“Marta Portocale is a different sort of immortal from us,” Emit says like he’s cushioning things.

Violet slowly steps back, but I solidly pull her to me once more.

“Immortal?” Violet asks, her voice cracking, as more and more uncertainty teems in her eyes.

Shera gives me a pointed look, but I ignore it this time. I like holding Violet. She likes being held. Seems like a winning situation all around to me.

“What does that mean?” Violet asks on a broken whisper as she looks at everyone but me.

Apparently she doesn’t like the blunt approach as much as I thought.

The second my arms fall away from her, she backs toward Shera, staring at all the men in the room like we’re leading her down a secret path with no preparation.

“Violet, your mother isn’t just Marta Portocale,” Emit tells her very quietly, like he’s easing her into the boiling pot of stewed mess that isn’t getting any prettier with the practiced patience they think they’re showing.

“Okay, so who is she?” Violet asks with appropriate impatience, staring directly at him.

“She’s the Marta Portocale, one-fourth of the immortal Portocale Council, whose family they slaughtered, and she’ll be home soon,” Tom finally says, glaring over at all of us.

Violet stumbles back, and ends up sagging to a chair.

Tom, still visibly furious with us, adds, “And she’s not going to be happy about this blasphemy going on.”

CHAPTER 10

VIOLET

Rugs get ripped out from under my feet fairly often.

In fact, it’s become the norm.

Usually I do a clumsy flip, but manage to miraculously land on my feet.

As they all talk over themselves, trying to delicately explain this fragile situation, I sit numbly. Emit is arguing how they’re not certain this is true or just the ravings of Portocale hopeful, since most women named Marta have families who hope their child will die early enough in life for my mother to gypsy-hop to their body.

Apparently, it’s an honor some of my family are desperate to lay claim to.

That sounds a little fucked up to me.

But that doesn’t mean the freshly dead Portocale has to be named Marta to become a vessel.

Damien is arguing they were going to keep this quiet until they had things squared away with certainty, so as not to give me false hope or information.

I swallow the bile in my throat as they keep talking, filling me in on how gypsy-hopping usually works, and how Mom shouldn’t have been able to gypsy-hop so soon. Then they talk about the limbo she’s supposed to endure for so many years, and blah, blah, blah.

I realize this is important chatter, but my mind only hears white noise when it all comes crashing down.

A tear tries to fall, but I clear my throat and hold the single, persistent tear at bay, as Emit shoves at Arion’s chest, calling him a string of names for the way he’s handled this delicate situation.

Dad keeps getting frustrated about the arguing, telling everyone to lower their voices, as I touch my chest. The thing draining spirits…was Mom. Somehow, she attached something to me so she could beat the odds and return early.

Now it’s gone.

Is she back, or did I somehow manage to screw up her early return without even meaning to?

Vance kneels in front of me, as everyone else continues to argue, aside from Shera, who is making a conscious effort to feign interest in stacking up the deck of cards…one card at a time.

Vance gently turns my face so that our eyes meet, and my chin wobbles just enough for his jaw to tic, as he glares over at Arion.

“Can you take me home?” I ask Vance, causing a rapid silence to descend over the room.

“Of course,” he tells me quietly as he stands, jaw tensing.

Shera nudges me with her elbow, and I glance over as she gives me a subtle, sharp look. She deliberately glances over at Arion before standing. She says a lot without words, and she places the deck of cards in front of my father.

Then she walks out, as Arion makes a frustrated sound and stares out the window like his plan fell apart at the witching hour.

Damien and Emit walk out. Emit punches a hole through the wall as he goes, giving one last lethal look to the back of Arion’s head.

Arion continues simply staring out the window, hands in fists, as he perches there.

The vampire with no soul doesn’t really understand how to break life-altering news to someone.

I put a small pin in my emotions. I’m getting sick of all the revelations.

“I’ll get your father a ride home,” Vance tells me as he gestures for Dad to stand.

Dad shakes his head and crosses his arms.

“I’m not going anywhere without Violet.”

“You’re going downstairs, and Shera is going to take you to my house, because I have a lot to process,” I tell Dad very directly.

He stands and walks out without more argument, and Vance stares expectantly at me.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” I tell him.

Arion cuts his head just slightly, proving he’s listening, even as he remains at the window.

Vance glances from him to me, before nodding and walking out, and a heavy breath passes through my lips.

Arion turns and faces me, crossing his arms over his chest, undoubtedly annoyed with the fact I’m not all over him for whatever reason.

“I told you the truth. You keep rattling on about wanting it, and I gave it to you, and yet you’re leaving with Vance—”

He shuts up abruptly when I grab the back of his neck and start pulling him down, and just like always, he consumes me when his lips land on mine.

