Violet can’t handle the wrath of a man like Zuela, if he notices her as the weakness she’s become for too damn many of us.
“Sorry. I heard Sir Van Helsing was out here, and I wanted to bring out his host gift,” she says, being na?ve at a very inopportune time.
Zuela glances between all of us.
“Violet? As in the Violet who had something to do with all this unnatural chaos?” Zuela barks.
“That’d be me,” Violet says with such cluelessness that it’s almost laughable. “You have a beautiful home. The stained glass is possibly the finest I’ve ever seen, and Mom and I have gone to a lot of the best places in our home country just to look at the stained glass inside beautiful architecture,” she carries on like she’s sucking up to the son of a bitch. “Mom always said there was a place in Ireland she’d love to show me one day, but that it was a private estate that wouldn’t allow it. I’m guessing this is the one. Am I right?”
Damien casts her a disbelieving, slightly horrified look, as Marta just shuts her eyes and exhales harshly.
Zuela sniffs the air, likely catching the telling scent of Portocale blood. He looks between Marta and Violet a few times, his brow crinkling in confusion, as Violet calls too much attention to a secret none of us planned to tell anyone…until we were safely back on our own territory.
“That’s not possible,” Zuela says, more confused than aggressive right now, his eyes shrewdly assessing Marta. “The women are as sterile as the men. It’s not possible she’s your child.”
“I was born with no womb, so I guess that makes me sterile too,” Violet throws out there like she’s tossing out a bonding line.
He’s not some omega she can be nice to and make friends with, for fuck’s sake.
“The girl who raised the Neoprys from their undead graves is a Neopry Simpleton monster. She brought in the lightning like only one of them could,” Zuela argues, even as he studies Violet with far too much intrigue.
“I’m mostly just a Simpleton, since Mom wouldn’t ever let be a badass like her,” Violet carries on.
I snort now, only because it’s not funny at all. All the times she said that, I never once considered she was speaking about the original Marta Portocale.
Fuck’s sake, why is that only just now becoming so painfully fucking ridiculous to hear?
“You chopped off your own foot when I tried to teach you to use a sword, Violet. You lost an arm learning to swing an axe, for Pete’s sake. Don’t even get me started on archery; I’ve never seen a person shoot their own kneecap. It’s not something that should be possible,” Marta says as she glares back over at Zuela.
“This is the girl who broke through unbreakable thresholds like only Idun can do?” Zuela asks in a tone that suggests he believes we’re all fucking with him right now.
I glance back at last, seeing Violet holding a wooden box in her hands, her face painted black and white, and a hat still backwards on her head. I’m not entirely sure what she’s wearing, but I think it’s a…prom dress. A very bright pink one with a lot of ruffles.
She wasn’t wearing that a few minutes ago.
“It’s not your concern,” I say as I return my attention to Zuela, moving my body into his line of view to block Violet from his sight.
Zuela’s eyes narrow on me, and I see the calculated glint in his—
“That just makes it sound more exciting than it really is, Emit,” Violet carries on as she steps up beside me.
“Go inside, Violet,” Damien orders, his hand going to her waist to pull her back.
Zuela’s eyes drop to the contact, and a smirk lines his lips, as he darts a knowing look to Marta. Just that one touch, and the son of a bitch knows. It’s written all over his face.
“Surely not,” Zuela says to Marta like he’s more hopeful than anything, inspiring the idea to toss Violet over my shoulder and lock her inside until this over.
“Enjoy the moment, Zuela. It’ll be short-lived or overshadowed soon enough,” Marta assures him tightly.
Zuela’s lips twitch. “I’m sure there’s nothing worse than seeing that, though, Marta. Don’t play me for the fool by pretending you’re not on the verge of losing your already broken mind,” he carries on, as Violet gently tugs away from Damien.
“Trust me. There’s far worse,” Marta surprisingly says, as she continues to stare down Zuela like this isn’t the worst day of her immortal existence.
“Worse than having an impossible, but very ridiculous Simpleton daughter, who can’t be taken seriously? One who is also very comfortable with the sex deviant…who can kill her if he enjoys the ride too much?” he adds with all the disrespect he can muster.
“Here,” Violet says as she rolls her eyes. “While you insult me to take very immature jabs at my mother, share the cigars I’ve been assured are some great ones.”
Everyone goes stiff, including Zuela, as Violet leans forward abruptly and places a quick, chaste kiss on his cheek.
“What the fucking hell?” he snaps at her, reeling back as though he’s about to stab first and ask more questions later.
Violet startles a little, clearing her throat. “It’s customary to kiss a gypsy’s cheek when they’ve graciously invited you into their home, before you part ways. At least that’s what my mother taught me. I should get back,” Violet says, as Zuela continues to stare at her like she’s lost her damn mind.