My knees press open, landing on the couch cushions. In less time than it takes to blink, I’m effectively straddling him, as he winks at me and runs his hands up my thighs like he has every right.

He always acts like I’m already his, and he’s just loaning me out to them.

It’s…not a problem to address at the current moment.

I make a concentrated effort to ignore the little tingles of awareness that always accompany Arion’s touch, as I focus on his shirtless chest…wounds. His chest wounds.

He hands me a tool that looks like painfully long tweezers, and I realize he sincerely wants me to dig the bullets out. Without argument, I put the suture kit in my lap and carefully start working the ends of the prongs inside the closing bullet holes.

He doesn’t even flinch as his lips brush over my cheek.

“Stop touching her like that. It’s clear she’s uncomfortable,” Emit gripes.

“I second that,” Damien says with an eerily calm tone.

“You uncomfortable, love?” Arion asks me quietly, gingerly running a hand up my back as I remove the first bullet.

This is going to take a while.

“Focus on the wolves instead of me,” I state in a non-answering way, while I start on bullet number two.

They’re fortunately not very deep.

Arion continues running his hands over me, soaking in any touch he can get away with, even as Emit starts to growl low in his throat.

“You don’t get to be greedy with her,” Arion says in a droll tone, as I move onto the next bullet. “She’s not just yours.”

“Don’t start with this again,” Emit says on a frustrated breath. “Not right now. She’s dealt with enough tonight. She shouldn’t have to deal with your fucking insane idealism on top of it.”

My heartbeat is just starting to regulate after the night, so I don’t argue the fact that a break for my mind would be nice. This vacation sucks so hard.

“This is the first time we’ve sat alone in a room with just one girl getting our attention in quite some time,” Arion goes on, undeterred. “I’d say my insane idealism has merit.”

I finally get the last two bullets out of him, and I start stitching up the small wounds.

“I’m sure I’d be a lovely substitute for Idun,” I tell him like I’m placating him, not meeting his eyes as I focus on the wounds. “But contrary to popular belief, I’m not really looking for a relationship that involves four men.”

“No one’s asking you to substitute for Idun,” Vance states very quietly.

“That was pointed at Arion,” Damien tells him like he’s frustrated with the Van Helsing. “Don’t be as stupid as Emit right now.”

Emit takes a jab back at Damien, and they all start getting riled, as I shake my head again, annoyed with the teenage boys they become after too long.

“Look at them fighting over you,” Arion whispers against my ear.

“The four of you fight over anything. I’m just the latest toy for you to break,” I state a little angrily as I finish up.

He catches my wrist, brow furrowing, as he holds me still with a firm grip that promises he’s holding back a lot of strength.

Our eyes meet, and I see the dark color spreading across his ever-changing eyes.

“What did you say?” he asks me quietly.

A silence settles over the room, and I glance around as Emit stands, his eyes locked on the spot where Arion is clutching me.

“Sit down, wolf. I’m no threat to her and you know it,” Arion says to him without looking away from me. “What did you just say?” he asks me again, eyes narrowing.

“I said the four of you fight over anything, and I’m just the latest toy for you to break,” I repeat, managing to untangle my wrist from his hold and stand.

He watches me. All of them watch me.

It’s…scary, if I’m being honest.

“What?” I ask them, darting a gaze from face to face.

“It’s the first time you’ve sounded like a true Portocale gypsy,” Arion says very quietly. “Only in a different way than usual. You sure you don’t know the Portocale Council?” he goes on.

Everyone continues staring, but I have no idea why.

It’s sort of my snapping point.

Everything piles on at one time…

I can’t deal with this right now. I just can’t.

Chapter 13

ARION

“I said it because it’s obvious the four of you have been together for a really long time. I don’t know the council, but I do know that you four fight without regard to the little ones getting crushed around you in the process,” Violet bites out with more hostility than I expected.

She’s very alluring when she’s cross with us.

“Arion wants to use me as a bandage of some sort, and honestly, he’s the only one whose intentions are clear,” she goes on, giving a pointed look at Emit, who seems a little baffled.

I sit back and get comfy, since she’s sort of on my side, in an odd way.

“You’re all looking for the same bandage. You’re all looking for reasons to fix this mess between the four of you, but too bitter to get beyond whatever fucked up, complicated past exists between you. You’re all either consciously or subconsciously using me as an excuse to work on it. But I have my own fucking issues to deal with. It’s not my place to fix you,” she snaps.

