Gypsy's Blood (All The Pretty Monsters Book 1)

by C. M. Owens

  “I’m very much enjoying touching you,” he whispers, his breath chilling the skin on the side of my neck, only adding more all around me. “And you smell even more incredible than I imagined you would,” he adds on a hushed breath that chills me to my core.

  What have I done?

  Chapter 31

  VANCE

  Wiping blood from my face, I step over the two bodies and toss a match onto the gas before walking out.

  Damien is glaring at me when I exit the burning home, and I look away from him to ensure no one else is witnessing my departure.

  It’s still just as quiet out here as it was when I went in a few minutes ago.

  My attention returns to Damien, who is leaning against my car.

  “I just bought that,” I point out with a dark smile. “I’d rather there be no smudges on it.”

  “Killing some of mine without so much as a polite warning?” he drawls, gaze flicking down to his nails.

  “Two succubae needlessly draining mortals of their life source doesn’t garner you a polite warning. They’re freshly registered, and barely cared I was killing them. Someone turned them against their will, and they wanted it to end.”

  His lips purse as he glances toward the burning house and back at me.

  “Who could turn them against their will? I’m the only one in this region with the power to turn,” he points out.

  “Hence the reason why I didn’t give you a polite warning,” I state pointedly.

  “If you’re accusing me of something, spit it out, Van Helsing, because I have something far more pressing to talk to you about.”

  “More pressing than an illegal turning? It’s not the dark ages anymore, Damien. The more we’re exposed, the more vulnerable the gypsy—”

  “Twenty-eight vampires were captured outside of Shadow Hills and reportedly hauled to the House of Arion,” he interrupts dryly, causing my brow to furrow.

  “Why is that more important than this?”

  “It’s rumored that they’re unregistered. Aren’t the unregistered vampires your responsibility? Since when does Shera take it upon herself to transport unregistered vamps over town lines? It’s unlikely she’s tidying up problems she doesn’t want to have.”

  I exhale harshly, running a hand through my hair.

  “Or it could be Isiah stepping up in Arion’s absence,” I point out. “He’s played a stronger role than Shera, even though she was appointed head in his absence.”

  “Pfft. Shera rules the roost and you know it. Isiah just thinks he does more. I’m not concerned with theories or competitive vampire politics. I’m concerned with the fact there are twenty-eight unregistered fucking vampires inside town limits, and they were alive when escorted inside the home. Sounds like a Van Helsing should pay a visit,” he goes on, grinding his jaw. “These unregistered vampires recently attacked a fucking Portocale who luckily managed to escape by the skin of her teeth, as I’m told.”

  Instead of even bothering to acknowledge that ludicrous possibility, considering Shera knows her fucking place, I pull my phone out and hand it to him.

  “You have two missed calls from Violet,” he says with a frown.

  “The pictures, you idiot. Stop looking through my phone and look at the damn pictures I had it on.”

  He rolls his eyes, but then he cants his head when he sees the pictures.

  “These women definitely aren’t mine,” he says with a very disconcerting grin.

  “Whose are they?”

  “Can’t you tell by the marks on their necks? My brother always did love leaving a little trading card,” he says in a droll tone as he passes my phone back to me.

  I glance down, barely noticing a mark there. It’s a dull, red mark that could easily be mistaken for a birthmark. “Dorian,” I say harshly.

  “Looks like an alpha forgot to report he was coming to town. Perhaps you should pay him a visit. Beat on his face a little,” he suggests. “After you call Violet.”

  He lifts his phone and pulls it to his ear.

  “Don’t fucking call Dorian and tell him—”

  “I’m checking my voicemail. The Portocale left one, but I assumed it was just to curse me more for being in her home again.”

  The world’s most impossible task: Being a fucking Van Helsing amongst unapologetic monsters.

  Annoyed, I lift my phone and walk away from him, listening to the message she’s left me.

  I hear his sharp intake of air, but before I can turn around, Violet’s trembling voice comes across the line.

