Gypsy Moon (All The Pretty Monsters #4)(86)

Why is she talking about a decayed ghost right now? Of everything else that should take priority?

Marta palms her face, and I know without a doubt she’s lecturing her on how very sick and desperate a ghost’s mind can get. Anna was a very rare exception, and I deduce that Violet is calmly and effectively arguing that.

Marta shakes her head, running a hand through her own hair, as Violet finishes up the last stitch, holding up the freshly mended doll with pride and a genuine smile.

“Really…though. What is happening right now?” Damien asks again.

Everyone looks to Arion, since he seems to have the most answers at the moment.

“Why the bloody hell is she grinning about fixing the doll Marta ripped up? The doll was supposed to be a gift, right?” he asks with the same confusion.

“What sort of message is that supposed to convey?” Damien asks, now looking at me like I have a damn clue what’s going on.

I’ve been in her house numerous times, and spoken to her more times than I can presently think of, but never once—in any capacity—was her mother described in a way that could have suggested Marta, the doll-killing-paranoid-enigma, was her mum. And I didn’t know she collected those sad little button-eyed dolls either.

For a moment, Violet continues just smiling, and Marta just continues to stare, as Violet gives the doll a small, trepid wiggle, almost as though she’s oddly trying to draw attention to it.

“I think Violet is just trying to keep Marta from stomping all over her, and this is the only way an omega can do something like that with an alpha—even her darling mother,” I finally say on a long exhale. “There are no rules for Violet in our world because Violet is the first of her kind. But Marta could easily take a page from Idun’s book, and own Violet.”

“This is going to be a damn war over rights for her if Marta isn’t amendable in the slightest,” Emit grinds out, glaring at Marta as she just glares at Violet, while Violet continues to give her a hopeful grin.

“Idun won’t be a problem,” Arion assures me distractedly. “But what about the doll?” he adds, like I’ve somehow pieced together every piece of the puzzle.

Before I can answer, I see Marta’s jaw tic just barely before she pats Violet’s hand, saying something too fast for me to attempt to read her lips.

I regret not learning to do that in the past few centuries during the times I spent doing nothing at all.

The overall mood in that box seems to change, because Violet’s grin relaxes, becoming more natural once again, as she puts the doll down. Her fingers stay touching it, almost as though she’s now attached to the damn thing, and she and Marta seem to be sharing in conversation now.

Marta even fucking smiles at something that has a devious grin on Violet’s face, which means it’s nothing related to us and makes me unnaturally curious.

Marta’s grin stretches, and then it falls abruptly, and Violet bats a hand before laughing. When Marta throws her head back and laughs as well, I check to see if there’s a fucking trap.

Emit’s eyes meet mine, doing the same thing, and we dart our gazes around in twice the frenzy.

When my gaze returns to the box, Marta is holding both of Violet’s hands in hers, the mood dramatically shifting. I hate that I missed the fucking catalyst for it.

I can’t see what Marta is saying, but Violet gives her a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“What’s that? What’s she agreeing to?” Arion asks, moving toward the door.

“Don’t,” I caution, the words tumbling out as if compelled. “Nothing good can come of you going in there and trying to take control of this situation.”

Violet gives Marta another nod that makes me antsy.

“Violet doesn’t understand taking orders from alphas,” he bites out.

“And you, a vampire alpha, have any authority in this instance because why, Arion?” I point out, even as my hand clutches a weapon I have no right to draw right now.

Another nod, and Marta grins this time, while Violet looks like she’s swallowed something sour.

“Let the vampire take the punishment, Van Helsing,” Damien states idly, as he takes a step toward the door. “Or let me.”

“Neither of you will make it there,” I lie, hoping one of them moves, because I fucking can’t unless it’s to intercede on Marta’s lawful behalf.

It’s one of the many instances I’m reminded of what a slave to the silver curse I am.

Marta pulls back, and for a brief second, I almost think she’s actually going to cry instead of mocking those fake glistening eyes like she did earlier to play on Violet’s softer emotions.

Instead, my heart hits my throat, because Marta stabs that fucking doll before I even see the glint of a blade. There’s a collective exhale in the room that assures me I’m not the only one who was caught wildly off guard.

Violet, the only one of us not surprised, gives Marta a bland look, as Marta slices the doll’s leg clean off.

Marta immediately starts arguing animatedly, as though her crazy-bitch-switch is on overload tonight and freshly re-flipped. Violet just continues to stare at her, unimpressed, as the threads in the room come to life, and the leg is stitched up much quicker.

“No,” is the word I see leave Violet’s mouth, as the doll’s leg is finished mending in a much less pristine manner.