As I jerk the van door open and get seated, Violet just stares blankly at the house.
“You don’t have to follow any sort of gypsy code when the other gypsy is a psychotic vampire and has no pride and…kidnapped you,” I point out a little angrily, as I quickly drive us out of the long driveway and back onto the road.
“I’m sure that’s easier to believe if you’re a prideless gypsy,” she answers quietly. “Prideless gypsies have no code. Side note: You didn’t even blink at the amount of lifeless bodies.”
I have a moment of empathy for Emit when I have the unnatural urge to put my head through a wall.
“You’re infuriating and a hazard to yourself. You attract too much attention.”
“At least now I know why,” she says quietly, eyes still distant and vacant as she stares outside.
“I highly doubt that’s true,” I scoff, watching the rearview for any vampire followers.
“Now that I know you’re all a bunch of old-blood gypsies, it makes perfect sense. The prideless are always drawn to those with their gypsy pride still intact, and try to make them fall as well. At least that’s how the tale is told.”
I run a frustrated hand through my hair. “You certainly sound like a Portocale now,” I state a little bitterly.
“Good. Maybe I’ll survive all of you long enough for the fanatical lunatics of that cult to get their hands on me. Still, I got the good end of the deal, since I don’t have to cut ghosts down to salt in order to survive.”
“Your life sucks so hard sometimes,” Anna says from the backseat with her very abrupt entry. “Fill me in on what I’ve missed.”
Violet sighs as though she’s relieved to hear the annoying ghost, so I put the salt ball back in my pocket instead of tossing it over my shoulder.
“Gypsy vampire and gypsy Van Helsing are about to have a gypsy throw-down in the House of Arion—the big bad vampire who rose from the dead after I was tricked by—” The words halt on her tongue and she curses.
“By who?” I grind out.
“By Shera,” she states and looks out, frowning.
“Shera tricked you? How did she even know where he was buried or—”
“Shera tricked me, and that’s all I seem to really be able to say, for whatever reason,” she goes on as she sits up a little straighter, her brow furrowed.
“It wasn’t Shera. It was Grandma’s handmaiden!” Anna shouts.
“That’s not it either. I can’t really remember at this second who it was,” she goes on, seeming lost and confused.
The steering wheel tries to crumple under my tightening grip. “Arion has a way with words,” I state vaguely. That’s why the son of a bitch leaned down to her ear.
I thought he was just sniffing her hair the way I sometimes do. Discreetly, of course. She already thinks I’m creepy. It’s not a flattering term.
But she really does smell like those Portocale oranges, and I never would have placed the forgotten scent if not for Emit pointing it out.
They haven’t smelled that sweet in far too long.
“What do you mean?” she asks with an uneasy tone. “Why am I saying Shera tricked me?”
“Because Arion doesn’t want us knowing which vampire tricked you, and because Shera is the least volatile beta he’s ever had, he’s using her as a pawn, knowing we won’t use it as a reason to act rashly.”
She leans her head on the window. “I feel like I’m coming into the middle of the story with no background information, no sense of how big this really is, and no idea if it’s worse to run or stay at this point.”
“It’s a complicated story, Violet. And it’s not an easy one to tell,” I tell her quietly. “And running would be a terrible idea,” I say dispassionately, even as my heart kicks a little harder like the nuisance it’s become.
However, the heartbeat does remind me of something that is now confusing to me, as I drive us through town and toward her home that is in the center of it all. She’s not putting off any pheromones.
Has she stopped being attracted to me? How could that even be possible?
Or maybe she’s just that terrified…
“Figured as much at this point,” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I take it back. The fourth-tier hottie is no longer my favorite monster, even if I do find captivity wildly hot,” Anna adds with a prim tone as she pokes her head in between us.
Then she cuts her gaze to me and grins. I think I’m going to stab Arion at the first convenient moment for outing us.
“Did you tell him that I know that he knows that I’m here?” Anna asks, still staring at me while speaking to Violet.
“I think, given all the gypsy talk, he’s figured it out on his own,” Violet states dryly.
“Does he know about our vagina deal?”
Violet’s jaw trembles and a tear rolls down her cheek, as she cuts her gaze away. “Will Arion kill Vance?” she asks instead of answering the ridiculously fucking random ghost.
“No, Vance will kick his ass, per the usual,” I say around a snort. “Even if Arion did manage to kill a Van Helsing, Vance can’t truly die.”
“What?” Anna and Violet both ask a little loudly on an unusually high octave.
“Immortals, remember? All alphas are immortal incarnates. Vampires, werewolves, Morpheous men—”
“Morpheous men sounds weak, especially since the only famous one is the unclaimed Dorian Gray,” Anna groans like she’s embarrassed for me. How does that fucking ghost know my secrets? “You’re like the old Aquaman of the Justice league. You know…before he got hot.”
I exhale harshly, reconsidering the salt solution. “My point is, you have no issue adjusting to those being real, but the thought of immortality is the unreasonable line that draws extreme surprise?”
“What are the signs of being a Van Helsing?” Anna asks me, lips pursed and hands steepled as I turn down another road.
“You can hunt anything and kill it dead,” I answer with a fuck-off-now grin. “He can die now, but he’ll be reborn.”
“So reincarnation?” Violet asks on a huff. “That, by definition, means he can die; he just doesn’t stay dead.”
“All things can die, Violet. It’s just a matter of finding a way,” I tell her absently, still hopeful for my own death one day. When I’m not having to deal with Arion and a vexing Portocale. “And being reborn isn’t the same as being reincarnated. He’s still the exact same Vance when he returns on his twenty-eighth birthday—all his memories intact.”
“Well, the Van Helsing is safe to screw,” Anna states like it makes all the sense in the world, causing Violet’s eyes to roll.
“Why twenty-eight?” Violet asks me.
“Why is the Van Helsing safe to screw?” I ask as I turn onto the next street, passing someone who drives even slower than Violet. “Why would you be screwing Vance at all? You patted his arm. You made out with me.”
“But you have a lethal penis,” Anna states on a long, pained breath. “Oh! Hey!” she shouts. “The triplets are here! You finally get to meet them, Violet!”
My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, expecting the ghost to be talking to herself, but the sight of three, really creepy little girls, giving me the dead-child look in the mirror, cause me to make eye contact before I can stop myself, something that hasn’t happened to me since I was a young gypsy. They’re standing in the back of the van in a single row, matching faces, red hair, silk gowns, and pale skin.
A horn blares, and I blink away from the eye contact from the one who is giving me the most fucked-up, ink-stained smile, adding to the nightmares I’ve racked up over the years.
I swerve at the last minute, managing not to get slammed into by the oncoming semi. Violet, the only one in the vehicle who can die, simply turns around and looks over the triplets with a shake of her head.
She’s insane.
“Sorry. You’ve come at a bad time. He’s a terrible driver. If you plan to regularly stalk me, I will salt you,” she informs them. “Also, I may throw up if he keeps driving like this. Fair warning.”