by C. M. Owens
He narrows his eyes at me as he shuts the door behind him and continues to strip out of his snow-drenched clothes.
Where’d Anna go?
She must be chasing Emit or Damien around.
“He’s not just a werewolf. He’s the alpha. All the packs in this region are under him, and several betas actually run the packs. You can’t go roaming around on his lands, since clearly you know more than you’ve let on.”
I’m not sure how it happens. One second I’m standing, and the next I’m dizzy and lifting off the ground. It all happens within a blink of my eyes, though I’m not sure exactly how long it took.
My mind is trying too hard to process everything, and it’s overwhelming.
“Or maybe you don’t know anything at all,” Vance says, drawing my attention over to him.
Swallowing thickly, I stand and back away.
Somehow, in those few seconds, he’s gotten down to his boxers, revealing a lot of firm, toned, tan skin. He snatches a blanket from my sofa and wraps it around his waist.
I scramble to adjust my own blanket over my hideous pajamas. He just quirks an eyebrow like he’s amused by all this.
“Do you kill monsters?” I ask with an unreasonable sense of calmness.
His eyes drop to the paper where I scratched out the letters of his name, toying with an impossible anagram.
When his gaze cuts back to mine, his smirk looks a little dark. “You mean, am I a Van Helsing?”
“A Van Helsing? As in there’s more?”
“Aye,” he says as he takes a seat near my fire, being far too casual about all of this. “There’s a lot I won’t tell you, Violet Portocale. But there’s a lot someone has to tell you before you get yourself killed. What I’m curious about is why your mother knowingly sent you to a town full of monsters without warning you first.”
Staving off the tears that try to fall, I don’t let my mind wander down dark paths. Why would my mother send me, a sure monster, to a town with a legendary monster hunter, who scared me even when I thought him to be a myth?
She wouldn’t do anything to harm me. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Never.
A wad of emotion gets caught in my throat as my tears waver on my lids, and he studies me like he’s trying to figure out why I want to cry.
“She’s going to hurt someone innocent one day, Marta. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel safe here anymore,” I remember hearing my father say.
“You’re a coward.”
“I never signed on for this! You said gypsy magic and occasional ghosts. Not monsters and…whatever she is. It’s not natural, Marta. You can’t expect me to handle this. I’m just human! I love my daughter, but whatever is inside her…it terrifies me.”
We never spoke of it, even to this day. Dad left because he got a new job, and that’s the only reason I’ve ever acknowledged to either of them.
I wanted to forget I’m a monster.
Now there’s a monster hunter in my living room who didn’t kill a single werewolf tonight, despite the fact they’re clearly monsters.
“Why did you spare them?” I decide to ask.
“His land, his mutts,” he says as if on autopilot. “Make no mistake, if they try that shit on my territory or in town, I will happily—and legally—rip them to shreds.”
I swallow harder. There are rules to being a monster?
“But despite what that stupid wolf thinks, I only bend rules—I don’t break them,” he goes on with a shrug. “I am the Van Helsing assigned to this area because of my history with the three other monster alphas who occupy the outskirts of town.”
“Three other monster alphas?” I ask, feeling dizzy again as I move closer to the fire and take a seat there.
He purses his lips as he takes a seat close to me, and I pretend to not be scared of a monster hunter, since only monsters should fear him.
“There’s no delicate way to explain your current situation, Violet Portocale. But you are, indeed, safe in this town, despite appearances,” he adds.
When he glances around, my eyes follow his.
“I don’t exactly feel safe,” the monster girl says to the monster hunter, who has no idea she’s a monster.
“You will once I explain,” he says as his eyes come back to mine.
The familiar sensation of my heartbeat pulsing in my ears returns, causing that edge of panic to seep back in when I fear what he’s about to ask.
“Everyone has a calming, coping mechanism. How can I keep you the calmest while I explain?” he asks.
Once again, as though dragged from my throat, my words tumble from my lips without permission. “My mother always gave me a pedicure when she delivered heavy, life-altering news.”
“And that helps?” he asks as my pulse grows louder.
“Yes,” I state on autopilot. “It’s calming and soothing.”
He sighs harshly, as the hold he has over me breaks, and I watch as he drops the blanket and moves through my house in just his boxers.
“That’s not a potion at all, is it?” I ask his back, swallowing thickly and remembering not to act afraid of the monster hunter, while he weirdly starts rifling through drawers.
I pretend to have nothing to hide, so I don’t get overly defensive about the prying nature of his rummaging around my private things without permission.
“It’s a gift of mine…extracting the truth,” he states absently. “Doesn’t always work, but the younger the subject, the more potent it seems to be,” he adds. “As I said, your age is the gravest weakness you suffer right now. I’m quite worried you’re going to have a mental breakdown at some point, because there’s an overwhelming amount of information to deliver.”
Awesome.
He disappears into my kitchen after palming something from the drawer. Shortly after that, I hear him in the downstairs bathroom toward the other side of the circling layout of my new home.
Where the hell is Anna? I need her for once so she can spy on what he’s currently doing, though half of what she reports could be utter nonsense.
