Gypsy Moon (Page 22)
“You all feign guilt over the wrongs of the past, because you’ve numbed yourself to actually feeling that guilt,” I say very quietly.
“No,” he interrupts, holding up one finger as he arches an eyebrow. “We just didn’t feel guilty again until…you. Especially after the most recent revelations pouring in back to back,” he adds with sincere, unapologetic honesty.
He runs a frustrated hand over his face as he leans against the wall, looking like the most beautiful man no matter how mussed he is. It’s an unfair advantage because of the inconvenient distraction it provides time and time again.
I really like pretty things, damn it.
“My head hurts,” I decide aloud when my brain actually tries to meltdown between mental tangents. “I feel like I’m trying to reboot, but I’m a person and not a machine, so it’s sort of not working.”
I quite literally plop down on the snow, aching all over, as the heavy weight of emotion settles onto me with a physical, seemingly tangible, mass.
He hisses out a breath and drops to a knee beside me, before starting to lift me.
“If I’m hurting, the cold feels better,” I remind him. “Hurting,” I add, gesturing toward the phantom mass on my chest, as the stupid tears spring to my eyes.
He clears his throat several times before standing and abruptly taking a few steps back.
“Usually this burden seems to fall to Vance. Sorry,” I say, not sorry at all, if I’m honest. “My mom will be alive again, and I’m just starting to get the gist now. I basically thought I had the gist of everything in broken increments, but now I see how wrong I was and I get the gist of the overall big picture,” I go on, playing out that thought that started this downward fucking spiral in the snow.
He moves back toward me like he’s willing to take the empathic hits that I simply can’t control right now. I don’t even know what being empathic means, or if I really am. Or if my mom is alive or dead. Or if that soul sucking thing is somehow linked to all this. Or—
My breath gets lodged in my throat, almost as though I’m suffocating, as I struggle and strain against the impending panic attack I can’t afford to have right now.
Just as he warily lowers himself to the ground next to me, reaching for me and stopping twice, I meet his eyes, shaking my head like I’m telling the barrage of tears no; don’t come out.
Damien’s hand covers one of mine, and his other hand slides up to cup my cheek, the pity in his expression making me almost nauseated.
That’s when Emit walks out and moves toward us like he knows exactly what’s going on.
“I’m sorry,” I tell the wolf on a tight, choked sound, causing brief hesitation in Emit’s steps, until he takes a seat on my other side.
My eyes stay on him, and I speak before he can. “I don’t know if my mother kept my secret to keep me safe, to keep others safe, or to keep her own secrets buried until she could remedy the guilt.”
Both of their brows furrow as I swallow back another painful knot.
“That’s what stopped you from telling me what I was, right? The guilt you forgot to feel for people you never really cared anything about, because they just took the punches and kept rolling downhill, waiting for the ride to stop?”
Emit’s lips thin, and he gives me a very small nod of agreement.
“Then my mom shows up here with her, apparently, sworn enemies and deals them her gypsy spice. She was searching for a way to raise them before she had to tell me. It’s why she wouldn’t let me come to town.”
“But they’re not here, Violet,” Emit says softly, like he’s talking me down. “They’re across the sea on an entirely different continent, remember?”
My eyes lock on his, since he’s clearly painting me as irrational and trying to reason with me.
“Who would be the most likely to help her raise them out of all the immortals?” I ask with a calmness I don’t feel, just so that my emotional freaking tone doesn’t underscore my right to my stupid meltdown.
He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again.
“None of our Houses, with the exception of Arion’s or possibly Damien’s, would be foolish enough to even attempt it. Certainly not behind our backs,” Vance answers, drawing my attention back to my left, where he’s propped up against the side of the house.
Arion is right next to him, eyes intently trained on me.
“The one ace in her sleeve was the vampire you’d buried, but she didn’t need to recruit Idun’s most loyal. She only had three to convince,” I add on a slightly broken whisper.
