She doesn’t usually have nervous tics. Is lying in a bed with me that—

“It’s just that…I was thinking we may be able to capitalize on this rare moment you and I are completely alone,” she hurries to add, moving closer to me on the bed—so close that my mouth waters. “And I’m too tired to keep pretending like I’m strong enough to stay stubborn.”

I glance at the door, determine it’s impossible Idun slipped by me and somehow swapped out with the real Violet. Then I decide I genuinely love Violet’s unpredictability when her lips clumsily fuse to mine, surprising me even more.

Her hands immediately start working my buckle free, as I shift my body to cage her in under me on the bed. I carefully nip her lip just enough to check her blood, while also letting her shove her somewhat chilly hand down the front of my pants with a highly suspicious amount of eagerness.

A breath hisses out of me when the taste of pure Violet hits my tongue, and I groan into her mouth, no longer second-guessing, as her timid, somewhat surprisingly unpracticed hand grabs me just a bit roughly.

It’s the first time I’ve been touched by her…by anyone other than Idun.

She could probably twist my danglers off and I’d still be unmanned at an embarrassing rate, because I can’t believe this is finally happening.

I hate that I have to tear her hand away, and I swallow her groan when I pin her hands above her head.

“Hurry and get inside me,” she says next to my cheek.

If not for the painful pulsing in my bollocks, I’d swear this is just a dream.

Her teeth bump mine when she starts kissing me again, and she wriggles like she’s working her legs open wider.

I’d have taken a turn with my bloody hand if I’d known this was in the realm of possibilities so soon.

“Violet,” I groan as she gyrates her hips, her hands still pinned next to her head as she drives me out of my damned mind. “I’d rather not be disgraced the first time I get to have you, and it’s been a while, love.”

Her head falls back, and her eyes stare into mine as her lips start to thin.

“So you chase me until I give in, and then you run? Who really likes being chased, Arion? I’m okay with this being quick.” If her eyes weren’t so sincere, I’d swear that was a jab.

My left eyebrow cocks up, and I mentally wring Damien’s neck for jinxing me. “I’m only fast when I need to be, Violet,” I murmur against her shoulder as I slowly start working my way down her front, pushing the shirt up.

“W-what are you doing?” she stammers as I work my body lower, bringing her legs up over my shoulders, as I stare up at her eyes.

My lips twitch. “They’re failing you if you have to ask that question, love,” I tell her as my lips fasten onto—

Her startled cry is the only warning I get before her hands yank all too insistently against my hair, and her hips start going wild as she makes a series of random, somewhat worrisome sounds in various pitches from high to low.

Damn good thing I can’t smother to death.

I don’t even get to show off my skill before she starts shouting in disbelief. “No!! No, no, no!”

Confused all to hell, I rip my face away, just as she cries out in what sounds more like pain than pleasure, and I freeze, too stunned, baffled, and frankly horrified to do much else when her back bows off the bed and her eyes screw shut.

A cold sense of awareness washes over me in the next instant when salt violently explodes from her body, grating against my skin. I don’t even flinch as I stare down, shaking my head in sickening disbelief, as I slowly back away.

A knot twists in my gut as her eyes blink and widen on me, her flushed skin quickly paling. Shoving a hand through my hair, a little panic seizing my lungs, I shake my head harder.

“No,” I say sharply, slapping the side of my head. “No, no, no, no.”

CHAPTER 21

VIOLET

Arion has the phone on speaker, and I can hear everything he’s saying to Vance on the other side of the door, as I finish towel-drying my hair to the best of my ability.

A whisper so light that I barely hear it catches my attention, as a slight chill slithers up my spine. The whisper sounds weirdly inside my head.

“Thanks for leaving the door open. Clearly you really want this,” is the next ghost of a whisper I barely hear, again sounding dangerously close.

Frowning and feeling reasonably creeped out, I turn to grab my coat from the counter, and freeze as my eyes collide with my own gaze in the mirror.

Why are my pupils shrinking?

Something’s wrong.

I suck in a sharp breath, preparing to scream for Arion, but only a muffled sound escapes me instead.

“Violet?” Arion calls, sounding mildly concerned, as my hand, that I seem to have no control over whatsoever, turns on the faucet.

The hand I have control of slaps that hand away, as all the mechanical functions seem to slowly be taken away from me. All the while, I’m growing dizzier.

“Don’t fight this,” an all too familiar voice cuts in.

I stumble into the sink, and the possessed hands start splashing water on my face, just as I feel the invasion seal me out of my own mind.

It all goes dark for what feels like a brief second of struggle and strain, before a painful breath bursts into my lungs with a harsh gasp. The spray of salt rains down me, really confusing the shit out of me.