Anna said there were vampires too…
“How are vampires and werewolves real?” I call out, hoping his voice will tell me where he’s moved onto, since I no longer hear him in the bathroom.
“I’m afraid the origins story will have to wait until another time,” he answers from upstairs, confusing the hell out of me.
When and how did he get upstairs without me seeing him?
He’s carrying a large, round tub of some sort, as he descends my staircase. I’m not even sure where he found that or what he’s doing, until he sits down in front of me and starts putting down all the things he’s been gathering.
Steam is rising from the tub, as he moves through the house again. I stare at the pumice stone, lotion, and various other things that definitely point to an upcoming pedicure.
Which just makes this night doubly confounding.
The monster hunter is going to give the monster a pedicure? You can’t make this shit up and have it sound logical. In fact, it sounds like a terrible lie Anna would tell.
When he returns with a bottle of nail polish and a chair, I stare at him like he’s lost his mind.
“Sit,” he commands as he points at the chair.
He walks over to the corner to grab two stools and returns to put the tub on one, and takes a seat for himself on the other, still wearing nothing but his boxers.
I just simply blink at him as I stand, blanket still wrapped around me, and take a seat in the chair.
“You’re seriously going to give me a pedicure right now?”
“I’m seriously hoping it keeps you calm during the life-altering news,” he says as he lifts one of my feet and peels off the wooly sock.
A breath hisses out of me when my foot is plunged into the overly warm water.
He shows my other foot the same attention, moving it a little more gently into the water that smells like lavender and something else.
“What’s in that?” I ask a
s my eyes grow a little heavy.
“It’s one of your recreational products,” he says with a smirk. “Just to ensure you’re truly and fully calm.”
My body relaxes more as the seconds tick by, and he gently massages one of my feet in the water, only adding to the soothing air around me.
“What are you—”
“You know I won’t hurt you, Violet. I hunt monsters, not harmless gypsy girls,” he says softly. “Just relax.”
Easy for him to say. He’s not aware of all the details.
“Your biggest clients are rich because they’ve lived for centuries in a world that made it easy to earn money after a while of figuring it all out,” Vance starts.
My head lulls to the side as my eyes work to stay fixed on him instead of closing, relishing the magic in his hands.
“Your mother was the first Portocale to actually live in Shadow Hills,” he continues.
“Why?” is the only word I can manage.
“Because Portocales typically avoid our kind. The other families and I moved here shortly after the great massacre I told you about earlier tonight,” he continues.
I giggle a little, because he’s ridiculous, even though his hands are magic and the lavender air is spectacular to breathe in. I feel like I could pluck petals off the flower from the air if I tried.
“Maybe I used too much for your weaker tolerance,” he mutters under his breath, sighing harshly.
“You’re not possibly that old,” I say around a grin, looking over his face.
His eyes are soulful and wise, but his face is far too young.
“Once upon a time, immortality is all man sought. One day, I’ll have no choice but to tell you how we came across the nightmare we sought so diligently, but today is not that day. For now, let’s pretend you know all about immortality and its rules.”
“Sure,” I dutifully agree, and then grin broader as my limbs grow heavy.
I’m certainly not numb. I can feel every glorious touch of his hands as he continues on with my pedicure. I should feel embarrassed, not so relaxed and…
Oooohhhh…pretty.
My gaze is riveted to the water when it turns pink and gold, swirling around his hands. But it fades back to clear when he takes the lotion and starts massaging it into my calves.
I think I moan. I know I want to.
“We were assigned here after the war ended,” he continues. “Strained alliances and necessary truces were made when we grew tired of constantly tearing each other to shreds. However, resentment festers long after a war ends. We’re not so different from mortals in that respect.”
“What wars?” I ask absently, my eyes fluttering shut when he continues to massage my calves, working his way up to my knees and then back down to my ankles, leaving my feet still submerged.
“The obvious wars,” he tells me flatly. “Werewolves, vampires, my kind…and two others that are a little more difficult to explain. The bloodshed was getting us nowhere, and we all finally came to the same agreement when our fear faded.”
Two others? Four families…
The math isn’t adding up, but there are more important questions to ask. I think. The water is pretty again…and distracting.
“What fear?” I ask around a moan when he works out tension from my feet I didn’t know even existed.
“The fear I alluded to earlier,” he says quietly. “Paralyzing fear that consumes and destroys.”
He pauses his ministrations, and I glance down as he lifts my feet from the water and places the small tub out of the way. He grabs a towel from the floor, and starts patting both my feet dry as his eyes come back up to mine.
“When the world changes before your very eyes, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it, you can only make decisions based on the knowledge you have on hand,” he continues. “Whether your actions make you a monster or a hero is to be determined by those who win the war and write your history. In war, there’s always a great deal of wrong done by all parties involved. Unlike my kind, humans rarely live long enough to feel the full weight of their actions, in the event they’re wrong.”
“I’m confused,” I mumble as I try to sit up straighter, but find that task to be impossible. “Are you saying I’m immortal?” I ask groggily.
