Chapitre 472: 31. Mysteriet.
In this dimly lit shed, I saw a few gardening tools, and one lamp flickering in the ceiling, and what was upsetting part of this was that Mirella was tied to a chair, her mouth taped, her eyes wide with horror.
When Damon stepped past me and said, "Not quite what you expect, is it, baby?" The wet dog stank and I knew that this was not the flank guy, but the shed session side of Damon, the one who called himself Damien. So not good news at all.
I said, "It's not. Let Mirella go. What on earth are you up to now? Damien, I presume? "
Damon said, his voice low, impatient. "Yeah, it is me, or is there me? But now, it's not Mimi, not at all that time. That is, if you want Mirella to live. Try to contact anyone, I have little protection in here so no packbonds. "
He was right, no packbonds. I could attack him but before I got a chance to act, He went behind Mirella, bent her head to the side, and deftly slipped the cannula into Mirella's neck, pulling the needle out, then taped it in place. He worked fast and efficiently, and at the same time, his telepathy kept me from acting in some sort of way.
Damon took a gleaming silver syringe, and another filled with clear water. Carefully, he inserted the silver syringe into the cannula, locking eyes with me.
"Sit down," he commanded, gesturing towards a chair adorned with metal handles and armrests. His voice carried a serious tone.
Reluctantly, I complied and positioned my hands on the cool armrests. Without hesitation, Damon depressed the plunger, injecting the silver into Mirella's vein. The moment it entered her bloodstream, the vein turned black, causing Mirella to hiss in agony. The inky darkness crawled up her neck, reaching halfway to her temple, while her surrounding skin took on a sickly grey hue.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, I hurriedly obeyed Damon's order, fearing the repercussions. As I settled into the chair, the metallic handles clicked shut, securing me in place. Damon removed the syringe from the cannula but left it within reach, a vial of holy water now in his possession. The gravity of his words sank in, reminding me of our wedding day and the implications of the syringe.
Though I contemplated the potency of the holy water, I couldn't help but question Damon's vulnerability as well. If I managed to free myself from these restraints, I vowed to seize the opportunity and plunge the syringe into Salvatore's heart. It wouldn't kill Damon, but it would incapacitate him for months. Damon approached me, ensuring the shackles were secure.
Indeed, the shackles held tightly, but this wasn't my first encounter with such restraints. Fortunately, these lacked the spring mechanism, providing some relief. As I observed Damon, I couldn't help but notice the absence of flexibility in the standard-sized shackles, a testament to their unforgiving nature. However, my petite wrists found some respite in the narrowness of the restraints.
Drawing nearer, Damon lifted my shirt, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. His hands explored my stomach before he moved to the table, where a knife awaited him, accompanied by a peculiar plate-like object.
"Look, baby, since you seem fond of hiding things beneath your skin, now it's my turn," he remarked.
Kneeling, he fastened my legs to the chair's sturdy frame, ensuring my immobility.
A minor complication, I thought, but not impossible. He lifted my leg and put some sort of shackles on both legs. Shackles around my calves had springs in them, and the inside of these were full of spikes that sank to a depth of one and a half inches around my calves on both sides. They wouldn't show under the legs. He stood up and retrieved a drip tray from a corner with two bags in reserve.
He attached drip bags to the cannulas in the shackles and opened them to their fullest. I felt whatever was in those bags start to seep into the tissue of my calves from the tips of the spikes and be absorbed.
"It'll take a little while, and you'll feel the effects, baby, don't you worry. Let's keep going." His voice was cold as ice. Wet dogs stank and this was not a good thing at all.
Now he came to my front again and crouched down. Lifting the hem of my shirt again, he sliced my skin open just below my breasts and began to push the thin metal plate under my skin as if he were doing liposuction. I knew this procedure because I had done it to myself before. I had a handy way of getting out of trouble at gigs by hiding things under my skin.
I'd done them in a briefcase, and that was the job, which was to make a pocket, that is to say, to remove the skin from the surrounding tissue so that there was a pocket where you could then hide things. Damon was already pushing the metal spatula up to my belly button once he was satisfied that my skin was off from under my breasts to my belly button and partly off my flanks.
He carefully lifted the first plate, peeling away a thin protective cover before sliding it deep into his pocket. The warmth of my body caused the sheet to soften, melting against my muscles. Damon skillfully inserted four more pieces, measuring and cutting them with precision.
A stinging, tingling sensation began to emanate from my stomach. He allowed the incision to heal, gently stroking my skin against the plates. Dizziness washed over me, distorting my perception of time.
Standing up, he uttered, "Showtime, baby," as he pressed the green button on a mysterious controller.
The discomfort in my stomach intensified, as if it were filled with sharp spikes.