There’s a painful ache in a very inconveniently random place, as my eyes stare up at an unfamiliar ceiling, my breaths coming rapidly and shallowly. Why does it feel like I need to clench my thighs just to soothe that ache?

I’m vaguely aware of the fact I’m on the bed with my shirt pushed almost up to my neck, and my hands are on my thighs, nails digging into my skin, as the vagueness turns to sharp awareness.

I blink rapidly when my eyes land on Arion, who has a hand shoved in his hair and is staring down at me in so much shock and appall that I feel like a truly horrible person.

I swallow around the breath trapped in my throat, because that brief second I thought I was out has clearly been a lot more. Arion’s head starts shaking, and he slaps the side of it, chanting a seemingly endless series of desperate nos.

I’ve killed people and never felt as guilty as I do in this moment, and my throat is too dry and still burning too badly for me to speak. All that comes out is a rasp, pained sound.

Arion stumbles to the bathroom, clumsily rushing around, and I hear the water running. Given his reaction, he’s perfectly aware of what just happened.

I stave off the tears as he hurries back out, eyes not meeting mine, as he absently hands me the small glass of water.

Just as I take a sip, he slams his fist through the wall to the bathroom, and I startle as one of those tears slips out.

“I knew it was too easy. I knew it was wrong. I fucking knew it,” he says as he drops his forehead against the wall. “It didn’t feel like you.”

My throat loosens up, though it still hurts a little. My entire body is limp and drained, completely different from when I gave control to Anna willingly.

A forced possession by three psychotic, delusional, pitiful ghosts is an entirely different, horrible experience. At least I think it was the triplets who possessed me, given the voices I heard.

I’m still confused as to what just happened and how.

My eyes dart to the clock, noting that they couldn’t have possessed me for very long at all, even with all three of them at the wheel. But things clearly escalated quickly.

“No,” he says again on a low groan, as he sits down at the end of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and putting his hands in his hair. “I couldn’t have known, Violet,” he says as he rocks forward. “How could a ghost have possibly possessed you without consent? You’re a bloody gypsy and a monster, and you just had a massive feeding—”

“I’m sorry,” I manage to croak, before quickly drinking the rest of the water.

He turns and gives me such a pitiful look, before moving up closer on the bed.

“Why the fucking hell are you sorry, love? Did you let them do that?” he asks almost…hopefully.

This is possibly the most fucked up situation in the history of twisted, insane, fucked up situations.

“I apparently didn’t seal the door all the way after Anna, or something,” I say quietly, even though my throat feels gradually better.

That damn door will be bolted shut as soon as I figure out how to make that happen. Not that it helps this current situation.

Arion drops back on the bed, scrubbing his face with both hands. “No idea what that means, love, but I think I’m the one who needs to apologize in this situation. I’m not terribly good with such things, so I could use some guidance on what exactly to say. Old as I am, I’ve never found myself in this predicament. Ever.”

It’s not funny. At all. None of this is funny. I’m not sure why that still sounded a little funny.

Maybe it’s hysterical laughter that comes when someone’s mind finally shatters against the endless hits, but I have to swallow back that laughter to keep from looking insane to the vampire everyone else thinks is insane.

“It was three of them,” I explain. “Triplets.”

He just makes a frustrated sound, shoving his palms against his eye sockets, as he groans again, and then he quickly leans over and lifts the room’s phone to his ear.

“Linda, I’m going to take you up on the offer of liquor. Bring me the strongest, nicest scotch you have.” He glances over at me, arching an eyebrow. “What’s your poison, love?”

“I’ll just stick to water,” I tell him.

“And a few bottles of water,” Arion adds before turning and hanging up the phone, dropping back again and putting his arm over his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says so seriously that I really hope it’s sincere and he’s not that good at faking it.

“Arion, this is on me. It didn’t even cross my mind that three ghosts could combine and possess me, and I apparently opened the door to such a mess when I willingly let Anna possess me.”

He reaches over, about to pat my knee, but pulls his hand back before he can touch me.

He feels dirty. I feel dirty.

And it’s not just because there’s salt everywhere.

Those evil bitches.

He stands abruptly, and I watch as he starts lifting the cover. I stand and do the same, letting the silent, awkward tension mount as he shakes out the salt from the bedding.

Then he goes to the wall and moves a large plant in front of the hole he punched, before walking into the bathroom. I hear the shower running, and I close my eyes, no lingering hysterical laughter anymore.

Just dread and a sick feeling.

He walks back out, shaking his head as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the ground.

“The creepy girl ghosts?” he asks in an unusually high octave, giving me an incredulous stare.

“No,” I lie. “Different set entirely. Much older.”