Gypsy Moon (Page 23)

His illusion masked all sound, both ways, just as Violet got upset, hence the reason we went outside to join the bubble instead of giving her the dignity of simply eavesdropping. I’m thankful Violet’s meltdown stayed limited to only the four of us.

“I have three vampires in the basement prison—where we keep prisoners, usually,” Isiah says with a hint of a bite in his tone.

“Passive aggressive much?” Damien chirps, even as his eyes narrow.

“Violet’s father is an idiot. Not a threat,” Arion says with a dismissive tone as he pours some whiskey, addressing the jab. “Why would I put him in lockup?”

“Violet’s father is a null-and-void point, as it doesn’t pertain to just vampire business,” I decide to weigh in, twirling my blade in my hand.

“Put it away, Van Helsing. You’re not stupid enough to kill another of Arion’s beloved betas. Not after his last reminder,” Emily says, smirking at me. “Idle threats aren’t necessary. My lover is just delivering information.”

Arion drinks his whiskey, a smirk of his own donning his lips.

I level Emily with a look. “I’m a little tired of people underestimating me because of one poor fight,” I state in a droll tone, taking the drink Damien casually offers on his way by me to take a seat of his own.

“You said if I discovered who orchestrated the attack, you would give us Shera,” Isiah says, keeping his eyes cast downward.

I groan in unison with Damien, as both of us swing our gazes to Arion.

He’s still smirking as he scratches his eyebrow, finally turning to face Isiah and Emily.

“I lied,” Arion tells him unapologetically.

Emily straightens, eyes angrily assessing her brother.

“You can’t be serious right now,” she bites out. “Do you have any idea how hard he worked to find that—”

“I’m not overly concerned with the effort he exerted. I’ve given him one task since rising, and he told me there was no way to trace it any farther than I’d been able to,” Arion says conversationally. “At the end of the day, an alpha shouldn’t have to give his beta incentive for doing a single fucking task.”

The temperature in the room chills, and Damien’s the one to smirk at Emily, while I step back into observer mode once more.

Emily’s confidence drains in front of our eyes, and she sits up straighter, casting a worried look toward Isiah, who has gone rigid and silent.

“In other words, my beta didn’t find it important enough to go that extra mile when it was just his job. But when there was something in it for him—”

“I got lucky and got a small lead,” Emily jumps in, restarting the story now and changing it completely from the original version.

Arion twirls a pencil in his hand, studying it.

“I’m not sure why my beta—one of my favorites, no less—is discussing my House matters and orders so openly in such abundance,” Arion continues, pulling out a small pencil sharpener—and being theatrically calm—as he begins sharpening the pencil.

Isiah says nothing, and I drop a foot to my knee, sitting casually now. This is one less problem for me, since it’s rare Arion gets so pissed that he’s eerily calm.

“And the matter of ignoring my prioritized orders by mincing words and pretending all orders are of the same priority simply because…well, I’m not really sure why you’re acting that way,” Arion continues, eyes flicking to a now shuddering Isiah.

Emily has paled at this point, and Arion pulls the pencil out, blowing a few shavings away, as he makes a show of examining the sharper point.

“Shera found me a variety of uniquely different, customized pencils. Quite useful, that beta. She stayed by Violet’s side, despite death’s inevitable reach, because at the end of the day, she fears me as much as she respects me.” He twirls the pencil before giving Isiah all of his undistracted attention. “Because she knows how to follow my orders. If I want to dangle her in front of your nose like a carrot to get you to do half the job she does, then I’ll do it. If I tell you you’ll not get her unless she chooses to leave with you, that is my standing fucking order.”

The calm starts to waver, that familiar crazed expression slowly bleeding into his eyes, as they continue to darken, rimming only a slight red.

Damien flicks a nervous glance at me, and I slowly slip my blade back out of my boot.

“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.