Gypsy Moon (Page 24)

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.

“Portocale gypsies don’t have to register,” Damien points out.

“You’re holding back,” Arion states like it’s a slight accusation, turning and intently glaring over at his sister now.

Emily is tapping her foot, casting a sideways glance at Isiah, before looking over at her brother.

“His House or not, it’s my job to put the alphas in their place when they step too far out of line. Violet is under my protection, and was even before the vampire attack. It’s your duty and obligation to answer the fucking question to the fullest extent,” I caution, drawing Emily’s narrowed glare.

Honestly. One poor fight and suddenly my skills seem to be called into question by everyone. Bloody fucking nightmare.

Emily, the daft cunt, smirks at me like she’s ready for a challenge.

The swords shoots out of the hilts, as I pop to my feet, and Arion steps in front of me in a blur.

“I’ll deal with my sister. Not you. Not in my—”

His words end on a pained grunt as his head jerks hard to the right, compliments of my left fist. Damien casually stands and moves out of the way, before Arion topples to his abandoned chair.

The vampire blinks a few times and rubs his jaw, and then shoots me an incredulous look.

“You usually tap your right foot before you lead with your left,” Arion states as he stretches out his jaw.

I smirk over at Emily this time, as my swords retract, the silver manipulated back into the crafted place for it.

Lots of smirking going on in this room today. That’s what happens when too many alphas all want to be the one in charge.

“Bloody fucking nightmare,” I mutter, regurgitating my own thoughts.

Arion moves quick, and by some divine luck, I dodge the punch like I knew it was coming. My elbow comes up, knocking him in the side of the face. Then I swing around and catch him in the temple with the blunt end of one hilt.

He curses as he staggers back this time.

“When the hell did you stop doing the eye twitch before you swing an elbow?” he snaps, wiping blood away from his eyebrow.

“I’ve been doing some work, recently,” I decide to inform him, smiling like the arrogant ass it feels good to be again.

I like life better when he’s the one bleeding instead of me.

“Emily, could you answer the question before this gets messy?” Damien drawls.

“It’s Portocale politics, Arion. It’s not our concern. Don’t put yourself in the line of Edmond’s fire for a girl you barely know. Especially not when Idun is so close to returning,” Emily says, playing Arion like only she can.

“I asked the question,” I remind her, not even glancing at Arion. “Damien restated it. Arion isn’t involved. I’m your fucking Van Helsing. You answer to me right now.”

She makes a frustrated sound before eyeing me again. “One Portocale gypsy goes dead in this town after making simple business ties to the three of you,” she tells us, oblivious to the situation pertaining to Violet’s mother’s alleged identity.

Thankfully.

“What do you think is going to happen to the second?” she asks like we’re idiots. “It’s easier to see when you’re on the outside looking in, instead of sitting inside your stale towers that don’t even catch a breeze anymore. Judge me for my life, but at least I have one instead of just wasting the gift we have.”

“Well, if all of us shirked our responsibilities as you do, the world would very likely end at the hands of the very thing we created by chasing this gift,” I remind her as I crack my neck to the side and adjust my shirt sleeves.

“Edmond Portocale hired unregistered vampires to kill one of his own?” Damien asks on an unconvinced scoff.

“She’s not of his family’s thread. She’s not a single thread of the four Portocale first-borns, as a matter of fact. It still looks real bad when the Portocale name is tarnished by a foolish girl who plays too closely with monsters,” Emily answers, eyes averting mine.

“You’re still holding back,” Arion tells her, and quickly moves much faster than that punch came, grabbing both sides of her face. “The whole truth, sister.”

I hear it in the way the words almost chime from his lips that it’s a command, and Damien casts me a worried glance. Emily’s an alpha, but still much weaker, so I’m not overly concerned with how her pupils quickly dilate to the command.

“Edmond Portocale thinks the alphas are slacking too much on their jobs, and organized a trifecta of events to put you all under at once. Violet Portocale was in the wrong place at the right time when she became immediately connected to the wolf, the Van Helsing, and the Morpheous—all Alpha Heads of Houses. She was the quick weakness in a tough armor to lead them into a trap. The vampires were supposed to rally, along with the purebloods, but Edmond, of all people, should have known wolves and vampires don’t play together. One always wants to trump the other. Still, putting three alphas under while the most vicious was still down was the plan. The problem was, the vampires and wolves both wanted to credit for being the ones to pull it off, without using the other’s help.”

“I’m curious what specifics her source couldn’t obtain, since this all seems rather elaborate and not at all what I was expecting,” I note as I take a seat, content to let Arion continue to pull information from her, even as her nose and eyes start to bleed.

Isiah makes a whimper of a noise, but he silences when Arion cuts his stoic gaze toward him.

“Execution failed marvelously,” Emily adds as her jaw wobbles.

“Because he’s overreaching, the stupid prick,” Damien growls.

“The unregistered vampires grew wary, and most scattered too soon. Then, too few were sent for her extermination, it seems. She’s still a Portocale, even without their blood, so she’s still cursed and still trained,” Emily hurries to add, wincing like she’s still fighting the command.

To that, Damien, Arion, and I all three snort in unison.

“With all of you under, the seconds would step up, and—”

“And the Portocale Council may have been strong enough to call shots they have no business calling,” I cut in.

My schedule just got unbearably more daunting. Now I have to deal with a fucking powerful alpha Portocale on top of everything else.

I’d rather deal with Arion’s sociopathic nest; that’s how much I hate dealing with a Portocale.

Aside from Violet, of course. I’d love to be dealing with her right now, but seeing Emily in pain is somewhat a consolation prize.

“With her dead, you’d all go under one-by-one, and while you were at your weakest, you’d be placed into three Van Helsing coffins to join Arion in his plot. Only a Portocale would have been able to raise you. It was ambitious, but he didn’t care if he won or not. He proved none of you have the control you claim to have, and he’s plotting. The plotting is where the specifics run dry.”

The bleeding stops, and her eyes slowly fill back in, as Arion releases her and faces us.

“So when do we deal with Edmond?” he asks me directly.

“Adding Idun onto this situation is the worst possible thing we could do right now,” Damien says, ignoring Arion’s readied battle stance.

“Idun won’t be an issue,” Arion says, as unsurprisingly dismissive of her threat as always.

“We don’t deal with Edmond at all,” I say, causing some metaphorical steam to roll out of Arion’s ears.

“Not your call,” Arion bites out.

“Fine. Go charge into the Portocale camp and make them bleed, Arion,” I tell him as I glance at my phone, finding an alarming amount of voicemails that have piled up while it was off. “Or wait, like I intend to do, to find out what a Portocale does when they’re wronged by a Portocale,” I state vaguely, lips twitching as I glance over at Damien and Arion.

A sinister sense of humor creases Damien’s features.

Arion seems to be thinking it over, running it through his head, when I hear Shera’s car pull up near the rear entrance.

“Not a word,” Arion says to Emily and Isiah, as Damien masks them from sight with barely any effort.

Has he been feeding off someone else? He seems to be running on a lot of charge, even after the latest battle with the wolves.

The clicking of high heels follows Shera’s scent as she walks in, and those clicking heels just click louder as she walks toward us with alarmingly wide eyes.

“Don’t say we have a problem,” Arion tells her, already reading her too easily.

“I’m afraid you’ll want to know about this problem, and I couldn’t reach any of you by phone. It’d be nice if you would just put them on vibrate instead of turning them off when you want privacy,” she rambles.