Why the hell am I all over him? Why are tears leaking down my face? Why do I hurt and feel relief after learning my mother kept so many secrets?

He groans against my mouth in relieved surprise, lifting me, as both his hands grab handfuls of ass like he’s been dying to do that all day.

His kiss is the kind of kiss that makes smart girls make bad decisions, even when they’re not forged from broken pieces of lies and secrets. I’ve never claimed to be very smart, so I can only imagine how many bad decisions I’d make if I turned myself over to a man who is truly in love with another monster.

My ass lands on a hard surface, and his hands travel up my thighs, spreading them as he steps into the space he’s created, kissing me harder as he reaches between us like he’s about to undo his jeans and seize the moment on this window’s ledge.

He groans against my lips again, more frustration than relief this time, when I grab his wrists to stop him and break the kiss.

His hands move fast, breaking my hold, as he drags me to him and starts kissing me again, like he’s quickly distracting me before I end this entirely.

“I’ll slow down,” he murmurs against my lips, even as he grinds against me in a way that suggests he’s showing me what I’m missing.

It’s surprisingly hard to break the kiss the second time, but my head is so overwhelmed that it’s the distraction I need to remind myself why resisting Arion is the only thing I can do.

“Thank you,” I whisper across his lips, as he huffs out another breath, leaning back as his eyes narrow on mine. “For not hurting my father, even though he tried to…kill you.”

No way to cushion that. My life is entirely too fucked up.

His face doesn’t change. “I don’t want gratitude, Violet. I want you. I proved I can be as damn dependable as all them, and—”

“And we’re leaving soon to prepare to raise Idun,” I remind him, causing him to make another frustrated sound, as he abruptly releases me and runs a hand through his hair.

“How is it that my loyalty to her isn’t allowed to be broken or handed to you? Do you know how often they strayed?” he asks me almost angrily, eyes intent as he remains between my legs and caging me in.

I open my mouth to speak, but he continues on, eyes steady and intent.

“Damien was so unfaithful that she had to curse him to keep his dick out of other women,” he grinds out. “Vance was so cold and indifferent that she chased him the hardest, constantly working around his tightly crafted walls, even as he had his flings and his spare women.”

Again, I try to speak, but Arion is on a mission.

“Emit was with any wolf who wanted him the second he got his immortality. He’s lucky he wasn’t also cursed,” Arion prattles on, his tone indignant. “I did nothing, Violet. I was the rock. The most dependable and loyal. Yet you refuse to accept me, almost as though you’re punishing me for being the kind of fellow who doesn’t want just any woman.”

My hand slides across his smooth, firm jaw, shaking my head slowly, as I stare up at him.

“All that’s a little complicated,” I explain. “And it sounds insane,” I add with a firm nod. “Instead of cursing Damien and making all their lives hell, she should have just let them go when they wanted to be let go.”

His hand slams on the side of the stone wall so fast and so loudly that I jump and flinch, and he takes a quick step back.

“No, the problem is that you still fear me,” he says, blurring to be across the room in an instant, putting a lot of space between us, as I shove my shirt back down to cover myself. “And you won’t spend any time with me to get over that fear.”

“Arion, you’re still excusing all Idun did to them—the end justifies the means. Whether you see it or not, you’re still loyal to her, because in the end, there was only pain—nothing was justified. At least not to the three she hurt the worst.”

I hop off the ledge, and he simply stares at me with an indecipherable look on his face.

“If I’m willing to move on, then clearly I’m over her antics, Violet,” he says very calmly.

“I still feel like I’m the pin you’re sticking into your own private issues with Idun. I don’t want to be the pin, Arion. I don’t want to be a staple. I don’t want to be tape, or glue, or stitches, or any other form of a metaphorical temporary fix. I don’t even know what I’m doing right now, and it’s—”

Someone knocks on the door, and Arion grabs a stack of pencils from a nearby holder.

“I strongly urge you to find another time,” he answers, with frayed patience, to whoever it is.

“Actually, I should go,” I say as I clear my throat, and wipe my eyes that have started filling up with pointless tears.

Mom’s lie is slowly processing in my head as each and every dam I’ve built starts to crack.

Arion cracks his neck to one side, and then the other—an annoyed glint in his eyes—before giving me a tight smile.

“Since it’s becoming increasingly apparent you’re never going to come to me on your own, I’ll at least leave your present at the door. It shouldn’t go to waste, and I plan to get you something different on your next birthday,” he states randomly, before abruptly walking out, never even glancing back at me.