“Not now, Anna,” I gripe.
“Damien put Dorian in his place for the first time in too many ages,” Vance goes on, his voice almost quiet.
I sling some salt in Anna’s direction, and devote all my attention to Vance again.
“You really do make my job so much easier, simply by existing. I trust you in all the ways that matter most to me,” he adds as though it’s a difficult thing to confess so liberally.
It feels like we’re back in proposal territory, or maybe that’s what he’s been leading up to.
“You had to compromise on a ring because you know I’d pick something gaudy, tacky, and not at all classy. And you’re the kind of man who would hate himself for having to claim you bought such a thing. A ring, Vance. What sort of eternity does that look like to you if we have to start compromising on just the ring?”
I’m not sure why he smiles.
“One full of my smart mouth, your smart mouth, and sex that will shake the floors every time we collide about our differences,” he says in a tone that definitely makes me forget this is marriage we’re discussing.
His lips find mine in that instant, stealing a kiss I wasn’t expecting, and I end up gripping the collar of his shirt to pull him as close as possible.
It’s clear what my body’s up to when it arches against him without my consent, and his arms close around me, drawing my hips firmly against his. My legs wrap around his waist, and he groans against my lips, while shoving the sheet up on my hips.
“I sometimes let the hair on the hairbrush gather until someone asks to borrow it and I feel like the world’s grossest person,” I feel the need to confess against his incredibly demanding mouth. “I also feel like a hairbrush is deeply personal and can’t understand why people want to borrow it.”
He chokes on a sound that sounds dangerously akin to laughter, his lips breaking from mine in the process.
“You can have your own bathroom at my place. One is already under construction,” he murmurs, smiling when I tense.
“That’s probably smart, but also really presumptuous,” I admit, unsure how I feel about something so big happening.
What happened to the baby-steps? Usually people live together for a while before marrying.
It dawns on me that it actually wouldn’t be that way with them. They were born in a time when first came love, second came marriage, and then came someone with a baby carriage.
They’re conveniently traditional about this sort of thing.
“In compromise to letting me oversee the wedding plans, you can wear a sheet on our wedding day, if you please. So long as that sheet is from my bed,” he says against my lips, surprising me so much that I almost laugh.
That’s one hell of a rabbit hole I’m not ready to dive into right away.
He grins against my lips, before breaking the kiss. I’m leaning forward to chase his lips before I can stop myself, and he smirks down at me.
“I’m giving you the ring to let you know I’m ready when you are. Take your time, Violet. You’ve been rushed into some big decisions, and it seems it’ll only happen more and more. You make life easier on me. I want to return the favor,” he says too seriously.
Obviously I end up kissing him again, mostly because he’s proposing and I’m sucking at being proposed to. I-I just can’t process everything going on all at once.
That snowball needs a small recess between cliffs.
“When can you get out of here?” he asks me, twining his fingers with mine, as he gives me those stupid butterflies only he evokes.
“I’ve got a few hours of work to do.”
“I’ll nap over here, and you wake me when you’re through,” he says, heading toward my library/brewing room/temporary office’s sofa.
After he pulls out a small pouch that he starts shaking out. It shakes out a whole lot. All of that was in that small, vacuum-sealed baggy? Is that a sheet?
Nooo. It’s a sanitary couch liner he’s carefully applying to my public-access sofa.
He turns and gives me a smirk. “See? I can compromise sometimes without complaint.”
I roll my eyes and hide my smile, and after he removes his jacket…and his tie…and his shirt…and his belt…and his pants…and his undershirt…
His undershirt drops to the couch, and I watch as the beautifully polished man, wearing nothing but the boxer-briefs that were designed to humble women.
“Dat ass, though,” Anna says in a stage-whisper next to my ear.
My eyes bounce up from his ass to turn and glare at her, because he so has super hearing.
When I look back over, Vance is hiding a smug look as he finishes neatly stacking his shirt and shoes onto a plastic bag he’s laid out next to the sofa.
