harsh lighting cruelly illuminated the damn concrete space. I heard women whimper and murmur incoherently; their hushed tones lacked any real conversation. I wondered if I could free them, save us all, but a fresh wave of drugs washed over me, the infusion pump flashing a stark reminder of my predicament.
Escape, while drugged, seemed wickedly difficult, even without shackles. Time blurred, but eventually, others stirred, still drugged and confused.
To my left, the scent of overripe peaches announced Mariella's awakening. Her voice, thick with confusion, whispered, "W-what? Where are we?"
"A fucking nasty place," I replied, my voice low. "Imprisoned. I haven't sensed any males, nor do I feel my rage or hive connection. I'm shackled in a modified Faraday cage, so my siphoning is blocked, and I'm freaking heavily drugged. I'm trying to find a way out, but not right now."
My slurred words lacked the calm authority I'd hoped for. Mariella grunted; Mimosa sighed; the sharp scent of stinging nettles indicated Shadow's displeasure. Katherine cursed, and she and Elena struggled to their feet.
Before I could say more, a door opened at the far end of the vast space. Footsteps echoed, along with hushed tones, expensive perfumes, and the faint scent of aftershave, as well as a hospital-like smell. It was time to see who orchestrated this and perhaps devise an escape. Perhaps if they killed me, dumped me again, it would work. Or better yet, if they killed us all, we were unkillable, after all.
A group—about twenty women and at least fifteen men, with no clear leader—walked down the corridor, stopping to talk. It seemed like a twisted form of doctor's rounds, though I doubted much actual medical science, or any Hippocratic oath, was involved.
As they approached, I realized the women were presenting the caged creatures—us—to the men, or to other women. Some left after viewing their "merchandise." My drugged mind slowly grasped their plan: these women had captured various creatures and were selling them to their enemies.
"Splendid", I thought sarcastically. If they'd sold us to Sark or Krycheck, well, we were immortal; we just had to endure.
Finally, the group drew closer, and I saw that they were strangers. Tall, unattractive women—nasty fucking black witches, I sensed their black magic—were among them. And then there he was: that damn guy from long ago, a Bruce Willis look-alike who had once killed me. That was why I'd quit the Fleas the first time; Damon had asked me to quit originally, but that past trauma made it easier to agree. This guy was the reason for the trauma. He looked at me, but the witches glared at him, signaling it was time to listen to their evil plan and try to figure out what the hell was going on.
The tallest black-haired witch, in a beige suit that made her look at least twenty pounds heavier, was trying—and failing miserably—to appear businesslike. The ill-fitting suit, combined with her bad posture, washed out the little color she had in her eyebrows and lashes, making her look almost albino.
"Welcome to your new life," she sneered, beginning her rant. "We were Freya's coven, and you destroyed her. Her power is gone, and since it didn't come to us, it's your fault, and you will pay. Worry not; you will live, though you might wish you didn't at some point. As you can see, we've got your enemies—not just yours, Flea, but every one of your…friends, your men. Oh, let me tell you…"
Her smile turned triumphant. I rolled my eyes, though my drugged state lessened the impact. Mariella remained silent, while Katherine muttered a curse, causing some of the women to glare at her—she seemed to know some of them. Elena, as far as I could tell, looked surprised and confused, as if disbelieving her eyes. More ranting would surely follow.
The witch continued, "We cast a spell, trapping the men. It works, and they have no idea. They're partying just like they used to—time becomes meaningless when you're having fun—and our spell made them forget you, all of you. That little energy-witch who thought Damon Salvatore would be loyal to you? Well, he isn't anymore. Right now, he's screwing some blonde bimbo while drinking. They all are."
Mariella remained silent. I knew she hoped they were bluffing, but my more cynical side told me they weren't. It was what it was, and now was not the time to get upset.
The witch continued, "Each of you has personal enemies—far more significant than Sark or Krycheck. For instance, General Dillinger."
She pointed to a Bruce Willis look-alike. It was comforting, I thought, to finally have a name for the man I was about to kill—slowly. I cursed my own softness; I only killed those who gave orders, not the soldiers themselves. Damon had warned me that soldiers could rise through the ranks, becoming those who gave orders. Oh, how I hated being proven right.
