Trust me, I know all about their planes, trains, and automobiles by this point. Every detail.

He knew this was coming hours ago?

“What’s going on?” I ask Vance, since a few more semi-close Morpheous family members join the audience in the middle seats.

“I’m not entirely certain,” he says, his attention just as focused as mine.

“I don’t like this. Damien hasn’t fed enough to deal with Dorian,” Emit murmurs in a register barely above a whisper.

Damien stands alone in the center of the arena. He’s wearing the ring that bears his family’s crest—a piece of jewelry he rarely dons, aside from special occasions.

He’s still disheveled, since he came straight from Violet’s bed, and he doesn’t ever glance away from the door where Dorian should be.

“His phone was in the parking lot,” I point out, lifting the cracked article in question from my pocket. “How did he know about this challenge? How did his family know? It’s not as though he’s been doing anything other than shagging Violet, and he certainly couldn’t have—”

“Dorian called them,” Anna says as she abruptly appears.

In my fucking lap.

Just as I’m about to salt the infernal bitch, the triplets appear, all of them lounging comfortably in Emit’s lap, hanging onto him like he’s Papa Wolf or some shite.

“He knew Damien would accept,” they all three state in unison, as Anna turns and grins at me very wickedly.

A familiar male ghost suddenly appears in Vance’s lap, leaning forward, as he watches ahead.

Vance’s eyes widen with undisguisable indignity, and his jaw tics, a clear sign something is about to die.

“Behave, monsters. Don’t make this about you,” the dude ghost says. “She’ll be very upset if you keep letting her down.”

With that, they all disappear. Emit, Vance, and I exchange a…look.

I don’t know if we’re confused, pissed, suspicious, or just plain baffled by this point.

“How are the triplets here?” Emit asks as though that’s the paramount question here.

“Why does a ghost think he has the right to tell us to behave?” I demand on a hissed breath.

No one fucking tells me to behave and gets away with it. Besides Vance. That’s only because he’s the one who is actually supposed to make us behave, and he can sometimes kick my ass.

Vance steeples his hands together, eyes ahead, as his jaw grinds.

With a harsh exhale, the Van Helsing says, “I realize we’re extremely high maintenance boyfriend material, and we lack a certain sensitivity a delicate woman like Violet seems to demand from a man, but—”

“But a ghost coming back from the dead is the human equivalent to hearing your grandmother just climbed out of her grave,” I interject, understanding his meaning. “Even if grandma did dig out of hell, she couldn’t have come back the same.”

We’ve started dissecting how very differently Violet thinks from us. It’s clear she’s too stubborn to see it our way, and manipulating her isn’t very easy, since she’s never impressed with how good we are at manipulation.

“She manipulates us, and she’s proud to pull one over on us,” I add. “She’s enlisted a double-standard, because she’s not proud of me when I manipulate her.”

“Fucking vampire,” Emit says under his breath, as though I’m once again being obtuse.

“You don’t understand gray areas, but that’s not the point,” Vance cuts in, his eyes turning to both of us, before looking ahead again. “The triplets are back as well. She brings ghosts back from the bloody dead and shrugs a shoulder at the following inquisitions into such. Then she uses our neglectful romance tendencies to shut us down for farther probing, not understanding the severity. She’s maddening.”

“And Marta Portocale lets her away with murder, I’ve noticed,” I chime in. “I never expected that woman to be so lenient. Not given what a bitter, rigid, uptight bitch she is.”

“I’m not allowed to do my job, and ask important questions concerning impossible beings—both dead and alive—because my girlfriend is pissed at me,” Vance carries on, truly getting more and more upset about it. “Yet the wolf is mated to her, and she’s proud of that huge scar he’s left her with. This is truly hell.”

Zuela Van Helsing, who is still working on Violet’s stained-glass masterpiece, takes a seat just in front of us, ending our conversation.

“Please tell me that stupid fuck has been feeding,” Zuela says on a tired sigh.

“Nowhere nearly enough,” Vance mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Especially not since he exhausted himself merely monitoring Violet’s pain levels during her mating with Emit.”

Zuela’s nose wrinkles.

“I really don’t understand you boys. I’d cut a man’s wanker off before I graciously let him use it on my woman,” he confesses.

“We know,” we all state in unison, vividly remembering him doing just that. Back when he was married to Vance’s mother.

Who…didn’t appreciate her lover’s dick being removed for all eternity.

We all shudder in unison.

Aside from Damien, who is still intently staring ahead at the door. I almost see him willing Dorian to hurry this along.

This is the most likable I’ve ever found Zuela, and it makes me leery. I don’t like him being tolerable. I prefer hating him and wishing for his head to land on a stake.

“He has nothing to gain from this,” Zuela says, turning to face Vance, as if the Head Van Helsing has any say in this matter. “Worst scenario, he fails, and then you have Dorian sitting at your table. Best scenario, he wins, and Dorian acts humbled for a century or two. But if Damien’s not been feeding—”

The door finally swings open to the lower section of the arena, straight across from Damien.

Damien…smirks.

I love when Damien smirks in battle. It means he’s feeling confident. But I lack the same confidence in him, because I know Dorian hasn’t missed a meal in thousands of years. Damien’s no match right now.

Now that I think about it, I really don’t want Damien doing this.

Why do I feel the sudden urge to bite my nails?

“I don’t like this,” I note aloud.

Emit’s already bent over, eyes intently focused on the ring below.

Damien flicks the challenge card to the ground, and Dorian grins as he does the same thing.

“You’re too easy, brother. You know better than to have a weakness—”

Dorian’s words end on a pained cry, and he drops to the ground almost immediately.

I lean way forward, because this is damn interesting. Even at full strength, Damien should have had to struggle for a while to break into Dorian’s mind.

“Sorry. I’ll skip taunts and threats and get straight to the point,” Damien says coldly, as Dorian’s eyes glaze over, and a scream leaves his lips.

His body lies limp on the ground, and even Zuela Van Helsing shivers as though he’s just felt fear in Damien Morpheous’s presence for the first time.

“I’m Damien Morpheous,” Damien grinds out. “First legitimate son of our family. You’re Dorian Gray. The illegitimate bastard who has a problem with our fucked up family legacies.”