Gypsy Freak (All The Pretty Monsters #2)(77)

“She’s not Idun,” I say dismissively, deciding we’re certainly not on the same track.

“Yes, she is. There’s no other way she could have intricately woven herself into our lives in the maddening way she has—”

“She’s not Idun,” I say again.

“You didn’t see that ludicrous show she and Arion put on in front of me—the one where she pretends not to know about Idun right after having sex with me and giving it away.”

“She’s not Idun,” I argue…again.

“Then how did she live through sex with me?”

“Because she can’t die,” I say like that part is obvious.

“Like Idun,” he growls. “Only the Neopry line can do that.”

“Not like Idun,” I say as I lift the stack of papers.

“You really think Idun isn’t capable of—”

“I don’t know or care what Idun is capable of. All I know is that without a doubt, January Violet Carmine is not Idun.”

“How do you know this?” he asks as I stand. “We should check her hidden orchard for apples to go along with those oranges.”

My lips twitch. “Funny you should mention that…”

I get up, stepping through the door, gesturing for him to stay, and I hurry through the house, past the omegas who are playing some video game in their old room, and head to where Violet is lounging in the room behind theirs, not unpacking yet.

Her eyes find mine, and she stands quickly.

“They said you wanted me to bring some clothes and—”

“Did you bring apples?” I muse as I prop up.

“I brought a few. Mom said people always prefer Portocale oranges,” she tells me as she goes to grab a small box that’s wrapped.

The smell of them is so subtle that the box almost snuffs it out completely.

“Emit, we need to talk about what—”

“We’re going to. I just need to get rid of Damien first,” I say as I glance around. “But you’re safe here, Violet. Wolves are easily amendable creatures with the right motivation. But now I see that times are a little more stressful on the young than on the old, and I’ve been lax.”

She looks confused, but I really do need to get rid of Damien.

“When I return, we’re going to have a long conversation about Portocale gypsies and the dark, tangled past we share with them.”

She moves a little closer as she lowers herself to the bed, eyes a little wide.

“It’s not going to be a fun story to tell, but—”

A sharp pain shoots through my skull, dizzying me for a moment as I stumble a step. When the next searing pain hits, I try to warn her, but can’t.

The last thing I hear is her screaming for the omegas as my neck breaks for the first time.





Chapter 29





DAMIEN


Violet’s shrill scream has me standing and calmly moving through the house. She’s here? Why the hell didn’t he tell me she was here?

My nose is clogged by all the wolf scents mucking the place up.

Emit’s cry of pain has me blurring past the omegas as they scramble around, doing I don’t know what.

Violet is on a bed, trying to help two of the omegas drag him up to it, as my eyes land on Emit’s solid white, vacant gaze.

I help them drag him onto the bed, eyes narrowing on Violet, assessing her every panicked, frightened move.

“What’s happening to him?” she shouts at me when a lash lands across Emit’s chest and he cries out in pain.

“A Portocale gypsy just died. I’ll be down soon as well. Emit’s almost always first,” I say, wondering if she’s going to eventually slip and give herself away.

Kudos to Idun for keeping this charade going this long. She hasn’t been this patient since she made us fall in love with four different women who all turned out to be her.

“Doesn’t this last for like a week or something?” Violet asks, her gaze swinging over to mine with tears there, when Emit cries out again.

Another lash lands on his chest.

The emotion in her tone has me glancing at Emit, who seemed adamant she wasn’t Idun and got up to presumably show me proof…before hitting the ground.

“Or something,” I say distractedly, sniffing the air and finding something vaguely familiar subtly tinging it, prompting me to look around.

“If you’re just going to stand there like it’s no big deal, get out!” Violet shouts at me, as an omega rushes to her side, already dabbing Emit’s wounds with a wet cloth.

“Emit gets petted when he’s suffering. I’ll be alone in my room,” I tell her, while on the hunt for this bizarrely familiar scent I simply can’t place.

It’s driving me mad and forcing me to sniff around the room.

“I’m starting to realize that’s more of a preference of yours,” Violet says a little harshly.

I give her a cold smirk that she doesn’t notice, because she’s busy saying soothing things to Emit like he’s not catatonic and stuck in hell—dying every Portocale gypsy death and getting a lash of punishment at the end.

How has Idun faked that Portocale blood? I don’t put anything past that bitch. Emit underestimates her.