Gypsy Truths
I genuinely thought we’d finally have the upper hand. But she’s coming out with a bigger bang than Arion did, at this rate. Violet won some hearts with her show of self-sacrifice and unwavering loyalty to protecting Sanctuary, but Idun wins every time when she incites the violent and vindictive.
“Is it just me, or are there a lot more shifter scents in town today than we’ve smelled in too many centuries to count?” Emit asks very quietly, his eyes scanning the larger crowd during the summer off-season.
“My nose aches from all their stenches, because it’s been centuries since I had to smell so many at once,” I state in agreement.
“My nose aches from your obnoxious, ten-thousand-dollar cologne,” the uncultured wolf says, smelling like fur and sex.
He’s not showing an ounce of shame about it either. This is who Violet chose above me? Above me?
I’m still in trouble, and the wolf is mated to her already. Unbelievable.
“Hurry up, Morpheous. We certainly don’t want to risk sacrificing omegas for an archaic law Idun is using against us,” I gripe toward the deviant, my incessant twitches increasing with each passing second, as the weight on my shoulders seems to double.
What the hell is going on? What’s bothering me so much?
“Is a hunt calling for you, Van Helsing?” Damien muses, idly glancing down at the mirror he pulls from his pocket—the one Violet gifted him.
It really is the most extraordinary piece I’ve ever seen. The craftsmanship is of the finest in detail, and the mirror is still flawless, in spite of its age.
She had that just lying around?
Maybe I’m now overthinking everything, but since the niggling theory about Pandora inserting Violet to snag Idun’s attention away from the Simpletons, I can’t stop thinking about every single detail that’s made Violet very easily slide into all four of our lives. We overlooked how effortless it was to fall into step around her, because she somehow managed to become all our favorite things without even meaning to.
“I’m not really certain what has me riled,” I admit, glancing around again. “I’ll figure it out once we deal with this bullshit charade. It’ll take less than five minutes to lay this to rest. It’s just a tactic to get under our skin.”
“Are you trying to convince us of this or yourself?” Damien asks, but he seems distracted by the very antsy wolf.
“Is it really that unbearable for you to be away from her even this long?” Arion asks the wolf, as though he’s truly fascinated by the concept.
“No. I’ve had a good fill of her and should be fine. I’m not sure why I’m so desperate to return,” Emit confesses, staring uneasily back toward Sanctuary.
I don’t know why he’s staring back. It’s not as though you can see anything but the tall bells from this part of town.
“Maybe we should have told Violet about this,” Emit says as he starts back toward Sanctuary.
I grab him at the elbow.
“Don’t be a fool. Idun wants to return to settling disputes among Houses by having betas duke it out in combat trials. Demetria is an uncontested champion among all betas, which is why we put this law to bed when we buried Idun. We need to deal with this like alphas, instead of acting like boyfriends who wish to please their very soft girlfriend, and Violet will make that impossible,” I remind him. “Wait until it’s settled and we know what concessions we’re making before we discuss things with her.”
Emit runs a hand through his long hair, seeming reluctant to do his job.
“If being her mate is going to affect running your House, you’ll bring more trouble on her than you already have,” Arion tells him very seriously. “And I’m afraid that’s going to reignite my burning hatred for wolves, if that becomes an issue. Friendly warning, pup.”
Emit cuts a glare toward him, and Damien steps between the both of them, rolling his eyes.
“The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can all return to Violet. Get into a pissing contest, and we’ll be right back in trouble. You fucks go messing with my chances of returning to her good graces when I’m making so much progress, and I’ll leave you both impotent for a bloody year,” he threatens, smiling humorlessly at them. “After I feed a good bit and get that much power, that is.”
He nods once, claps his hands together as though he’s effectively solved the tension between everyone, and starts marching toward the Van Helsing rings.
“Even I feel the nearly uncontrollable urge to return her. Probably because I’m more desperate than ever to make her my Flame, now that I know she’s not opposed to marks marring her beautiful body. My mark is far more attractive than yours, mutt,” he adds, saying the words over his shoulder.
Arion pauses behind him, glancing back toward Sanctuary as well.
“Damn it. I don’t know if I can hold out a whole month. I should have said a week,” Arion states very randomly.
I have no idea what that means, but Emit groans.
“You really are insane,” the wolf grumbles on his way by, as we head inside the rings to find our seats.
“Says the wolf who savagely claimed her while not even in the right frame of mind. She really does have a thing for our monsters, doesn’t she? Can I just turn mine loose on her and see what happens?” the lunatic bloodsucker presses.
“No,” we all state in unison.
“I hate voting when I never win,” Arion gripes, as he drops to his seat inside the arena like a sulking teen.
We all shuffle the seating cards around so we can find four seats together, ignoring protocols, since it’s nothing more than a formality and not a rule.
Idun steps up to the podium, wearing the most scandalous dress I’ve ever seen her wear in public. She gives a red-lipped smile in our direction, but we all cut our gazes toward the window when we hear the bells chiming from Sanctuary.
Why in the hell does it bother me to be away from her right now?
The wolf isn’t the only one distracted when the meeting starts.
Chapter 3
VIOLET
“Does Damien have a favorite position he uses on you?” Dorian asks next to my ear.
An image flashes through my head, and I cry out in pain, as it forces its way through every barrier I try to put up.
It’s an image of a younger Damien, easily distinguishable by his incredibly unique features. His eyes are so full of life, as though he has the world in the palm of his hands.
I have no idea what he’s saying, or why Dorian is in the background with his head hanging low.
“Oh, that’s right. You’re some daft breed who only speaks English. Let me give you the translated version,” Dorian says against my ear, a rumble of laughter following.
The knives stab me as the vision restarts, and I choke on the blood when I try to scream.
“Damien, I assume you’ve completed the last of your training.”
“Of course I have, Father. I’m top of my class and have four of the wealthiest politicians eating from the palm of my hands. They have no idea I’m a proud gypsy man, either. The women are pouring into our newest brothel. Quality women. Not the type a man needs a shower after touching,” Damien says around a proud bout of laughter. “These are the women they’ll never forget. A Van Helsing would name a steed after women like these.”