I regret not learning to do that in the past few centuries during the times I spent doing nothing at all.

The overall mood in that box seems to change, because Violet’s grin relaxes, becoming more natural once again, as she puts the doll down. Her fingers stay touching it, almost as though she’s now attached to the damn thing, and she and Marta seem to be sharing in conversation now.

Marta even fucking smiles at something that has a devious grin on Violet’s face, which means it’s nothing related to us and makes me unnaturally curious.

Marta’s grin stretches, and then it falls abruptly, and Violet bats a hand before laughing. When Marta throws her head back and laughs as well, I check to see if there’s a fucking trap.

Emit’s eyes meet mine, doing the same thing, and we dart our gazes around in twice the frenzy.

When my gaze returns to the box, Marta is holding both of Violet’s hands in hers, the mood dramatically shifting. I hate that I missed the fucking catalyst for it.

I can’t see what Marta is saying, but Violet gives her a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“What’s that? What’s she agreeing to?” Arion asks, moving toward the door.

“Don’t,” I caution, the words tumbling out as if compelled. “Nothing good can come of you going in there and trying to take control of this situation.”

Violet gives Marta another nod that makes me antsy.

“Violet doesn’t understand taking orders from alphas,” he bites out.

“And you, a vampire alpha, have any authority in this instance because why, Arion?” I point out, even as my hand clutches a weapon I have no right to draw right now.

Another nod, and Marta grins this time, while Violet looks like she’s swallowed something sour.

“Let the vampire take the punishment, Van Helsing,” Damien states idly, as he takes a step toward the door. “Or let me.”

“Neither of you will make it there,” I lie, hoping one of them moves, because I fucking can’t unless it’s to intercede on Marta’s lawful behalf.

It’s one of the many instances I’m reminded of what a slave to the silver curse I am.

Marta pulls back, and for a brief second, I almost think she’s actually going to cry instead of mocking those fake glistening eyes like she did earlier to play on Violet’s softer emotions.

Instead, my heart hits my throat, because Marta stabs that fucking doll before I even see the glint of a blade. There’s a collective exhale in the room that assures me I’m not the only one who was caught wildly off guard.

Violet, the only one of us not surprised, gives Marta a bland look, as Marta slices the doll’s leg clean off.

Marta immediately starts arguing animatedly, as though her crazy-bitch-switch is on overload tonight and freshly re-flipped. Violet just continues to stare at her, unimpressed, as the threads in the room come to life, and the leg is stitched up much quicker.

“No,” is the word I see leave Violet’s mouth, as the doll’s leg is finished mending in a much less pristine manner.

Marta frowns at the doll’s leg, and I see a curious breath of frustration leave her in the way her chest caves.

Cold, lethal eyes cut in our direction when Marta finally acknowledges us, and Violet gives us a tight smile…and what appears to be a somewhat apologetic little five-fingered wave.

“Now I’m confused again,” Arion admits warily, as he takes a step back from the door. And another. And another.

Marta finally turns around, glares at Violet for a second, while Violet returns her stare with a bored look.

“The bloody doll is a timer for how long Marta is allowed to be a raging bitch,” Emit—the village idiot in a lopsided toga—points out. “Marta was denied more time.”

“Are you telling me Marta has found a way to be sensitive to a Simpleton?” Damien asks before he groans. “I really need to stop calling them—and her—that.”

“It’s sort of the only name we ever gave them,” I remind him.

“Obviously, we can just blame that on Idun. We have enough things to do wrong all on our own where Violet is concerned,” Emit mutters.

“Or she’s had long enough to practice manipulating Violet. She can be manipulated all too easily when she trusts you,” Arion notes like he’s speaking from experience.

I hate the paranoia that accompanies confusing moments that stir all our instincts. We all dart a gaze at the other in suspicion. Too many alphas in one room when things are tense never works out well.

We still have to tell Marta that Edmond is the one who hired vampires to have her killed. They just messed up the timing, and tried to get it right with her daughter for the second part of his agenda.

Fun times ahead. Fun times.

My eyes stay fixed on Violet, as I remain rooted to my spot, unable to advance another step.

“It’s a shit time to be a Van Helsing,” I state flatly.

“Violet being a pureblood Neopry means she’s just naïve and capable enough to not look away from an alpha’s eyes,” Emit murmurs. “She even does it with us.”

“She’s Marta’s daughter, and all of this is rule-less territory for her—the first and possibly only of her kind. An alleged immortal pureblood of two Houses like no other pureblood before? It’ll override any claims Idun has to her,” Arion tells me absently, like he’s working multiple things out in his head at once. “By now she’s discovered what Violet is, and she’s been learning the long con of ways to be her, or to simply make her irrelevant, depending on her thousand-year-old mood. But Violet is apparently a mystery we still haven’t solved the way I thought we had,” he carries on as Violet fluffs the clothes on the doll.