"Can you feel it, Mimi? These are the latest advancements in drug technology. Biodegradable spikes filled with a powerful drug. As the spikes break down, the drug is absorbed, saturating the plate and seeping into the surrounding tissues through osmotic forces. The spikes contain metals and additional drugs," Damon explained, pausing to let the information sink in.
Panic welled up within me. I had internal spike medicine patches, unknowingly. A tranquilizer. The familiar sensation of sedation began to take hold. My reactions slowed, and my thoughts became hazy. Damon removed the IV tubes from my legs, freeing me from the shackles.
"Let's acquire more medicine, if necessary," he spoke in a bitter tone. Not now. I was expected to represent my clinic at the opening ceremony. Mirella lay unconscious, likely because of the silver. I should get on there, but I was drugged already. I was trying to think of some way to warn anyone.
From the corner, Damon retrieved an infusion pump, its button emitting a faint flicker when pressed. He connected a syringe containing silver and another containing holy water to the pump, demonstrating that the water caused a burn to appear on Mirella's arm. He then linked the infusion pump to the cannula, now inserted in Mirella's neck.
"Alright, baby," Damon whispered, his voice tinged with a sinister edge. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls. The scent of mildew hung in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of fear. I could hear the distant hum of machinery, a constant reminder of the clinic's presence.
Damon's gaze bore into me, his eyes flickering with malice as he continued softly, "Behave, or Mirella, will suffer. Do you understand?" The weight of his words settled in my chest, suffocating me.
A shiver ran down my spine as Damon's words sank in. The room felt colder, the air heavy with tension.
"You better convince everyone that everything is fine," he added, his voice dripping with a twisted kind of certainty.
I glanced at him, searching for any sign of mercy or compassion, but found none. Damon was serious, as far as I could tell. He leaned closer, his breath chilling against my skin.
"But when you, baby, are such a world savior, a sacrificer, then this will work," he murmured, his words a venomous caress.
The room seemed to close in around me; the walls closing in on my sanity. I could taste the bitterness of fear, mingling with the metallic tang of desperation. I was drugged, and this bastard knew me too well that I would put others before myself, sacrificing myself always.
"Sure, you can surprise me and be selfish and run away, break my neck, whatever," Damon's voice held a twisted kind of amusement, a sickening melody in the air.
The room seemed to spin, a dizzying dance of uncertainty. Drugs hit me more and more. My heart pounded in my ears, the sound drowning out everything else.
"But the pain you feel when something, your vampire, inside you dies, I can tell you that nothing I could ever do to you is anything compared to that," he continued, his words slicing through me like a knife.
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach, a sickening sense of dread twisting within me.
"But don't believe it. Try it, take a chance," Damon's voice was a chilling whisper, a haunting threat that echoed in the room. The scent of fear thickened, suffocating me. "Then we'll see which one of us is right." The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air, suffocating me.
I decided at that moment, my resolve solidifying like ice in my veins. Damon was right. I had to behave. I am not gonna get Mirella killed. Damon's expression softened, the glimmer of satisfaction dancing in his eyes.
"Now the medicine in your stomach will keep you calm, but not drugged," he explained, his voice a low murmur.
The scent of antiseptic mingled with the metallic taste of medicine. Those plates had smelled like a goddamn hospital. I was wondering if he gets those from Sark. That damn drug made my mind quite confused.
"The medicine will keep your pulse steady and your breathing steady." I could feel a warmth spreading through me, like some sort of twisted heating liquid. "What I poured into your calves still clouds your head a little," Damon continued, his words laced with a hint of satisfaction. The room swayed slightly, a haze settling over my thoughts. "It's absorbed into the muscles and works through them; it's sedating, and it goes to your head." The world felt distant, as if I were floating above it all. I could feel a dull ache in my legs, a heaviness that anchored me to the ground.
"You can do without it if you behave yourself," Damon's voice cut through the fog, a sharp reminder of the consequences.
The room seemed to tighten around me, suffocating me once more. "But if I have the slightest doubt, we'll come here for a dose, and then I won't be satisfied."
The scent of blood rushed to my nose, a metallic tang that made my stomach turn.
"I can even take it out on Mirella." Damon's words were filled with a cruel promise, a dark undertone that made my skin crawl. The room seemed to darken, shadows stretching across the walls. "No one will find Mirella; don't even think about it," he warned, his voice tinged with a dangerous edge.
The air grew thick with a sense of foreboding, suffocating me. "It's enchanted. When we leave, no one will even see this." The room seemed to shimmer, a veil of invisibility descending upon us.
