Gypsy Moon (All The Pretty Monsters #4)(33)

“There’s more we should tell you, Violet,” Damien says very carefully, navigating much trickier water. “Starting with how Tom here became a captive, aside from trying to kill a vampire who is really fucking hard to kill.”

I smirk, thinking back to good ol’ Tom honestly believing he could kill me.

“No, there’s not,” Tom says with a firm shake of his head. “Nothing more to tell.”

“Is someone else captive besides the Neopry monsters you’ve put underground and my father?” Violet asks, casting a pointed look up at me like I’m the only one who has ever wronged her family.

Just when I was making progress…

“No other captives, love,” I tell her, slowly letting my hand slide down her back, until she gives me a look that immediately stops the descent.

My lips twitch, and I leave my hand in the safe zone—as Shera called it.

“There’s nothing else to tell,” Tom says again, shaking his head harder. “Nothing,” he says more insistently, almost desperately.

“She’s already getting them raised, Tom,” I say with a cruel smile. “No need in unnecessary secrets.”

Violet looks between us, confused, as Tom shakes his head more and more. “Don’t do this. Marta said not to tell her.”

“Tell me what?” she asks, her eyes darting to Vance.

Vance opens his mouth to speak, but Damien cuts in. “Again, he didn’t know,” he says, casually lying, while absently tossing a thumb at Vance.

This time, Emit even casts Damien a dubious look, likely not understanding the reason why he’s covering for Vance. Vance is in, and it’d be really nice if he was just a little bit out again, if you know what I mean.

“What’s going on?” Violet asks, her eyes flicking from Vance to her father.

Tom’s jaw grinds, and he looks away. “You should always do what Marta says. She’s got a plan. She always has a plan.”

“Maybe she had a plan, but she died, Dad. I know you weren’t there when they put her six feet under, but I was,” Violet tells her father with an edge of coldness.

When Tom winces, I smile. I like to see that prat in pain, even if I didn’t cause it.

“That’s what we have to tell you, love,” I say to her, ignoring Tom as Violet’s sweet face angles up, looking at me like she just wants the milk to spill on the table so she can hurry up and start cleaning it.

“It’s rather delicate, given how detached from our sins you’ve been,” Damien adds a little hesitantly, proving he’s been dreading this.

Her eyes stay on mine like she knows I’ll be the one to tell her and cut through the shit.

“Your mother isn’t really dead,” I state bluntly, causing Vance to curse and Damien to groan at my ineloquence, most likely.

Violet’s brow furrows as she looks around.

“If she’s not dead, she’s going to be really pissed at me for burying her,” Violet states like she’s trying to remain calm, swallowing thickly. “I waited the amount of days her will stipulated.”

“Marta Portocale is a different sort of immortal from us,” Emit says like he’s cushioning things.

Violet slowly steps back, but I solidly pull her to me once more.

“Immortal?” Violet asks, her voice cracking, as more and more uncertainty teems in her eyes.

Shera gives me a pointed look, but I ignore it this time. I like holding Violet. She likes being held. Seems like a winning situation all around to me.

“What does that mean?” Violet asks on a broken whisper as she looks at everyone but me.

Apparently she doesn’t like the blunt approach as much as I thought.

The second my arms fall away from her, she backs toward Shera, staring at all the men in the room like we’re leading her down a secret path with no preparation.

“Violet, your mother isn’t just Marta Portocale,” Emit tells her very quietly, like he’s easing her into the boiling pot of stewed mess that isn’t getting any prettier with the practiced patience they think they’re showing.

“Okay, so who is she?” Violet asks with appropriate impatience, staring directly at him.

“She’s the Marta Portocale, one-fourth of the immortal Portocale Council, whose family they slaughtered, and she’ll be home soon,” Tom finally says, glaring over at all of us.

Violet stumbles back, and ends up sagging to a chair.

Tom, still visibly furious with us, adds, “And she’s not going to be happy about this blasphemy going on.”





CHAPTER 10





VIOLET


Rugs get ripped out from under my feet fairly often.

In fact, it’s become the norm.

Usually I do a clumsy flip, but manage to miraculously land on my feet.

As they all talk over themselves, trying to delicately explain this fragile situation, I sit numbly. Emit is arguing how they’re not certain this is true or just the ravings of Portocale hopeful, since most women named Marta have families who hope their child will die early enough in life for my mother to gypsy-hop to their body.

Apparently, it’s an honor some of my family are desperate to lay claim to.

That sounds a little fucked up to me.

But that doesn’t mean the freshly dead Portocale has to be named Marta to become a vessel.