Arion continues to stare for a second longer before his attention flicks to Damien, then Vance, then Emit, and back to me. Everyone is taking me more seriously now, and it makes me feel like I should probably shut up.
Glancing over at Emit, ignoring everyone else, I shrug a helpless shoulder as I allow one last tear to escape.
“I can’t be mad at you for doing the same thing as her, when I can’t be mad at my mother. Not when I feel so much relief to know she’s coming back,” I add very quietly, still staring at just Emit.
“You can feel whatever you bloody well want to,” Emit and Arion say in eerily timed unison.
My eyes flick to Arion, then to Vance, then to Damien, steadying on him as he draws my hand up to his lips, gently kissing the back of it. I end up leaning toward him, and he capitalizes, dragging me into his lap like he’s been itching to do it and was patiently waiting for an opening.
“I thought she was scared of me,” I say very quietly to just him, and he kisses my forehead again as he rakes his fingers through my hair, such a soothing motion.
After a long stretch of silence, I start feeling more and more ridiculous, wearing a beautiful new red coat and matching boots with Vance’s T-shirt, while sitting in the lap of the Morpheous, next to the werewolf in the snow, as the Van Helsing and vampire stare on.
I really prefer to process things alone because of moments like this.
CHAPTER 11
VANCE
Violet’s lips are slightly swollen from all her tears as I kiss her to distraction, feeling her fingers tighten in my hair as I lean into the car.
I’m the one to break the kiss, because Emit is clearing his throat obnoxiously loud, as he impatiently thrums the steering wheel, waiting to go with her instead of me.
This all could have gone a hell of a lot worse, but seeing her cry again is bad enough.
“Emit’s going to stay until one of us comes to relieve him, and we’ll be flying out in two days. Unless you want the omegas packing for you—”
“I’ll pack for myself,” she interrupts, smiling tightly, slightly calmer now that she’s over the initial blow of emotions.
“I’ll be along soon,” Damien tells her from behind me. “There was something you wanted to discuss, and it was interrupted by the epiphany,” he adds as he essentially pushes me out of the way.
“And you’ll tell me why we’re leaving early the second you don’t think I’m still an emotional wreck, right?” I hear her asking.
I leave that conversation to Damien, since Violet’s attention has moved to him. Emit’s window is down when I reach his side of the car.
“Don’t let her out of your sight,” I tell him in a tone barely below the register of a whisper to escape Violet’s lesser hearing.
He glances over at me, leaning out the window, using his own low murmur.
“Call me when this has been verified.”
I just give him a nod before walking toward Arion, and Damien stays leaned into the car, saying things to ease Violet’s mind enough to draw forth a small smile.
I really want to take her home, but I have duties the stupid mutt doesn’t. My curse is now cementing me here against my wishes.
Damien pulls back abruptly and slaps the top of the vehicle. As Emit drives away, Damien’s smile fades into a tense line, eyes meeting mine as he looks over in our direction.
Arion says nothing as he steps back inside to where the illusion has dropped, and Isiah’s hands are staked to the table he’s leaning over, staying rigid and silent.
Emily gives us all a bored look as she files her nails.
“I find her underwhelming. Why exactly did I have to be hidden?” she asks, feigning disinterest.
“You told me to inform you the second I had information on the vampires who tried to take out the gypsy shop owner,” Isiah says with a calm, somewhat apologetic tone.
“Violet,” Damien points out with a dark grin. “Use her name right now. Show her respect. Be smart, vampire.”
“I told you that when I first came out of the ground,” Arion says dismissively. “I also told you to never interrupt me if Violet is alone with me. Picking and choosing which orders to follow?” Arion muses.
“When will Shera return?” Emily asks on a huff. “The deal was that if Isiah found out who was after Violet—”
“You’re saying Edmond Portocale—the man who hates us all as much as the Marta Portocale—tried to kill a Portocale. We all know Edmond’s a family man. Why should we believe this?” Damien cuts in, talking over Emily—something she despises and causes her to glare at him.
He takes a seat, smiling bitterly over at her.