Gypsy Moon (All The Pretty Monsters #4)(40)

“Sheathe your weapon, Van Helsing,” Arion says very bitterly, eyes not moving off Isiah. “This is a House matter, and this is still my House.”

“Just preparing to step in front of your sister in case you lose it,” I assure him with a dark grin, glancing in Emily’s direction.

She’s too busy flicking her gaze from Arion to Isiah, knowing damn well just how fucking unpredictable Arion can be when that red slips in. He’s the only one of the vampires to gain the red eyes.

“The pencils are much stronger. They don’t all actually have lead in them, since I don’t use all of them for drawing,” Arion goes on, glancing down. “How’s that burn in your hands?” he muses.

I finally look at Isiah’s hands again, noticing for the first time the red veins slowly spreading throughout. My head tilts in confusion, as Isiah swallows thickly.

“What are you doing to him?” Emily asks desperately, though she stays in her seat and doesn’t make any sudden movements.

“Something new I discovered rather recently. Did you know Violet makes hazardous, volatile, possibly lethal things on accident more than she comes up with a perfect product?” Arion goes on, the red in his eyes dulling more and more, filling in with the black.

I sheathe the blade back in my boot, and Damien begins to relax as well.

With Violet’s insistent rejections, Emily’s sleights, and Isiah’s constant insolence, it’s just a matter of time before Arion shows out and does something he’ll regret…that he’ll find a way to blame us for.

Arion once again makes a show of studying the pencil, as a sinister smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth.

“Shera had the centers coated with some of Violet’s castoffs. The girl has a small arsenal she doesn’t know how to dispose of,” Arion goes on, almost admiring the pencil now.

It’s a little unnerving to notice the pencil sharpener he used has turned into a melted pile of plastic at some point…

“So you took it off her hands without telling her,” Damien surmises, rolling his eyes.

“Rather dangerous for her to be stacking up crates of hazardous waste in a spare closet, don’t you think? Those omegas really don’t like me hanging around. They’ll do most anything to get rid of me, and I haven’t even gotten an invitation inside yet,” he answers with a casual, dismissive shrug.

Emily looks twice as pale now.

“The point is,” Arion says, jabbing the point of the pencil in the air toward Isiah like a cheesy pun from a sociopath during a torture session, “I don’t know if what’s seeping out of the broken crystalized center of those particular pencils is lethal or just painfully toxic.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Damien says, pinching the bridge of his nose, as Emily makes an anxious sound, eyes on Isiah like she wants to go to him.

“Painfully toxic, my lord,” Isiah says through strain, tacking on some old formalities just for good measure.

“Well, that’s just pure dumb luck,” Arion assures him as he continues to study the pencil he’s holding. “Want to test how lucky you are, Isiah? You’ve always been a betting man, have you not?”

“Arion, please,” Emily pleads quietly as I hesitate, putting one hand near my blade.

I change my mind and drop my special hilts from my cuffs, preparing to extend them.

“Now my sister begs, after being so rude in my home and making entitled demands. I was starting to think I’d spoiled her,” Arion drones on, casually lowering the pencil to the table behind him, before he leisurely props at a lean on one of the columns in the room. “Fancy that.”

Emily lowers her eyes, easily showing submission to her brother. As if that’s all he wanted all along, Arion grins.

“Lovely to see you actually do remember me after all, sister dear. Must have been hard for you to miss me all that time, while spending loads of my money, even though my nest could have used the help of an alpha in my absence.”

Damien and I both swing a confused look toward Arion.

“Can we please get back to the part about Edmond Portocale before you have a sibling dispute?” I ask in annoyance.

“Utter horse shit. Desperate ploy to get Shera,” Arion tells me dismissively. “Leaving for Ireland early isn’t necessary, as I already said.”

“I swear it’s the truth, even if I can’t have her, my lord,” Isiah says, jaw tensing as he continues to stare at the table under him, not making any move to remove the painfully burning, toxic pencils from his hands.

One pencil starts sizzling, and the distinct scent of burning flesh finally erupts into the room. Arion grins again, as the room’s smell turns rancid.

“Well, that’s intriguing. I’ll call those the sizzlers,” Arion chirps as he walks around to a box of pencils and actually labels it. With a marker, not a pencil.

Fucking vampires.

“Fucking vampires,” Damien says, echoing my own sentiments, as he massages his temples and exhales harshly.

“Why would Edmond want her dead?” I ask, looking directly at Isiah, as his eyes lift just enough to almost meet mine.

“Because she’s an unregistered Portocale gypsy, and she was mingling with the enemy,” Isiah answers, knocking the smile right off Arion’s face when his eyes catch mine.