“Anyone else a little creeped out about watching her play with a doll her mother gave her?” Emit notes.

“So long as she’s over twenty, it’s just wrong enough for me,” Damien answers distractedly, as Violet seems to speak patiently to her mother, most of her attention trained on the pink button eyes.

It takes a while, but Marta nods at Violet, and Violet looks away like that’s all she was waiting on. She hands the doll back to her mother. Marta tucks it into her bag, along with the sewing kit, and Violet puts her hand out in front of Marta, as her lips start moving too fast for me to try and guess at her words.

Marta takes the knife, and I watch with the other breath-holding alphas, as Violet chatters animatedly. Marta does that pointless trick of stabbing the spaces between Violet’s fingers at a rapid, hard-to-follow pace, as though she’s a traveling freak show.

Violet just carries on talking, as Marta focuses all her attention on not hitting Violet’s hand. Violet leisurely relaxes, still chatting like she’s making idle conversation, or filling her mother in on some less tense things.

Marta rolls her eyes, never missing a beat with the blade, and stops abruptly when Violet stops talking.

Marta takes her bag, opens her mouth and closes it, as Violet’s expression changes to a daring little look. Then Marta glares at us once more, before moving toward the door.

“We act like nothing she says surprises us,” I tell the others, seconds prior to Marta exiting the box.

I finally take a seat in one of the non-dusty chairs off to the side as she slowly approaches.

Violet stays inside the room, casting an annoyed look at her mother’s back, while Marta stops in front of all of us. Violet averts her gaze when Marta gives us a vicious, scathing look.

“You’re handling this much better than expected,” Damien says like the dick who can’t shut up, as he grins over at Marta, timing the words to come out just as the door to the soundproof box shuts.

“I may not can get rid of you just yet, but you will never be able to get rid of me, so long as my daughter is in your lives. Think about that,” she tells us very darkly.

Not the most warming thought.

Now’s not the time to tell her about Edmond. It’s not like he can truly kill Violet or her, so Idun is the more pressing matter. Idun can’t kill Violet either, but she can make Violet wish she could die.

That’s not going to happen.

I’m not going to let that happen.

“You’re supposed to be the one incapable of wrongs on this level,” she goes on, glaring over at me. “My daughter,” she adds on a harsh, choked whisper, as her teeth grind.

“What did you have your daughter agreeing to before there are even rules established for her very existence?” Arion drawls like he’s only mildly interested.

She gives us all a dry look. “What she agreed to is between the two of us, unless you’re okay with her sharing the secrets she’s discovered about you. She wouldn’t give me that offer without giving it to you as well. After all, Violet’s only fair.”

I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, and Marta just darts a look around, a slow smile curving one side of her mouth.

“I guess that’s why she spent so much time talking about resurrecting a dead ghost,” she says, only confusing me farther. “None of you really know my daughter at all, even though she honestly thinks you’re making the effort.”

A cold washes over me. I perused diamond rings on my damn phone, just curious what’s popular on the market these days, and Violet is under the impression we’re simply making the effort to get to know her.

I wasn’t planning to propose just yet, not with everything that’s going on, but it’s still a harsh gap in mindsets…

“Just one generalized comment on that, then? No one stood above the others? Perhaps someone meaning a little bit more than that?” I ask her, narrowing my eyes.

“Even I know it’s bloody wrong to ask Marta for a leg up in her daughter’s romantic entanglement, Vancetto,” Damien says like he’s taking Marta’s side, when she casts a disgusted look in my direction.

“He didn’t ask who our sweet Violet prefers in bed,” Arion drawls with a grin. “He just asked a mostly innocent question, since he had her all to himself for two short days and now gets some extra attention,” he adds.

A collective fog rolls out in our next breaths, and Marta visibly stiffens. But her ire crystalizes our next breaths, small shatters raining through the air, as the temperature drops substantially.

“Careful right now, Arion,” I caution, eyes darting to Violet, who stares down at her nails as though she finds them fascinating.

She frowns at her foggy breath and glances our way.

I’ve never seen Arion so agonized over a decision, because Marta Portocale has a weakness he can finally extort. She’s giving herself away by simply glaring as if she wants us all truly good and dead over this.

But it’s not just her weakness.

The true Marta Portocale slips back into place, as a dark, sinister expression crosses her features. “I just have to be patient, boys,” she says with that smile I hate so much. “All it will take is for one of you to fuck it all up. My money’s on the vampire, because that will be Violet’s breaking point.”