Gypsy Truths (All The Pretty Monsters #6)- Kristy Cunning Page 0,126

like that until you break?” the vampire asks in confusion, as though that’s his first and only question.

“There’s always been a piece of uncertainty in her that held her back in the past,” I remind them. “Whether she admitted it or not, she worried that wheel would turn, which is why she plays her exhausting and tedious games. She’d rather outsmart us, because it’s more fun than overpowering us, given the unnatural odds in her favor. And also, it’s so she can say she tried to play as fair as possible, in case things swing in someone else’s favor.”

My eyes level Arion’s.

“I picked out a ring for Violet—a fact which I’m sure Idun has somehow discovered. I’ve lost concern over how it looks for a woman to have any sort of power over me, at least where Violet’s concerned. Damien is a loyal, dedicated, and faithful lover to one woman and with no desire for another. The wolf is leading his pack with more due diligence and with more reasonable expectations. And here you are, lost to Idun, because you’re a man with a reputation for unwavering loyalty, and you’ve given it to Violet,” I say, directing the last part toward Arion. “Without us, she loses you. With us, she believes she’ll reclaim you. You’re the safest of us tonight. You should be with Violet.”

“That’s essentially what I said,” Damien says as he comes in.

Arion slants a glare toward the Morpheous, as Damien looks me over.

“You look like shit,” Damien tells me.

“You’re supposed to be—”

“Marta’s with Violet. If someone is going to keep her safe, it should be the woman who’s been doing a much better job of it than the lot of us,” Damien says tightly. “If we’re to even have any sort of hope of standing a chance against Idun’s wrath, it’ll take all four of us.”

There’s a long moment of pause where no one finds a reasonable way to argue, but there’s so much to digest that we can’t possibly even begin to let it start getting to us.

“Arion, for the record, your Monster Olympics was a stupid fucking idea,” Damien decides to say.

“You’ve already said that multiple times,” Arion mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not used to being on the losing side, unless it’s pretend. Is there any way to keep my winning streak alive? I really think the bitch could withstand a missile attack. I swear she’s stronger than ever, just based off the palpable tension in the air.”

“Tell us about Pandora and anything she said to you,” Emit tells me.

I’m obviously apprehensive to do so, since this situation is already out of control. It’ll be just one more brick atop a shaky, poorly stacked pile above their heads.

Still, I rehash the conversation, seeing the dead look cross their eyes when they realize how long she’s been up.

“A thousand years flew by, and I still didn’t have the energy to go look for myself and see if she was up. In truth, I don’t think I wanted to know,” Damien confesses in a quiet tone, jaw clenching.

“Taste the air, Morpheous. It’s so thick with the tension she’s radiating that it’s stifling. None of us wanted to know, besides the vampire. And he was underground too,” I tell him, glancing over at Arion with new appreciation for how being awake and buried must have been for him.

“I got off topic because you tossers never let a man finish his train of thought if it last longer than your flippant attention span,” I grind out. “The point is, we’re finally doing all the things for Violet that Idun wanted us doing for her. We buried her, and then we moved on to another woman we all appreciated and wanted far more, and we did so as the men Idun always wanted us to be.”

“Sans me, who is the exact same. She just took it for granted, and Violet adores me for what I’ve endured. I’ve started playing it up and taking all the goodies Violet wants to offer to make up for the ways Idun hurt me,” Arion says with a grin.

The grin quickly falls.

“Now that bitch is going to take it all away, regardless of the centuries I did devote to her,” Arion says in a frigid tone.

My gaze drifts to Emit, who’s gone quiet for a while now, his chin tucked in his hand, as he stares at a spot on the wall.

“Why’s smoke rolling out of your ears, mongrel?” I ask,