How dirty does he think this place is? I bet it’s even cleaner than his place, because Lemon takes pride in keeping a clean house, and she’s found her new favorite clean freaks who enjoy doing it right alongside her.
“What’s on your mind, Violet?” Vance asks me.
“Lemon and how clean she is,” I inform him, crossing my arms over my chest like I’m not absolutely intimidated by how physically perfect Vance Van Helsing is.
He’s smiling at a lot of odd things today.
“How do I know you’re really Vance and not some creepy trickster?” I decide to ask, just to ensure I’m not accidentally drooling over someone who is fucking with my sight or mind.
I’m developing trust issues as well.
He moves to the fireplace and picks up a rusty fire-poker. Right before my very eyes, shiny, pristine silver races from tip to handle, until it’s fully coated.
“Only a Van Helsing can manipulate metal into silver,” he tells me as he props the fire-poker back on the stand. “Any other questions before I take my nap? Or any requests, Violet?”
He drops down to the sofa, crossing his arms behind his head, and damn near luring me into a false sense of security.
I repeat those words in my head before coming to a conclusion.
Maybe I have more trust issues than I realized.
“Just loan me your vagina. It’ll be worth the pain. I’m tougher than you,” Anna says.
I toss salt over my damn shoulder once again, hoping this time she takes the hint.
Vance keeps that devilish grin on his face, as he lets his eyes shut, looking entirely too naked and comfortable on the sofa he’s too long for.
I have no idea how he manages to look so at ease with his legs extended over the end, but he pulls off the lazy, polished sexy with effortless ease.
“If you’re done being the creepy chick who watches their ex-boyfriend sleep, you may want to know Edmond Portocale is here,” Anna says as she pops up right at my side, waggling her eyebrows at me. “To perv or to raise hell? That is the question.”
“I’m not raising hell on Edmond. Mom said it was complicated, so I’m letting her deal with it,” I tell Anna, my eyes not leaving Vance.
My brow furrows when his breathing changes, seeming almost labored with the next breath.
“Have you noticed they always get ready for a fight, but it fizzles out when the chance rolls around? It’s like they’ve lost their fire and their spark over the years, but that’s not really it. They get off on being impervious to things in front of each other. But then they toss their weight around about the weirdest shit. Sans your crazy bitch mother, who flips her extra switch every chance she gets—weird or not,” Anna prattles on.
“Have you noticed that I’m currently ignoring you?” I volley, too distracted by Vance’s weird tension to listen to her anymore.
The Van Helsing’s breath catches in his throat, and I go to kneel at his side. It only takes a minute to realize what’s going on, as all the familiar things settle into place.
Vance is under the Portocale curse, and Damien, the man who can enter unconscious minds like it’s a bedroom, says he’ll be his strongest ever, starting at midnight. As much as I hate another Portocale has died, the timing couldn
’t be more perfect.
“Anna, go get Damien. Now,” I tell her.
With a salute, she shouts, “Aye, captain!”
I roll my eyes when she vanishes from the room, but my gaze settles back on Vance.
“Hopefully, Damien has had at least one idea of how to do what I want to do, during the latter half of his eternity that has been filled with boredom and isolation. Fingers crossed, Van Helsing.”
Chapter 12
DAMIEN
“You can’t take Idun, Damien. Don’t be the daft fool we all know you are,” Marta tells me.
“This girl has bumbled her way through staking four vampires, killing a roomful of beta wolves—”
“How could you possibly know about that?” Emit bites out, cutting off Edmond—yes, Edmond.
Edmond showed up a bit ago, to bring up all of Violet’s accomplishments that we seem to be ‘glossing over,’ according to his paranoid, delusional self.
I pointedly ignore Marta’s lack of faith in me.
As if I need that woman’s permission to go fuck some shit up real good.
Edmond cuts his eyes toward Emit.
“Because you just told me. I knew it wasn’t you. You’re savage, but not when it comes to mutinies,” Edmond says on a sneer.