He finishes patting my feet dry, and I just watch, too relaxed and languid to do much else.
“Of course you’re confused, because I’m deliberately speaking in vague terms to avoid the specifics of the wars. And you’re a Portocale. Portocale gypsies aren’t immortal,” he says quietly. “They age and wither as quickly as humans, should they be fortunate enough to escape their enemies.”
“Our enemies aren’t monsters,” I murmur, causing his head to come up. “At least not by nature. But monster is a relative term, don’t you think?”
His lips twitch as he unscrews the cap on the nail polish. “Indeed,” he agrees like he’s amused. “Do you know why they want you dead?”
My mind, freed by the drugs seeping through me, travels into the dark corners I should avoid. The normal panic is absent though, so I travel freely through the past, collecting the pieces of fragmented memories I rarely try to put together.
“By the power of divine blood and birthright, I sacrifice this Portocale and myself in the name of the Forsaken.”
My mind quickly shuts down, unable to watch the man plunge the knife into my body, and certainly unable to revisit what happened next. I can still remember my screams and the scent of my own blood as they started sawing at my arm, and bile rises to my throat.
“Violet?” Vance says softly, hand cupping my cheek when I realize he’s now directly in front of my face, a concerned look etching his features.
“I don’t want to think about the enemies with the red patch,” I say through loose lips.
His lips thin. “You’ve actually met the cult that hunts your bloodline?” he asks softly.
“Why do they hunt us? Mom always said it was an ancient cult with no motivations beyond prejudice. And until she brought me to a town of monsters who all somehow know I’m a Portocale—without so much as warning me—I believed every word from her mouth,” I tell him with a false bravado as I fight back any emotion that wants to surge forth.
He lifts the tub when he sees me struggling, and I’m thankful to breathe in the steam full of the drug that shoves back the panic, enabling me to speak, without fearing what I might reveal in front of the monster hunter.
He puts the tub back down when he views me calming once again.
The lavender seems to be seeping into my bones, and I moan a little again when he gives my feet one last massage.
“That’s part of the story I can’t yet give you.”
“Why not?” I ask as he begins carefully and slowly painting my toenails.
A legendary monster slayer is painting my toenails. Maybe I’m a ghost and I’ve truly advanced to the delusional stage that causes me to be a pathological liar, because this is insane, even by my standards.
“It’s too complicated right now,” he answers, staying cryptic. “However, I can explain the ins and outs of being in monster territory. And I’ll expand little by little, so as not to overwhelm you, so long as you learn to trust me.”
“He says after drugging the daft girl,” comes a new male voice. “It’s not surprising, really. You always were a fool with women, old chap.”
I’d startle if I wasn’t so heavenly sedated.
My gaze flicks to the wall when motion catches my attention, but I’m too relaxed to really react. The new man is perched at a lean against the wall, and though I should probably find that unnerving, I’m not exactly motivated to demonstrate the proper amount of fear.
Must be a ghost, so no fear is necessary. Vance doesn’t even glance in the direction of the man or acknowledge his presence.
“Are you seriously painting the girl’s bloody toes, mate?” the man asks with genuine horror in his voice, loudly talking over whatever Vance is saying.
&nb
sp; It makes it really hard to focus, given my current headspace.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales harshly, and shakes his head as though he’s embarrassed for Vance.
As though he can’t bear another second of this, he turns to walk through the wall, but pauses. I cock my head, studying his back, curious as to what period the clothes he’s wearing belong in so that I can date his death.
Early nineteen hundreds? The ruffled edges of his collar are soft, flat, and open on his smooth chest. Anna will be pissed she missed out on this particular ghost.
He must not use his ghostly powers much if he’s not showing symptoms of the final decay.
Then again, I’ve met some ghosts over two hundred years old who still haven’t even started the final decaying process.
My mind continues to wander for so long that I don’t even realize I’m staring directly into his eyes. When did he turn back around? How long have I held eye contact? Does he know that I’ve seen him?
“Violet, are you too high to listen?” Vance asks on a sigh, causing my eyes to snap away from the new ghost and back to the man who has started on my other foot.
“Bloody fucking hell,” the other man says on a harsh whisper. “You can see me,” he adds as I pretend I certainly cannot see him.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask Vance. “I saw a distracting bug on the wall,” I tell him.
I think the man looks at the wall to check out my lie, and I keep my expression neutral.
“I was just telling you about some of the ways to protect yourself,” Vance goes on, his eyes dipping back to his task.
He’s not very good at coloring inside the lines, I notice, but since his trade is putting down the things that go bump in the night, I decide not to critique him.
“How can you see me?” the other guys goes on. “Wait, don’t answer that in front of him. How about you ask him about Emit, the werewolf who tore apart his house tonight.”
“How do I protect myself?” I ask Vance, actively ignoring the ghost I stupidly made eye contact with. “I have a ton of charms.”
I lift some of my necklaces.
“Gypsy charms won’t do you any good. Wearing those is nothing but redundant. As I said, this town is safe and dangerous for gypsies.”