The shackles dug into my skin as I writhed, trying to gain leverage, but to no avail.
The general spoke, "Freak, I killed you once. But since you're a freak, you can't be killed—only controlled. It takes time, but you're already feeling the effects. Your rage…where is it? Ah, yes, my new rage blocker. It's constantly coursing through your veins, binding to your brain. You didn't think your rage gene was unique? Our concoction destroys rage, eliminating it from the brain. A little DNA tinkering disables the gene, and voilà, they're cured. Let's see what you'll do. Can you be cured? Or will we suppress your rage for years, leaving only a shadow of its former self when it's finally released? We've studied rage; it needs fuel—emotions. Suppress it, deny it fuel, and it shrinks, withers away. That's your fate, freak. Of course, we have much to do. You have other powers, so we'll work on those, too—weakening your vampire side," he paused dramatically.
I knew I was in deep trouble unless we escaped, and fast. My rage wasn't easily manipulated; suppressing it for years could transform me into a monster once it finally erupted.
He continued, "You are a pretender, a genius who can be anyone she likes. Surely you've heard of the Centre; they're here, eager to get their fingers into you and your mind. We have a nice team here, of course—these lovely ladies will exact their revenge as well."
Fuck, I was screwed. And then some.
The witches moved toward Mariella; several walked near her cage. "You're always so high and mighty, refusing to accept us into the magic house. Well, not anymore. Our friends here will help you see things in a new perspective. You are nothing, less than nothing. It will be a mercy if anyone even wants to interact with you."
A tall, dark-haired man approached Mariella, looked at her, and said, "Strip her, cut her hair, keep the drugs flowing, and introduce her to her new living space. Then I can begin working on her, breaking her and building her back up."
I heard the faint pop of a tranquilizer gun and Mariella's pained gasp. A team moved toward Mimosa and Shadow.
"You too. You're nothing but animals, and you have the audacity to judge us, to destroy our coven leader, and to make Salvatore marry animals. You will soon learn that you are just animals—nice dogs who obey their masters and don't even think of being in human form."
A witch pressed her hand to a sigil in the wall, and it glowed. Mimosa and Shadow gasped in pain, unable to stop their transformation into wolf form. As the sigil glowed, several men entered.
The tall, dark-haired man said, "Get them collared, leashed, and keep them doped up for now, as you begin training them like the dogs they are. Teach them 'sit,' 'down,' 'paw,' 'good girl.' You know, they're your pets, nothing more."
This man, an ordinary-looking man in a moderately priced suit, was professional, with a detached coldness as he gave his orders, and the men obeyed without question. As he moved toward Elena and Katherine, more women approached.
Elena asked, "Gwen, Stacey, what are you doing here? Please help us."
The women, about 50 years old and human, looked at her and one of them said, "We were once your best friends, but not anymore. And you know why. You made Stefan kill our brothers for fun."
Elena said, "But I told you, I had shut down my humanity. I am so sorry; I was a beast."
The woman sneered, transforming her weary face into a mask of jealousy and bitterness. "You are one again," she hissed, "but this time, the choice of action is not yours. You will be nothing more than a toy, something men can use if they're in the mood. Perhaps you'll stop thinking of yourself as a catch once you've learned your new role."
Elena remained silent, hugging her knees and refusing to respond. Two nearly identical blonde women, tall, lean, and sharp-faced—more bird-like than beautiful—then addressed Katherine.
"You think you're special, Damon's choice," they said. "You took him away from us, poisoning his mind against us. We're doppelgangers, too, and you've made us look like frauds. Well, the same goes for you—no choice of your own, merely the role of a toy. Let's see how highly you think of yourself in a few months."
They looked like a pair of posturing chickens, hardly Damon's type—a fact that had nothing to do with Katherine. Their jealousy and bitterness, however, had clearly festered. We were hopelessly trapped, and the drugs swirling in my system dulled my mind, hindering any attempts at planning.
I didn't even notice anyone adjusting the regulator, but the drugs continued to flood my veins until I finally passed out, completely unable to think or act. I slumped against the shackles, their bite unnoticed as I slipped into unconsciousness, leaving our enemies free to enact their evil plan.