The scent of some kind of spell hung in the air, a subtle tingle on my skin. "Remember baby, I'm a fucking powerful telepath and a vampire," Damon reminded me, his words a chilling reminder of his power. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in around me.
Damon approached the chair, the sound of chains clinking filling the room. He unlocked my legs, but left the shackles on my ankles. The cool metal pressed against my skin, a constant reminder of my captivity. He released my arms, offering his arm as we exited the shed. The fresh air hit me like a slap, a welcome relief from the suffocating atmosphere inside.
I walked by my husband's side, his touch a cold contrast to the warmth of the sun on my skin. We reached the opening, a ribbon fluttering in the breeze. Together, we cut it, the sound of fabric tearing a sharp echo in the air. Damon's kiss was devoid of passion, an icy touch on my lips. The absence of warmth left a hollow ache in my chest.
We walked through the clinic, surrounded by other guests, their voices buzzing in the air. The scent of antiseptic mingled with the faint aroma of coffee, the sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway. Damon seemed to find suggestions for improvement everywhere, his voice a constant presence in my ears. Charles and Adam kept a close eye on us, their presence a weight on my shoulders. I tried to act as normal as I could, the weight of their scrutiny heavy upon me.
As we started driving towards the afternoon/evening party, the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the landscape. The scent of freshly cut grass filled the air, a hint of summer lingering on the breeze. I couldn't help but wonder how Mirella was faring, her absence a void in my thoughts.
"The shackles open at the button just like yours did, but not yet. Do you understand? Mirella will suffer if you don't behave; so far it's gone brilliantly, baby, but I think we'll take a bit of confirmation on that, shall we?"
I was still trying to be calm and in control as we entered the party venue. Damon directed me to the disabled toilet. And locked the door.
"Sit down and don't fight, you understand?" His voice carried a threat to Mirella.
I sat down on the toilet. Damon came in front of me and pushed my head down so my neck was exposed. I felt the needle sink between my cervical vertebrae and then the pressure as he injected something into my spinal cord. He let go of my head. Fine, still no symptoms. Then he turned my head.
I groaned in pain as a furious hiss of pain hit me straight through my shoulder to my chest. Nodding in satisfaction, Damon turned my head the other way. And there was the same thing. Up or down, there was nothing but side-to-side flips. Then he told me to stand up and put my hands up on the wall in front of me.
I obeyed, and he lifted my shirt up off my back and inserted the needle under my skin into my lower back. Then I felt the jelly or gel start to spread again. He stroked the gel into an even layer. It would be exactly where he would put his hand when we walked. Then he injected more of the same substance into six different places on my back.
I knew that tranquilizer gel needed to be in larger quantities, so this probably wasn't one of those. He stroked my back for a moment and then put my shirt down. I was still sober and didn't bother asking any more questions. We left for the evening party. We walked among the guests, and Damon handed me a glass of champagne.
" Drink," he said.
I sipped the champagne, and we continued walking.
"Drink, empty," was the next command. His voice was empty of feelings.
I obeyed and drank, and my head started to spin a little.
Oh, the potency or effect of that jelly was revealed. It was a substance that potentiated alcohol, or vice versa. We strolled through the party, me with a glass of champagne in hand, gently sipping as I became more and more confused and foggy.
Occasionally, Damon would glue me to the wall and kiss me with a similar, passionless kiss. Usually, Charles or Adam were nearby. He might even slip a hand under my shirt and rub the spikes that hadn't yet melted deeper into my flesh. And then he would always turn my head just a little. That pain made me freeze, unable to do anything. He kept somehow pack bonds under control and no one wondered where Mirella was even.
And then we were walking, and it was getting a little difficult to stand up, let alone act. I just watched as Adam and Charles were also stumbling around drunk.
"Look, baby, isn't there an effective substance? At the rate they're drinking bourbon, they won't make it home."
I was pretty dazed and stunned, but I was drawn to how he spat the word bourbon out of his mouth as if it were the worst-tasting stuff in the world. Again, maybe Damien is really different from Damon, as his taste seemed to be different too.
After all, Damon loved bourbon... He directed me to the Invalid bathroom again, took out the baby changing table, lifted me onto it on my back, and took off my shirt. He quickly sliced my skin. I didn't understand, and then it always hurt. Soon, the pain was at the next point.
Damien lifted Mimi onto the nursing table. Mimi was stunned and semi-conscious, and he had no trouble taking off his wife's shirt and starting to fit the implants into place. The implant was in place with a slice through the skin and muscle, a quick slit, then a set and a shot. He put in 12 implants. 6 sedation, 2 tranquilizers, 2 psyche meds, and two hormone implants. He wanted a child. He had wanted one for many years. But Mimi had miscarriages.