“Fucking idiot,” I state to Emit, as I offer him one of the fancy chocolates from my fancy chocolate box. “You know better than to let a Portocale provoke you that way.”
It’s left over from the champagne and chocolates I had my beta gather for us. He clearly has expensive tastes, and I think I like it.
Emit mutters something under his breath and exhales harshly, while popping a piece of chocolate in his mouth that will hopefully glue his lips shut for a minute. Before he goes and tells more shit.
“Then she goes and breaks curses for two alphas. Turns out, the girl is also immortal, and can’t even die when she fucks Damien Morpheous’s cursed dick.”
“My enchanting and insanely perfect cock is actually not cursed anymore. I’m faithful because I choose to be. Not because I have no other option,” I decide to interject, staring deliberately at Marta…who doesn’t even acknowledge I’ve said anything at all.
Emily—yes, Emily—comes and thieves a piece of chocolate, squatting between our chairs like she’s enjoying the Portocale show with us.
Emily showed up about the same time as Edmond, and she’s been too amused to leave.
We all three stare on, as Edmond rages about Violet.
“Then, on top of all that, she raises a family from a grave she shouldn’t have been able to step foot on. Immediately after, she erects a Sanctuary and has laws passed by fucking alphas to make it operational. All of this happening around a year’s time from start to finish!”
“He’s a gnarly shade of red,” Emily states flatly. “None of this matters. Edmond is brazen enough to provoke all of you, unafraid of a death that can’t come, and lacks any remaining sentimental attachments. He’s untouchable.”
“Untouchable,” Edmond scoffs, jaw ticking. “I learned at least that much from Idun. He returns his full attention to us. “I loved one woman. That woman was tortured mercilessly for Idun’s own vendetta, all because I loved Caroline in a way I never could love Idun.”
I bristle in my seat, immediately hating the direction this conversation is going.
“I could barely get the woman to spare my favorite betas during that time,” I remind him. “And then she stopped sparing them at all. One fit, and she’d take it out on whoever I cared about the most. She’d have only been worse to Caroline if she’d caught me intervening. Don’t be a fool, Edmond. We helped the girl as much as we could by distracting Idun as often as possible.”
“You four made the world tremble in fear. You made them fear the woman who feeds on fear and lightning, and you made her unstoppable!” Edmond harps, as if we don’t already know that was a huge mistake.
“We loved her and was trying to protect her,” Emit grinds out.
“She was an unkillable monster!” Edmond fires back. “She didn’t need protection!”
“We’re well aware of our mistakes now,” I state in a much calmer tone, smiling tightly over at Edmond. “You’ve made as many mistakes in your very long life as we’ve made in ours.”
“We didn’t realize the power of fear, because we only ever saw the hatred. How were we to know it held so much power when we were men too young and prideful to admit fear?” Emit fires back.
“I feel lots of fear, if we’re going to discuss the topic,” Emily cuts in with a prim tone, plucking another chocolate from my box. “Arion’s never taken a stand against Idun before. I’ve never seen anyone take a stand against her and be left with any measurable amount of dignity.”
“We don’t take a stand against Idun. Damien, don’t be stupid and think you’ll do more than piss her off with some vain attempt of breaking into her mind while you’re on a measly power trip. We negotiate. We compromise,” comes Arion’s voice, as he strolls in, hands leisurely resting in his pockets.
Edmond sneers in his direction, because Edmond does love sneering.
Often.
A lot.
He’s doing it again already.
I give zero fucks about what the vampire is saying, because my mind’s made up. I’m a Head Alpha too. No one is going to tell me what I can or can’t do.
“If I challenge her, there will be no legal recourse for action. If I die, Violet will need some extra attention for twenty-eight years. If I live, it’ll be because I won and damaged Idun’s ferocious reputation. At last. It could be the solution to all our problems if the wheel turns again,” I point out.
They act as though I haven’t thought this through. The worst thing that could happen is that I die…and they have to deal with her cranky tantrums I’ll have stirred.
Edmond outright laughs.
