“Singing, of course, is the best tool,” Tiara tells me with a grin that is definitely insulting. “It’s what the Simpletons are known for.”
I’m already failing at being a Simpleton, because I suck worse at singing than learning a new language. They make it seem as though it’s as simple as watching freaking TV. And I failed singing lessons when my mother refused to believe I couldn’t carry the tune of a songbird.
If they’re considered Simpletons…no wonder the guys treat me as though I’m the biggest village idiot there has ever been in their presence. This is why they keep acting like I’m some sort of breakable doll who needs to be monitored at all times.
“G-g-got it,” Ighan says, figuring out which button to push on the remote. “I s-s-sat on it.”
A thousand years underground and knew the remote was linked to the TV. I had to be thoroughly taught how to use my first calculator.
“My life sucks so hard sometimes,” I mutter under my breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. “We’ll start with the basics,” I go on, turning my attention to Leiza, as I try not to look over at the very curious men and women who’ve started peeking around the corner, getting closer and closer to us as they sneak down the stairs.
Sometimes it’s also rewarding to be me, since I helped make this happen. But this doesn’t feel like enough.
Not yet.
I can do more.
CHAPTER 2
EMIT
“My credit card is maxed out? How is my brand new card—”
Marta stops talking, as the woman on the other line interrupts her to say, “I’m sorry Ms. Portocale, but it’s been used quite a lot earlier today. Are you saying you didn’t make these purchases?”
Marta digs through her wallet, glaring a little, as her jaw grinds. “My daughter took it shopping, it seems. I’ll have this conversation with her instead,” she states as she hangs up.
Damien glances over. “Violet went shopping?”
“I’m sure she sent a couple of omegas, whom she swore would stay by her side,” I bite out, staring at my phone when it goes to Leiza’s voicemail. “None of them are answering their phones right now.”
My muscles tense, as Marta stands and starts pacing. They always answer my calls. Never once have any of them ignored a call from me. Not a damn one of them is bothering to answer today.
It’s been hours of radio silence.
“I should have known she’d nab a credit card when I wasn’t looking. She always tries to get out of paying for her own things when I’m around,” Marta gripes.
“She’s likely paying for their things,” Damien points out, narrowing his eyes at her. “Don’t make it sound like Violet is a grubby little thief.”
“She’s not a thief; she’s a typical omega,” Marta counters dismissively.
Damien scrubs a hand over his face. “If we just peered in, it isn’t like they’d notice. The Simpletons are there alone, for all intents and purposes, until the skin walkers hydrate. They won’t smell us or sense us. No one has to know.”
“We’ll have to walk. The car will certainly draw their attention if they hear it,” I chime in, for once agreeing with a suggestion made by Damien.
“Walking with a werewolf and a deviant to Zuela Van Helsing’s home to check on my daughter, after she’s just raised the entire family of Simpletons. All this happened in seven months,” Marta says as she walks out the door, her head shaking as she makes several frustrated sounds.
“Better than looking at it as happening within four months,” I call after her, just because I hate her and want her brain overloaded the same way mine is.
“I’ll wait for you outside,” she snaps as she slams the door behind her.
“Arion and Vance are getting close to Idun’s trail. I think,” Damien says as he looks up from his phone and pockets it.
“Idun will be gone before they reach her, no matter how close they get,” I murmur under my breath, thinking about what Marta said about Idun loving being chased as much as she loves chasing.
“That bitch is already walking and leaving us behind,” Damien says as he jerks the door open, glaring down the road at Marta’s back, while she quickly heads off on her own.
Not wasting another second, we easily catch up and pass her, even with our slow jog. In less than a few seconds, she’s caught back up with us, even though she looks damn angry about all this.
“We look absolutely ridiculous right now,” Marta points out.
“Only because you’re with us,” Damien says with a smartass grin.
I leave them both behind, running faster toward the castle. But my footsteps slow when I hear music blaring from up ahead with some awful singing.