The doctors had said that her body was not yet mature enough to carry a child, so Mimi had given up on it years ago. And whenever he tried to talk about it, Mimi would go into detail about how awful the abortion always was. They had been feeding the fucking doctors, mainly Colin to Mimi, contraception for years when it was obvious that Mimi's body needed to be allowed to mature and prepare.
He was now going to help the cause. Now, the pregnancy wouldn't be interrupted. He would kidnap Mimi, take her away from Adam and Charles, and give her intense hormone therapy and stress before putting her in the heat. Then he would store inside her his sperm.
He would release Mimi to have sex with Adam and Charles, and when the moment of conception came, his reproductive sperm would be ready. Presto. Mimi would be pregnant, and there would be no interruptions this time. The drug he had given Adam and Charles had sterilized them on the spot. Permanently. Damien thought with satisfaction.
Sark had given him this idea when he had talked with him. He had gotten onto the surface right after Damon had escaped from medbay when his conscience had gotten the better of him. He had now sown seeds of doubt in Mimi's mind, just like Sark or Krycheck had suggested. Because if Mimi doubted Damon, he would doubt himself too even more.
Oh, it was good to have friends like Sark and Krychek, Damien thought happily as he put Mimi in order. According to Sark's theory, the strain he would put on Mimi's body would make it want to survive, to reproduce. Just like you get a plant to bloom best when you stress it, now it would be stress's turn again.
Their little electric shock treatment had freed him from those restraints that Damon had put in his mind to keep him under control and it would be now a good time not to let them be in love as it would keep Damon unable to act against him. If that is true love would bloom again, it might be possible for to Damon imprison him again. So no true love and thus the way he had made his little speech in that cellar, to make Mimi doubt him too.
It would have been nice to let Mimi know all the time that he was truly not Damon, but for him to get stronger, this was a better way to do things. At least, Sark and Krycheck had both recommended to him as they had observed them in that facility. How did Mimi put him down? He had no idea. But this doubt would help, as there was no other side to put out.
Now it was time to get Mimi pregnant, to get him his heir, or several, and maybe his own body. He pulled down Mimi's pants and spread her legs. Mimi didn't put up a fight. He shoved the spreader into Mimi's cunt and sprayed the moistening spray so that strawberry and champagne began to smell, and Mimi became aroused and wet. He kept increasing the size of the spreader and lengthening it until he was sure Mimi wasn't expanding anymore and took a tube squeezer with six different tubes fitted.
First, he visualized Mimi's cervix and shot a thin silver-colored implant into it as deep as it would go. Then he took the tube squeezer and very carefully spread the hardening jelly from the tubes all over Mimi's pussy. He didn't back off until the jelly was so hard it wouldn't let up. The jelly came to the outside. He put the same jelly around her clitoris and pussy lips as well.
Then he pulled up his wife's pants. He was clinical and as he really did not like to fuck but to get Mimi pregnant, it would be a little must-do. But he would do most of this clinically, and then this stress would give him the opportunity to continue his experiment, too. Mimi would be helpless and unable to comprehend much of the time.
Damon pushed quite a few things inside me; I don't know what; it hurt like something had come off; he made several cuts and popped something; when I thought about my time, I realized those were implants. Then Damon took off my pants and spread my cunt so open with some kind of spreader that it hurt. He obviously sprayed something because the feeling of pressure in my cunt increased at times.
I felt like my whole cunt was on fire. It was so wide open. Then Damon shot something deep into my womb again because the dull ache in the pit of my stomach was telling. I felt like my pussy then started to be pushed into something; then it started to be filled with something that hardened so that the burning in my pussy didn't help much.
My cunt closed around something hard that wouldn't give in, but slowly made my pussy wet and accept the intruder. Damon filled my pussy to the brim and put the same shit on externally as well. All the time, I had been trying to let him have his way and get myself going. Finally, Damon pulled my pants back up. I needed to try to act soon. To do something. Get some kind of plan of action in my mind.
It was hard to walk now, though. Somehow, I was aroused and sore at the same time. Damon lifted me to stand and watched me carefully. He furrowed his brows, took some sort of controller with several buttons out of his pocket, and pressed one.
My head started to fog up in a minute, and I started to fall over as my legs were like jelly if Damon hadn't grabbed me.
"Come on baby, let's go. It's all set now. Come on." His voice was a little impatient, too.
He supported me by the waist and pulled me to his car. I felt the thick mass in my pussy and tried to push it out, but it didn't budge. Whatever had been in the implant was strong.
Finally, we were in the car, and he lifted me into the back seat. There was some kind of blanket, and on top of it was a pillow; he put my head on it and pulled it over me, then pushed on the other implant and waited for me to pass out completely.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone