His lips purse as he glances toward the burning house and back at me.

“Who could turn them against their will? I’m the only one in this region with the power to turn,” he points out.

“Hence the reason why I didn’t give you a polite warning,” I state pointedly.

“If you’re accusing me of something, spit it out, Van Helsing, because I have something far more pressing to talk to you about.”

“More pressing than an illegal turning? It’s not the dark ages anymore, Damien. The more we’re exposed, the more vulnerable the gypsy—”

“Twenty-eight vampires were captured outside of Shadow Hills and reportedly hauled to the House of Arion,” he interrupts dryly, causing my brow to furrow.

“Why is that more important than this?”

“It’s rumored that they’re unregistered. Aren’t the unregistered vampires your responsibility? Since when does Shera take it upon herself to transport unregistered vamps over town lines? It’s unlikely she’s tidying up problems she doesn’t want to have.”

I exhale harshly, running a hand through my hair.

“Or it could be Isiah stepping up in Arion’s absence,” I point out. “He’s played a stronger role than Shera, even though she was appointed head in his absence.”

“Pfft. Shera rules the roost and you know it. Isiah just thinks he does more. I’m not concerned with theories or competitive vampire politics. I’m concerned with the fact there are twenty-eight unregistered fucking vampires inside town limits, and they were alive when escorted inside the home. Sounds like a Van Helsing should pay a visit,” he goes on, grinding his jaw. “These unregistered vampires recently attacked a fucking Portocale who luckily managed to escape by the skin of her teeth, as I’m told.”

Instead of even bothering to acknowledge that ludicrous possibility, considering Shera knows her fucking place, I pull my phone out and hand it to him.

“You have two missed calls from Violet,” he says with a frown.

“The pictures, you idiot. Stop looking through my phone and look at the damn pictures I had it on.”

He rolls his eyes, but then he cants his head when he sees the pictures.

“These women definitely aren’t mine,” he says with a very disconcerting grin.

“Whose are they?”

“Can’t you tell by the marks on their necks? My brother always did love leaving a little trading card,” he says in a droll tone as he passes my phone back to me.

I glance down, barely noticing a mark there. It’s a dull, red mark that could easily be mistaken for a birthmark. “Dorian,” I say harshly.

“Looks like an alpha forgot to report he was coming to town. Perhaps you should pay him a visit. Beat on his face a little,” he suggests. “After you call Violet.”

He lifts his phone and pulls it to his ear.

“Don’t fucking call Dorian and tell him—”

“I’m checking my voicemail. The Portocale left one, but I assumed it was just to curse me more for being in her home again.”

The world’s most impossible task: Being a fucking Van Helsing amongst unapologetic monsters.

Annoyed, I lift my phone and walk away from him, listening to the message she’s left me.

I hear his sharp intake of air, but before I can turn around, Violet’s trembling voice comes across the line.

“I really want to be found by a Van Helsing right now. We can consider it an even trade for the pocket watch.” I can hear the edge of terror she’s straining to cover up as she fights to keep her voice even. “Anna, where are—”

Her muffled shout cuts out as the message ends, and I look over my shoulder to see Damien lowering his phone as well.

“Where is she?” he snaps as I close my eyes.

My mind races, traveling down the roads like they’re directly in front of me, the scent of Portocale blood guiding me.

An echoed scream passes me when I get to a familiar junction, as though something happened here. Just a hint of Violet’s blood rests in the air.

The trail quickly continues, racing through my mind in a circle. A long, tiring, seemingly never-ending circle.

My eyes fly open as a growl rumbles out of me, and my gaze locks on Damien’s.

“Someone is running her in a loop. Or was. Only a few know that trick. Where’s Emit?” I ask him curtly.

He’s already dialing someone, presumably the fucking mutt in question.

Straining my hearing, I listen as the wolf answers on a groan. “I really need to fucking sleep right now, so—”

“Violet’s been spinning circles. Any chance you’ve nabbed her like the barbarian you are?” Damien asks him.

“Are you fucking shitting me right now?” Emit growls.

“You were overly sensitive to the fact she didn’t want to kiss a dog when she could have a sex symbol. It’s not a far stretch to assume you’d do something stupid, since she’s leaving panicked calls and asking a Van Helsing to find her,” he adds, proving the dick listened in on my message.

“I don’t have her. I’ve spent the day trying not to think about her since you left my house. What do you mean she’s leaving panicked calls and—”

Hanging up on Emit, Damien holds my gaze. “Twenty-eight unregistered vampires are transported into town just before Violet starts leaving cryptic messages for help. Arion bends the rules too much for Shera, and she knows more than she should.”