“What the hell is that?” Damien asks as he comes up on my right.
“Rockband is what that is, and Violet’s singing,” Marta says as she passes us.
That’s Violet singing? I’ve never heard her singing without a radio, another singer, and…I’ve never heard her with a very loud microphone.
I don’t even bother trying to peer inside like the outdoor-stalker I sometimes am. I climb the side of the castle and come in through a third floor window.
Marta and Damien end up on the same indoor balcony, as we all look down at what seems like an eighties prom mixed with a Nerf gun war, all surrounding a makeshift stage.
Violet is wearing face-paint and a backwards hat, as she wails into the plastic microphone about wanting to rock-and-roll all night.
I don’t have it in me to tell her that whatever she’s doing right now…isn’t rock-and-roll. It’s more like roll-to-a-corner-and-rock music.
Bobo is playing a toy guitar, a grin on his lips and eyes full of concentration, as he stares at the TV. Ighan is drumming on toy drums, singing along with Violet, as he bobs his head to the music.
I can’t believe she’s not embarrassed to be singing with Ighan, since he sings a helluva lot better than he speaks. Next to Bobo, he has one of the best singing voices.
Violet starts jumping up and down, and everyone cheers when she starts the chorus over, dancing just as horrendously as…Violet always dances.
“As charming as I find her, I see the horrified looks on your faces and wonder how in the world my daughter ended up with all four of you,” Marta notes with a very snide, but also extremely confused, tone.
My eyes settle over the crowd, really taking in the scene, as I pointedly ignore Marta. Quite literally, they’re all dancing just like Violet. She’s found her tribe for the dance floor.
“Ah, so that explains the dancing. Can’t believe I managed to forget how bad they are at it,” I say almost as though I don’t really know what else to say right now, recovering from the momentary speechlessness.
Damien lifts his phone, videoing the scene with a broad grin on his face. Marta quickly loses interest in us, her gaze back on Violet. Even as she shakes her head, tears fill up in her eyes and a small, genuine smile graces her lips.
She’d never allow such a reaction if she worried we were a threat to Violet.
I don’t like this. I don’t like seeing Marta with even a little bit of her guard down. I hate this woman almost as much as I hate Idun.
Violet has already started singing another song with the same horrendous tone that draws a lot of excitement, and she ends up stealing my sole attention.
“Where’s Caroline?” Marta asks quietly.
“Probably hiding in the walls, if I had to hazard a guess,” Damien states so softly I almost can’t hear it over the music. “I don’t blame her.”
“Why are you videoing this?” I ask him, eyeing his phone as he keeps it trained on Violet.
“I’m sending this to Vance, because he’ll never believe what went on in Zuela’s home otherwise,” he states with some awe.
I spot some of the omegas dancing with some of the Simpletons like this is a perfectly normal day. It’s so loud in here that I’m no longer surprised they didn’t answer my calls.
I smell
Leiza before I see her, turning to find her walking toward us, smiling tightly.
I catch a foam bullet before it can hit me. Dropping the Nerf bullet, I step back from the railing before someone sees me and the fun is ruined.
Leiza meets me halfway, keeping her voice low as she speaks. “Vanzuela Van Helsing just pulled up,” she says, wringing her slightly trembling hands. “I caught your scent, and—”
“We’ll handle him,” I say in response to her unfinished request, as I walk toward the window I came through.
Damien is right behind me when I hit the ground, and he lands at my side. But Marta is already almost to Zuela, as he steps out and narrows his eyes at her.
I crack my neck to the side, since he doesn’t look like he’s going to be easy to deal with.
“You can’t be here right now,” Marta informs him.
“So it’s true. Marta Portocale is back once again and acting like she’s in charge,” Zuela says with a sneer. “Why can’t I smell your blood? What trickery is this?”
“The same trickery you use to morph your silver into even more diabolical weapons these days,” she says, arching an eyebrow. “Care to tell us how you manage that, Van Helsing? I heard it’s made you all much more efficient.”