“I have a well thought-out masterful plan, using all my knowledge against her, since we’re all feeling in the mood to share. That’s all I have to say on the matter in the presence of certain company,” Arion tells me and only me, while deliberately using his head to gesture at Edmond. “It’ll take a few centuries, but it will work if we follow it step-by-step.”
“How elaborate is this plan of yours?” I ask on a tired breath, pre-exhausted with the Vampyre’s diabolical, overcomplicated mind. “Do we need a daily itinerary just to keep up with whatever centuries-long charade you have cooked up? Will all our commentaries be strategically scripted?”
Fucking vampires. Their head games have head games.
“Maybe we should hear Arion out,” Emit tells me.
Emit keeps being wishy washy on the matter. One minute he has faith in me, and the next…not so much.
I’m just waiting on midnight.
Twenty more minutes now.
“It is elaborate, and it will require a great deal more effort than you typically assert, but it will be effective if you’re willing to do so,” Arion fires back. “It’s okay to not always be sitting alone in the dark with your mirrors.”
“I’m past those days,” I remind him, eager to return to my Flame.
After I obliterate Idun’s mind.
Violet will definitely have worse trust issues with me if I go and get myself killed after just eternally binding her to me.
But, if all goes well, it’ll be a lovely wedding gift.
A grin curves my lips, until…Anna is suddenly in my lap, gaze colliding with mine.
“Violet needs you. Now. In the library. It’s sort of an emergency,” she says with zero emotion in her tone.
She grins, but I’m already passing through her, so I barely catch a glimpse of it.
The sound of a heavy stampede on my heels assures me that at least Emit has followed.
I turn, stumbling into a room that I see Anna disappear into, and…my eyes widen in my head.
The noblest, humblest, most likable, good-guy knight Vance has ever held as a beta, Avery, is mid-way through hammerin
g Leiza from behind, while fisting a handful of her hair and really anchoring her to him. Just…not what I was expecting to see. At all.
I’m so full to the brim on sexual energy, that the potent pheromones are almost nauseating.
Avery jerks to a stop, eyes widening in horror on us, as Leiza keeps her head lowered, struggling to keep a straight face.
“I-I-Is there something you needed?” Avery asks in as formal of a tone as he can muster while he’s balls-deep.
“Are you planning to turn wolf?” Emit asks too hopefully, shouldering by me.
Avery looks as though he could positively die. He’s a rather conservative fellow, despite his age. I imagine this is rather mortifying.
I grin, but then remember Violet fucking needs us.
Darting away, I start rushing back down the hall, spotting Anna turning into another room.
This place is really a lot bigger when you’re in a hurry.
I charge into that room, and Emit damn near boulders into my back when I attempt to stop abruptly. I’m forced forward a couple of steps, wanting to die a little, when I see Zuela Van Helsing with his dick out while his body remains too rigid.
His cock, however, is fortunately not rigid.
His pants are pushed down to his ankles, his hand is on his stomach, and—
“Portocale curse,” Emit says, his tone confused, which only mildly distracted me from the mind-numbing sight.
“Did he fall asleep after he rubbed one out without even bothering to tuck that tragic thing away?” I ask, genuinely disturbed.
“Damien, he’s under the Portocale curse. Why didn’t I go down first?” Emit asks, once again slicing through my distraction.
I turn, my brow furrowing, as a derisive snort comes from behind the wolf.
I glance behind him to find Edmond rocking the sneer once more, propped against the wall behind us.
“Turn the blind eye all you want, as you do with all the pretty girls you love, but the girl mates the wolf, and he’s magically exempt from the curse,” Edmond says, eyes narrowing on Emit. “I’ll be damned if that’s natural. Nothing about her is natural. Pandora is involved. The world is shifting on a dime the moment she throws her weight around in subtle, yet pressing ways, that boast her young arrogance. And you’re letting her, because she’s your fucking girlfriend? Bloody jesting with this.”
Gypsy Truths (All The Pretty Monsters Book 6) Page 12