  “I really want to be found by a Van Helsing right now. We can consider it an even trade for the pocket watch.” I can hear the edge of terror she’s straining to cover up as she fights to keep her voice even. “Anna, where are—”

  Her muffled shout cuts out as the message ends, and I look over my shoulder to see Damien lowering his phone as well.

  “Where is she?” he snaps as I close my eyes.

  My mind races, traveling down the roads like they’re directly in front of me, the scent of Portocale blood guiding me.

  An echoed scream passes me when I get to a familiar junction, as though something happened here. Just a hint of Violet’s blood rests in the air.

  The trail quickly continues, racing through my mind in a circle. A long, tiring, seemingly never-ending circle.

  My eyes fly open as a growl rumbles out of me, and my gaze locks on Damien’s.

  “Someone is running her in a loop. Or was. Only a few know that trick. Where’s Emit?” I ask him curtly.

  He’s already dialing someone, presumably the fucking mutt in question.

  Straining my hearing, I listen as the wolf answers on a groan. “I really need to fucking sleep right now, so—”

  “Violet’s been spinning circles. Any chance you’ve nabbed her like the barbarian you are?” Damien asks him.

  “Are you fucking shitting me right now?” Emit growls.

  “You were overly sensitive to the fact she didn’t want to kiss a dog when she could have a sex symbol. It’s not a far stretch to assume you’d do something stupid, since she’s leaving panicked calls and asking a Van Helsing to find her,” he adds, proving the dick listened in on my message.

  “I don’t have her. I’ve spent the day trying not to think about her since you left my house. What do you mean she’s leaving panicked calls and—”

  Hanging up on Emit, Damien holds my gaze. “Twenty-eight unregistered vampires are transported into town just before Violet starts leaving cryptic messages for help. Arion bends the rules too much for Shera, and she knows more than she should.”

  I don’t say anything else as I get inside my car, cursing myself for dealing with the succubae instead of answering Violet’s calls. She’s a constant distraction that is causing me to do a lot of stupid things, such as deciding on a whim to entrust her with one of my weapons.

  Damien gets in beside me. “Your car is faster than mine,” he says with a shrug. “And I parked ten miles downwind so you wouldn’t smell or hear me coming. This matter isn’t settled. You’re required to give me at least a courtesy call when exterminating—”

  “Not. Now,” I bite out as I gas the car and sling us out on the road.

  The extra boost of horsepower seems more feasible than ever, and I appreciate the new car more than I did when we hit one-forty in no time at all.

  “Her mother knew her blood would smell suspiciously sweet to vampires. Why bring her to our fucking town?” I ask aloud.

  “Marta Portocale stayed in town without a single vampire incident. Why is Violet different?” he volleys. “Violet is different because she’s ignorant about our world, and they confuse ignorance as weakness. That Portocale is dangerous because she thinks like a true gypsy, and she adapts eerily quickly to things going on around her.”

  “She’s had the Forsaken Cult after her since she was born, I’m sure. Her father took off when she was thirteen, the most pivotal moment in every gypsy woman’s life—the day
she inherits her gifts and a curse—and survived a cold, harsh, and incredibly impatient woman like Marta, even seems to have loved and greatly respected her. It’s not at all surprising she’s able to adapt and adjust. You just don’t know anything about her other than how far your tongue can go down her throat.”

  I take a sharp curve, and I feel the dick grinning at me as I keep my eyes on the road. “You’re as bad as Emit. It kills you two that she’s showing interest in the only one of us who can’t actually enjoy her.”

  “You’re using your Morpheous charm on her—”

  “I realize none of you believe me, but I merely lower—”

  “Lower her inhibitions around me and see what happens,” I cut in, causing him to exhale as if exasperated.

  “It’s not cheating if she still has the ability to walk away,” he defends like a sullen child.

  “Which she did. Even after you cheated,” I point out with a smirk.

  But the smugness dissipates as I near the town.