That has me sitting up and narrowing my eyes. It’s very important that she fixes us. She’s the first one I’ve found who is capable of it. Surely she sees the way we’re drawn to her. She’s a Portocale, and we’re still drawn to her. It’s a cosmic sign if I’ve ever seen one.

“Fix your fucking selves! I’m sure as hell not asking any of you to fix me,” she adds, turning and stalking up the stairs like she’s finished berating us for the night.

I do enjoy our little gypsy. She’s fucking perfect.

“It’s ironic how she finished tending our wounds and fixing us up, before telling us to fix ourselves,” I point out with a smile as I turn to face the three men glaring at me.

My smile falls.

“Surely, you’re not blaming me for that little rant. I’m the only one she talked nice about just now,” I state in defense to their unified glare.

“It’s impossible to explain to you how fucking insane you really are,” Vance tells me seriously as he stands and walks up the stairs, going into a different room than the one Violet slammed the door to.

My eyes flit to the remaining two lifers.

“Women, huh?” I ask, smirking, but my lips thin. “Edmond Portocale said we were the reason Idun was broken. You remember how very offensive I found that. As you’re well aware, he proceeded to tell us we like to break our toys. I don’t like Violet repeating those words. See that she doesn’t do it again.”

“Are you threatening her?” Damien asks in a calm but warning tone.

“No. I’m threatening the two of you. When she sounds like a Portocale, I’ll stab one of you right in front of her. Should take care of that problem real damn quick. Let her know, will you? I don’t like scaring her, and she’s easily scared.”

They just blink at me, and Damien shakes his head as if in disgust.

“I’ll bet the three of you don’t help matters. Probably tell her the worst stories about me. Don’t forget how big of a grudge Portocale gypsies are truly capable of. If you turn her against me, I’ll—”

“She knows the story, and she’s still willing to help remove the curse,” Emit says as it thunders outside and the sleeting gets more intense, as if cued.

There’s no lightning crash just outside the window to send this moment over the top, though. The thunder carries an empty warning, much like every time Emit opens his mouth.

I run a finger over my lips as they curve in a smile. “Freedom at last.”

“Only if she manages to make the council hear her and heed her wishes,” Emit states tightly. “But on the miraculous chance she does succeed, what then, Arion? What’s your play?”

“Get the girl, of course. But that starts very soon, since you’ve had your turn,” I tell him, my smile staying fixed to my face.

Emit stalks—still naked—to the kitchen and pours himself a drink. He downs it, and when he’s finished, he downs another. Damien stretches his legs out in front of him, eyes warily staying on me.

“Violet isn’t Idun.”

“That much should be obvious,” I say with a shrug. “Idun is still underground, past due for a raising,” I add. “Sucks to be her.”

“I find it impossible that you’re magically okay with that,” he goes on as Emit walks by, passing off a glass of whiskey to Damien.

“Sure, I’d love one,” I state with a sardonic smile.

The music plays overhead from Vance’s room, drowning out the dulling thunder.

Emit gives me a scathing look, but I just smile as I stand and go pour my own glass.

“You all know as well as I do how uncommon it is for a gypsy, such as her, to walk in and turn everything upside down. We’ve been stagnant for centuries, aside from that burial job you cruel fucks did to me,” I point out.

“Speaking of cruel fucks, why do you think we care at all what you have to say?” Emit asks, while those wolf pupils come into sharp focus.

“Because I’m usually right,” I point out, which draws some snorts. “I’m the only one who said we shouldn’t do the sacrificial altar,” I go on, which forces the room to shut right the hell up. “I said it was blasphemous magic, and I lost my soul when I was outvoted. You’re all as much responsible for the monster I am as Idun is. Wouldn’t it be nice for a gentle thing like Violet to have her hands on me instead of Idun?”

My grin only grows when they grind their teeth, hating the lovely little solution to their problem being packaged and neatly presented.

“It’s not as if you’re not all already drawn to her. You know what I want—I miss the good times. Idun has been fucking underground forever, and I’m sick of being on my own. The three of you voted she was the problem.” I look over at them as I finish pouring my whiskey. “I let you put her under, and you still cut me out.”

“No one cut you out. We barely look at each other either,” Damien says through his own annoyance. “You just make it hard to sit in your presence without wondering what stupid fucking heinous thing happens when our backs turn.”

“Violet will fix that,” I assure them.

Damien makes another frustrated sound before he stands and starts up the stairs. “I’m not sure why I still bother trying to argue sense into the senseless,” he says as he heads toward Violet’s room.

“Says the one who lurks in her room while she sleeps. You’re just as insane as I am, but you think you’re better. Always have, really,” I say cheerily as I sip my own whiskey.