I don’t have to bother responding to a pointless question with a pointless answer. Everyone’s in a hurry, and now I don’t even know which direction to go.

Do we chase Violet, or do we chase Damien and Arion?

Emit is busy plucking the briars from his cock, cursing some of the more stubbornly embedded ones.

“This is why most civilized folk wear trousers,” I decide to inform him, smiling like a prat, when he glares over at me.

His phone chimes with a text that has his full attention, and I watch with some worry at how wide his eyes go.

“Son of a bitch,” he growls, eyes darting up to meet my gaze, his face slightly paling, as he lifts his phone.

The screen shows Idun TV, and my heart starts pounding, when I see Talbot’s car already parked in front of the Neopry House.

The camera pans to Violet, who is flanked by Talbot and Avery, as she addresses Idun on the steps.

“Why is this happening? Why is this happening at warp speed? She just left. Given her usual dallying and safety precautions, she should barely be halfway to town,” I very reasonably state for no reason at all, since it’s a pointless observation.

“Why the fucking hell is she with Idun? At Idun’s House? With two very valuable betas?” Emit demands.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit, January Violet Carmine?” Idun asks, giving her nails a bored glance.

“We’ll skip the theatrics and cut to the part where you tried to have one of my members harmed on their way to Sanctuary,” Violet bluntly blurts out.

Emit goes rigid next to me.

I stiffen so tightly that my body immediately aches.

Idun’s gaze flicks up, a hint of surprise in her eyes, but she replaces it with cool menace in the next instant.

There’s excitement in her gaze now. That’s terrifying, since Violet’s only chaperoned by mere betas.

“Please enlighten me on whatever it is you mean, January Violet Carmine,” Idun purrs.

“You have a ruse. Everyone knows it. You send a pack of betas to break all the rules, and pretend they were misguided rogues, who were just trying to impress their alpha,” Violet states with zero preamble, finesse, or…anything really.

She’s deliberately being abrasive.

We should have immediately told her how weak her monster is next to an alpha.

Eleven minutes.

Eleven fucking minutes.

Eleven minutes was too long to wait.

She moves too quickly into conflict, even for human standards.

When I see Idun’s grin stretch across her face, my feet start moving. Emit shoves his phone at me, and I juggle it until I have it in front of my face, watching the hint of excitement in Idun’s eyes double.

It’s been too long since she was challenged. She’s drawing it out—like the cat with a mouse…a mouse that, unfortunately, and wrongly, thinks it’s a cat as well.

Emit is right behind me, shaking the ground for a few minutes, before the telltale sound of his bones cracking and skin tearing rings through the air.

A shock of dark fur only barely registers when he darts by me on four furry legs.

“Please, come inside. These sorts of things shouldn’t be discussed on the front steps. How do you like your tea?” Idun asks, enjoying this far too much.

“You need to be on two legs. Don’t run your wolf through the fucking town, you imbecile!” I hiss after Emit.

He makes a frustrated sound, his wolf eyes turning to meet mine, as he seamlessly shifts back, still naked.

“Yeah, because that’s less eye-catching,” I very sarcastically tell the fool. “Would it kill you to bring clothes?”

His mate is about to walk into Idun’s home, with only two betas at her side, so of course his wolf is riled. He’s more animal than man right now, and I see him struggle to keep his skin.

He hops a fence, snatching a tarp from one of the outposts, and wraps it around his waist, while I hurry to catch up.

I mildly startle when there’s suddenly a ghost singing right beside Emit. She’s singing something about being addicted to him but knowing that he’s toxic? All the while, her eyes are greedily drinking in his bare upper body.

Violet collects some of the most shamelessly imposing ghosts with awfully timed appearances.

“Why the hell is there a ghost singing to us right now?” he bites out.

Her attention is solely on him.

“She’s not singing to us, wolf. Congrats. You now also have your very own ghost stalker,” I bite out, idly wondering why there are suddenly so many extra loitering about, as of late.

Not that it’s the most important thing to focus on at the moment. It is, however, a welcome distraction from the impending nightmare ahead of us.

“If I said I want your body now, would you hold it against me?” she sings, curling her hand around a phantom microphone, presumably, and holding it near her lips.

“I’d rather have Anna’s suspicious ass hanging around instead of this ridiculousness,” Emit mutters under his breath, a nervous rambling by this point.

We’re not moving too fast. Nothing good happens from this point forward.

Violet is decidedly determined to find out if immortals can still suffer cardiac arrest without some sort of physical catalyst. We’re her guinea pigs.

“She’s either sadistic and enjoys torturing us by crucifying herself, or she’s a fool who doesn’t know any better. Either way, we have to find a way to rein her in before she succeeds in truly provoking Idun,” I tell him too quietly for the ghost to overhear.

She could easily get Avery and Talbot killed inside that House. All it would take is one wrong move. House of Neopry runs a much tighter ship than any other Alpha House.

I find it suspicious when the ghost glances around, trying too hard to seem inconspicuous, and failing miserably.

She jerks her head away when I catch her peering over at us, and she even starts whistling some tune.

Why are we being haunted so often?

What the bloody hell is going on in our world that usually has far more routine, structure, discipline, and very gradual changes?

I finally get that bloody snowball metaphor, because I certainly feel like I’m rolling downhill with no control over the direction I’m headed.

It’s maddening.

Every ounce of energy I have is being used to actively stop myself from rushing into a rash course of action.

Emit’s phone rings, and I glance over to see who’s calling him. ‘Private Caller’ flashes on the screen, just as we reach the steps of the Neopry House. Given the eerie timing, we stop, mostly because neither of us have had any time to prepare for what happens next.

“Do you wanna come over?” the voice whispers.

We exchange a confused look.

“I don’t have time for jokes. Who the hell is this?” he growls.

“I’m not a girl. Not yet a woman,” the whisperer answers.

“Is this some sort of cocked up riddle? What game are you playing?”

“I’m a slave for you,” the other voice says.

“I’m only going to ask this one more time, and then I’m hanging up. Who the hell is this?” Emit demands.

“It’s Diva, bitch!” the louder, and now more distinguished, voice shouts across the line, before the girl’s giddy laughter explodes.