I don’t say anything else as I get inside my car, cursing myself for dealing with the succubae instead of answering Violet’s calls. She’s a constant distraction that is causing me to do a lot of stupid things, such as deciding on a whim to entrust her with one of my weapons.

Damien gets in beside me. “Your car is faster than mine,” he says with a shrug. “And I parked ten miles downwind so you wouldn’t smell or hear me coming. This matter isn’t settled. You’re required to give me at least a courtesy call when exterminating—”

“Not. Now,” I bite out as I gas the car and sling us out on the road.

The extra boost of horsepower seems more feasible than ever, and I appreciate the new car more than I did when we hit one-forty in no time at all.

“Her mother knew her blood would smell suspiciously sweet to vampires. Why bring her to our fucking town?” I ask aloud.

“Marta Portocale stayed in town without a single vampire incident. Why is Violet different?” he volleys. “Violet is different because she’s ignorant about our world, and they confuse ignorance as weakness. That Portocale is dangerous because she thinks like a true gypsy, and she adapts eerily quickly to things going on around her.”

“She’s had the Forsaken Cult after her since she was born, I’m sure. Her father took off when she was thirteen, the most pivotal moment in every gypsy woman’s life—the day she inherits her gifts and a curse—and survived a cold, harsh, and incredibly impatient woman like Marta, even seems to have loved and greatly respected her. It’s not at all surprising she’s able to adapt and adjust. You just don’t know anything about her other than how far your tongue can go down her throat.”

I take a sharp curve, and I feel the dick grinning at me as I keep my eyes on the road. “You’re as bad as Emit. It kills you two that she’s showing interest in the only one of us who can’t actually enjoy her.”

“You’re using your Morpheous charm on her—”

“I realize none of you believe me, but I merely lower—”

“Lower her inhibitions around me and see what happens,” I cut in, causing him to exhale as if exasperated.

“It’s not cheating if she still has the ability to walk away,” he defends like a sullen child.

“Which she did. Even after you cheated,” I point out with a smirk.

But the smugness dissipates as I near the town.

“What would Shera be up to if she is the one with Violet?” he asks, his mind seemingly jumping onto the same route as mine.

“Nothing that will end well for her,” I state quietly as the steering wheel whines under my grip. “Shera’s been far too compliant in his absence, almost as though she’s been biding her time. Violet wants to be found, but this loop is really hard to break through, so someone planned for that.”

“I was just starting to like Shera,” Damien says on a disappointed sigh.

Chapter 32

VIOLET

“It’s like a sea of bodies caught up in a never-ending orgy,” Anna says like she’s swooning, clearly seeing something entirely different than what’s going on.

Arion grins back over at me as he thumbs my chin and leans in, almost brushing his lips over mine. A cold chill shoots through my spine.

“My gifts are to pay you for the debt I owe you for springing me a little early and ruining Vance’s shiny, impenetrable coffin so that he’ll have to spend at least a couple of decades making a new one to hold me. I’ll be stronger this time. I’ve learned a few tricks in my absence,” he says, whispering the last part near my ear.

He’s watched them.

He wasn’t haunting them. He was fucking studying them.

“It’s awesome having your stupidity pointed out to you,” I say a little tightly, trying to sound like I’m composed, while silently hoping the cross around my neck has some sort of power against him.

He flashes that smile at me, though I can barely see it, because his face is still close enough for me to feel his breath ghosting my lips. I remember really hating life when I couldn’t feel his touch, and now…

He kisses a spot at the corner of my lips before brushing his lips over my cheek.

“Shera, get everyone out. I need a moment to explain Ms. Portocale’s gift to her,” he says in that same voice that put butterflies in my stomach when he was a harmless, helpful, caring, flattering ghost.

“You heard him!” her boyfriend shouts loudly, flailing his arms around like he’s shooing people out.

“Yes. They heard him,” Shera says like she’s scolding her boyfriend as she guides him out of the room.

Arion just continues grinning at me like I’m his new favorite toy, and I stare into the eyes I once wanted to be real.

It’s like a genie has granted a fucked up wish. This is why people don’t make wishes. They’re always loaded with unforeseen consequences.

“After your attack, I started doing some digging. It’s still a work in progress, but these are from two of the nests who underestimated you, and there’s more to come,” he elaborates in a tone that makes me believe he sees this all as romantic or something.

I…have no idea what to say. Kidnapping a girl and showering her with dead bodies as roses is not something I can adjust to at all. Nope.

Too much. Too soon.

My hands tremble.