“Stop skipping the point. This isn’t your show, Marta,” he growls, practically spitting the words out at her.
With a sigh, Damien decides to cut in. “In this situation, she’s not wrong. You’re prohibited from visiting these grounds—”
“These grounds are my home, Morpheous. You have no authority here either,” Zuela states through clenched teeth, barely reining in his temper by this point. “You don’t even handle your own alpha House. Dorian has yet to be dealt with, and here you are in my yard instead. Likely camping out and hoping Idun shows up, while my son is off chasing after her. Instead of putting that bitch back underground where she belongs, you simply raised the rest of that contemptuous, pointless family, only empowering the fucking bitch,” he grinds out, disgusted with the lot of us.
It’s not as though he’s any less repulsive to me than I am to him.
“You’re welcome to take this up with Vance, but until then, you’ll go no farther. As by law, the nearest Van Helsing House always turns into neutral territory in a state of crisis during times of peace,” I inform him, silently hoping he does something stupid.
I’d love to fuck something up right now. Zuela would be a lot of fun to fuck up.
I hate him far worse than I ever imagined hating Arion for the things this man has done to wolves.
Marta just stands back, eyes flicking toward the house.
“Times of peace,” Zuela scoffs, throwing his hands up as he shakes his head in disbelief. “The flags of war aren’t flying yet, but only because Idun loves to make a horrible entrance. By this time next year, we’ll be in a war so thick—”
“Violet, go inside,” Marta warns, interrupting Zuela, as she straightens.
I can see her eyes pleading with someone I can only presume is our foolish fucking new monster. I don’t allow myself to cut my eyes toward her, in fear Zuela, the perceptive son of a bitch, will see a quick chink in my armor.
Damien shows the same restraint, smiling tightly, as Zuela looks around us toward the door.
Violet can’t handle the wrath of a man like Zuela, if he notices her as the weakness she’s become for too damn many of us.
“Sorry. I heard Sir Van Helsing was out here, and I wanted to bring out his host gift,” she says, being naïve at a very inopportune time.
Zuela glances between all of us.
“Violet? As in the Violet who had something to do with all this unnatural chaos?” Zuela barks.
“That’d be me,” Violet says with such cluelessness that it’s almost laughable. “You have a beautiful home. The stained glass is possibly the finest I’ve ever seen, and Mom and I have gone to a lot of the best places in our home country just to look at the stained glass inside beautiful architecture,” she carries on like she’s sucking up to the son of a bitch. “Mom always said there was a place in Ireland she’d love to show me one day, but that it was a private estate that wouldn’t allow it. I’m guessing this is the one. Am I right?”
Damien casts her a disbelieving, slightly horrified look, as Marta just shuts her eyes and exhales harshly.
Zuela sniffs the air, likely catching the telling scent of Portocale blood. He looks between Marta and Violet a few times, his brow crinkling in confusion, as Violet calls too much attention to a secret none of us planned to tell anyone…until we were safely back on our own territory.
“That’s not possible,” Zuela says, more confused than aggressive right now, his eyes shrewdly assessing Marta. “The women are as sterile as the men. It’s not possible she’s your child.”
“I was born with no womb, so I guess that makes me sterile too,” Violet throws out there like she’s tossing out a bonding line.
He’s not some omega she can be nice to and make friends with, for fuck’s sake.
“The girl who raised the Neoprys from their undead graves is a Neopry Simpleton monster. She brought in the lightning like only one of them could,” Zuela argues, even as he studies Violet with far too much intrigue.
“I’m mostly just a Simpleton, since Mom wouldn’t ever let be a badass like her,” Violet carries on.
I snort now, only because it’s not funny at all. All the times she said that, I never once considered she was speaking about the original Marta Portocale.
Fuck’s sake, why is that only just now becoming so painfully fucking ridiculous to hear?