  “What would Shera be up to if she is the one with Violet?” he asks, his mind seemingly jumping onto the same route as mine.

  “Nothing that will end well for her,” I state quietly as the steering wheel whines under my grip. “Shera’s been far too compliant in his absence, almost as though she’s been biding her time. Violet wants to be found, but this loop is really hard to break through, so someone planned for that.”

  “I was just starting to like Shera,” Damien says on a disappointed sigh.

  Chapter 32

  VIOLET

  “It’s like a sea of bodies caught up in a never-ending orgy,” Anna says like she’s swooning, clearly seeing something entirely different than what’s going on.

  Arion grins back over at me as he thumbs my chin and leans in, almost brushing his lips over mine. A cold chill shoots through my spine.

  “My gifts are to pay you for the debt I owe you for springing me a little early and ruining Vance’s shiny, impenetrable coffin so that he’ll have to spend at least a couple of decades making a new one to hold me. I’ll be stronger this time. I’ve learned a few tricks in my absence,” he says, whispering the last part near my ear.

  He’s watched them.

  He wasn’t haunting them. He was fucking studying them.

  “It’s awesome having your stupidity pointed out to you,” I say a little tightly, trying to sound like I’m composed, while silently hoping the cross around my neck has some sort of power against him.

  He flashes that smile at me, though I can barely see it, because his face is still close enough for me to feel his breath ghosting my lips. I remember really hating life when I couldn’t feel his touch, and now…

  He kisses a spot at the corner of my lips before brushing his lips over my cheek.

  “Shera, get everyone out. I need a moment to explain Ms. Portocale’s gift to her,” he says in that same voice that put butterflies in my stomach when he was a harmless, helpful, caring, flattering ghost.

  “You heard him!” her boyfriend shouts loudly, flailing his arms around like he’s shooing people out.

  “Yes. They heard him,” Shera says like she’s scolding her boyfriend as she guides him out of the room.

  Arion just continues grinning at me like I’m his new favorite toy, and I stare into the eyes I once wanted to be real.

  It’s like a genie has granted a fucked up wish. This is why people don’t make wishes. They’re always loaded with unforeseen consequences.

  “After your attack, I started doing some digging. It’s still a work in progress, but these are from two of the nests who underestimated you, and there’s more to come,” he elaborates in a tone that makes me believe he sees this all as romantic or something.

  I…have no idea what to say. Kidnapping a girl and showering her with dead bodies as roses is not something I can adjust to at all. Nope.

  Too much. Too soon.

  My hands tremble.

  “Thanks,” I say tightly, willing to play along, especially since his lips are on my neck again right now.

  He sucks the skin into his mouth as he presses closer to me, and he releases a groan against my throat.

  “You’re too tense,” he murmurs as he releases my skin. “You wanted me in the flesh, love. You know you did.”

  “Do you know how to cure final decay?” I ask quietly, tensing again when he kisses his way down my throat and drags my body closer, angling me as he starts pushing my long shirt up my legs.

  “I’m afraid it’s irreversible. Like all curses,” he says on a heavy exhale.

  “Whoa. This guy is totally forward,” Anna says as she pops up beside us. “I like it.”

  “I can tell you’re still terrified,” he says on a harsh exhale like he’s trying to be patient with me, and I idly note he’s not covered in blood smears. He also doesn’t have it all over his face—thankfully—the way horror movies depict.

  Which is weird, given the amount of really dehydrated bodies in the room. It should be messy, like in that first room.

  “You remember your gypsy promise?” he muses as a cold settles over me and snaps me out of my inner tangent.

  “I’m not meant to uphold promises to people who betray me,” I point out with a glare.

  “I’m not sure how I betrayed you,” he says with a smirk.

  When I open my mouth to point out the very obvious, he continues on, talking before I can.

  “I told you it was a long shot, and not to get your hopes up. I told you the oranges would lead the lost. I told you it would calm the spirits. It did guide me. I was buried much deeper than the traditional six feet. Deep enough that I had no idea which way to actually dig because all the scents of the earth collided. I told you to loosen the soil, but you never asked why—”

  “Because I started feeling redundant and trusted you,” I bite out, tears pricking my eyes for a whole new reason.