“You chopped off your own foot when I tried to teach you to use a sword, Violet. You lost an arm learning to swing an axe, for Pete’s sake. Don’t even get me started on archery; I’ve never seen a person shoot their own kneecap. It’s not something that should be possible,” Marta says as she glares back over at Zuela.
“This is the girl who broke through unbreakable thresholds like only Idun can do?” Zuela asks in a tone that suggests he believes we’re all fucking with him right now.
I glance back at last, seeing Violet holding a wooden box in her hands, her face painted black and white, and a hat still backwards on her head. I’m not entirely sure what she’s wearing, but I think it’s a…prom dress. A very bright pink one with a lot of ruffles.
She wasn’t wearing that a few minutes ago.
“It’s not your concern,” I say as I return my attention to Zuela, moving my body into his line of view to block Violet from his sight.
Zuela’s eyes narrow on me, and I see the calculated glint in his—
“That just makes it sound more exciting than it really is, Emit,” Violet carries on as she steps up beside me.
“Go inside, Violet,” Damien orders, his hand going to her waist to pull her back.
Zuela’s eyes drop to the contact, and a smirk lines his lips, as he darts a knowing look to Marta. Just that one touch, and the son of a bitch knows. It’s written all over his face.
“Surely not,” Zuela says to Marta like he’s more hopeful than anything, inspiring the idea to toss Violet over my shoulder and lock her inside until this over.
“Enjoy the moment, Zuela. It’ll be short-lived or overshadowed soon enough,” Marta assures him tightly.
Zuela’s lips twitch. “I’m sure there’s nothing worse than seeing that, though, Marta. Don’t play me for the fool by pretending you’re not on the verge of losing your already broken mind,” he carries on, as Violet gently tugs away from Damien.
“Trust me. There’s far worse,” Marta surprisingly says, as she continues to stare down Zuela like this isn’t the worst day of her immortal existence.
“Worse than having an impossible, but very ridiculous Simpleton daughter, who can’t be taken seriously? One who is also very comfortable with the sex deviant…who can kill her if he enjoys the ride too much?” he adds with all the disrespect he can muster.
“Here,” Violet says as she rolls h
er eyes. “While you insult me to take very immature jabs at my mother, share the cigars I’ve been assured are some great ones.”
Everyone goes stiff, including Zuela, as Violet leans forward abruptly and places a quick, chaste kiss on his cheek.
“What the fucking hell?” he snaps at her, reeling back as though he’s about to stab first and ask more questions later.
Violet startles a little, clearing her throat. “It’s customary to kiss a gypsy’s cheek when they’ve graciously invited you into their home, before you part ways. At least that’s what my mother taught me. I should get back,” Violet says, as Zuela continues to stare at her like she’s lost her damn mind.
“She’s your daughter?” Zuela asks Marta like he no longer finds this joke funny.
“I’m January Violet Carmine,” Violet says from the door, drawing everyone’s attention once again. “I’m apparently some omega designed for one specific task as a result of the freaky shit that happens when you mix blood magic with gypsy magic and break some kind of oath you signed in blood,” she adds, causing Damien’s head to tip back.
“Violet, go the fuck inside,” I snap.
“She’s not your omega, so show her respect,” Marta grinds out.
“Respect? For an omega?” Zuela asks on a humorless laugh. “These words are really being spoken from Marta Portocale’s lips?”
“It’s apparently too close to the moon,” Violet says in my defense.
I realize she truly does bloody believe I’m not every bit of the alpha Arion is.
If Arion had yelled at her, she’d be hiding under a table right now.
“And she’s not scared of the big bad wolf,” Zuela says amidst laughter that now starts turning almost cathartic, his entire body vibrating with the force. “Is she fucking the wolf too?” he barely manages to ask through his guffaws.
“One night. We only fucked one night,” Violet says as though she’s clarifying and making things less…surreal. “I think. To be honest, it’s all starting to blur together by this point.”
Gypsy Rising (All The Pretty Monsters Book 5) Page 4