  He cups my chin again, running his thumb along my jaw. “You trusted me because you thought I was dead and couldn’t share your secrets with anyone. You thought I had stock in ghosts not dying, so you trusted me more. Most gypsies don’t make eye contact,” he goes on. “In your mind, I was no threat.”

  “How?” I ask him as I look up, refusing to let the tears fall.

  “The others, well, they haven’t even been able to get you to seriously consider them, because you’re a Portocale,” he goes on, not answering my question. “Portocale gypsies don’t really trust anyone. Not even another Portocale.”

  “I trust my mother,” I’m quick to argue. “And my father.”

  “The human father who doesn’t have the ability to instruct you on how or who to be when he has no way to fathom the exact predicament you find yourself in? The one who knows nothing about your true life, because you have to keep it all quiet, since you’re worried he’ll run again when he hears what your new life is shaping up to look like?” he asks, using our long chats on my bed against me right now.

  I word-vomited my life story one piece at a time, fortunately leaving out the darkest, most dangerous secrets. And he’s one of those people who uses it against a girl.

  “I trust my mother,” I amend.

  “Your dead mother who’s not here, even though she knows you can easily see her and she could still be here for you? The mother who sent you to a town full of monsters with no warning?” he volleys.

  “Damn. He doesn’t pull punches when he’s trying to hurdle you right into Stockholm’s Syndrome,” Anna states like she’s impressed. “Just give in. I’ve heard it can be hot,” she adds very seriously.

  “Mom’s obviously being hunted—”

  “The only ones who hunt spirits are other Portocale gypsies. They can’t consume one of their own kind, so they can’t rid the world of a gypsy spirit. In fact, the Portocale gypsy spirits are very likely the reason the town is under mounds of snow right now. They’re entirely too pissed about the fact the Portocale Council hasn’t found your mother’s killers, and they’re probably
reminding them they’re still waiting for results.”

  He says it all as though it’s common knowledge and I’m supposed to already know. I have no idea if he’s telling the truth or just spewing bullshit to warp my head.

  “I’m going to help you figure out a way to ease the curse—”

  “Ease the curse?” I ask incredulously.

  “There’s always a way to ease it, but every curse is irrevocable, in most cases.”

  He’s talking in circles. I know a good circle-talk when I hear it. I grew up with the best circle-talker there ever was.

  His fingertips dance along my neck, since he’s shown a lot of attention to my throat, unsurprisingly, given the fact he’s a starved vampire.

  He steps between my legs again as he stares directly into my eyes.

  “What do you want from me?” I finally decide to ask, clearing my throat.

  “He wants you to get Stockholm’s,” Anna dutifully reminds me.

  My eyes stay on his as his lips twitch in a grin.

  “Why trick me into breaking you free? What are you planning to do?” I go on.

  “Isn’t it as obvious to you as it is to me, Violet?” he murmurs as he leans over, nuzzling the side of my face with his like he can’t stop touching me.

  I’m so numbed by terror that I barely feel it, but I unfortunately do feel a little of his touch, and small pieces of my mind fuse that with him being Ace. The man I’ve talked for weeks about anything and almost everything.

  The one who listened and didn’t seem at all as psychotic as he does right now as…Arion.

  “There’s not a war on the horizon,” he says like he’s assuring me. “The wars have already been fought. The bloodshed will never be over, but bloodshed and war are very different,” he says when I stare vacantly ahead at the bodies still piled up as my gift for raising him.

  I have no idea if they’re really affiliated with the ones who took me, considering no one else has bothered following up to see if the dead girl is really dead now that four unimportant vampire assassins have gone missing.

  “You,” he goes on, lifting me on the bar as the song changes to Weak by AJR, “are simply the beginning of the end of the story,” he continues saying as he carries me.