Gypsy Truths (All The Pretty Monsters Book 6)

by Kristy Cunning

  “Morpheous will be the name on every tongue. That’s a fine woman you’ve started dating. A real fine woman,” he tells him, winking to show he’s certainly proud of him for that.

  “She’s everything I ever dreamed a woman could be. She’ll do so much for our family’s name, and she’s got a mouth on her that will keep things interesting,” Damien boasts, his smile only growing.

  Idun.

  They’re talking about Idun, I’m assuming.

  In the back of the image, I spot Dorian turning around the corner, as though he lingered just to hear the rest of the conversation but can’t bear to hear anymore.

  Damien laughs and chats with his father, insulting anyone and everyone who isn’t as amazing as the two of them are, as they merrily trail Dorian.

  “Put your bastard brother to use. Don’t let him sit around with his dick in his hand. Put him to work on this trip. Come back with more good news,” he tells Damien.

  He shakes his hand and doesn’t bother acknowledging Dorian again, as he turns and walks away.

  Damien climbs into the back of the carriage, while Dorian shuffles around to shut the door for him. Then, the broken version of Dorian Gray heaves himself into place behind the reins—

  The next stabbing wave of knives hurts almost as bad as the lightning on a day when the rain has already soaked me.

  The image shatters, and Dorian laughs next to me.

  “I heard you like pathetic men. Do you feel sorry for me yet?” he asks, yanking my head to the side, as reality breaks back into view.

  He grins at the mirror in front of us, as tears leak down my cheeks. I’m struck with the sight of blood spraying from my mouth, as I choke on it once more.

  My heartbeat won’t relent. It won’t slow down even one beat. Every time I try, he stabs me again, which only drives it up higher and higher.

  “How about another blast from the past?” he chirps.

  Before I can form a thought, another vision forces its way into my mind, and I cry out when the knives stab me, punishment for fighting against it.

  Dorian is knocked to the ground by a rod of some sort, taking the blow to his face. Blood is coughed out of his mouth, as he cries out in pain.

  “You dare disgrace and disrespect your brother like that in public?” his father demands. “You claim to be the eldest Morpheous because you think you have some right to my name after some miserable whore trapped my seed between her loose thighs?”

  His foot slams into Dorian’s middle, and Dorian doubles over, crying out in both surprise and anguish.

  “He’ll marry Idun Neopry. He’s doing something that breaks all the rules, but it will make this family more powerful than we’ve ever been, and you dare to threaten that by attempting to lay claim to the title of my first-born son? You dare?!” he shouts in disgust, before he spits on Dorian’s face.

  Dorian cuts his eyes up at his father, his body trembling.

  “You’re messing with the natural order of life. You’re going to—”

  His father’s foot silences him, since Dorian catches a boot to the mouth. I’d look away if I could, because it hurts to watch the next beating he takes.

  It lasts for minutes but feels like hours, as the rod comes down over and over, beating Dorian to instant bruises, as Dorian lies there and takes it.

  “Weak. Fucking. Miserable. Waste. Of. Life!” the older man rages. “No son of a whore is going to represent my family,” shouts the man who sounds both offended and affronted by Dorian’s mother’s sexual past, even as he’s proud to own a brothel. “As far as I’m concerned, you can remain mortal with all your bullshit philosophies, because only Morpheous blood will live on eternally.”

  He turns and stalks out, leaving Dorian on the floor to sob quietly all alone.

  I watch as Dorian crawls across the floor to the door, barely managing to do so without whimpering every few feet. As he stares through the crack, I spot their father speaking to Damien.

  “It’s handled. He’s not first-born of this family, nor has he ever been,” he tells Damien.

  I see Damien look back, lips tense, as though he wishes to go to Dorian. Dorian scurries back out of sight, as Damien continues to stare on, barely visible through the crack.

  “He’s of our blood whether you claim him or not, Father,” Damien says, sounding and seeming older in this memory. “It’s his birthright. This is bigger than family. This is gypsy magic and blood magic we’re dealing with. Not family skeletons in dark closets.”

  There’s a loud snap, and the crack grows wider, showing more of Damien, as his head hangs to the side. A red mark is appearing on his cheek, and his father is lowering his hand.

  “I’ll not take any lip from you over a bastard. You’ll make the sacrifice. If it doesn’t work, I’ll kill Dorian myself. Then, you’ll try again. It should work just fine after that. If you want him alive, you’ll do as I say. Understood?”

  Damien’s jaw grinds. “Understood.”

  His father puts his hands on Damien’s shoulders, and Damien turns his head back to face him.

  “You’re a man of nearly thirty years of age. It’s time to stop acting like a weak child if you want people to learn to respect you. It’s time to become a man of true strength, instead of thinking with nothing other than the prick in your trousers. You can have your whores. You can have your wine. You can even have your debauched parties. You can have whatever you fucking want. But you won’t step down as first-born. I’ve spent too much time, energy, and money on grooming you to carry on our family’s name. Don’t disappoint me, Damien.”

  Damien gives a small, almost imperceptible nod.

  “Of course, Father. I’ll make the sacrifice. I’m your first-born,” Damien states as though he’s said those words before.

  His father claps his shoulder.

  “If you’re smart, you’ll kill Dorian yourself. A man as weak as he won’t survive in the new world we’re going to build. Our family’s legacy is just getting started.”

  The illusion shatters, and I cry out in pain once again when I try to scramble away from Dorian’s hold.

  He clutches my throat in one hand and shoves me against the wall, grinning down at me.

  “Guess who’s Father’s favorite now?” Dorian asks me with eyes that dance with mischief. “Damien was the strongest. Once I’m done with you, there’s no doubt he’ll come for me. I’ve not been able to provoke him in too many centuries to count.”

  He swipes a fresh tear from my cheek, still smiling, as he clutches my throat tighter, slowly suffocating me, even as the knives stab me once more to keep my heartbeat rapid.

  “With this, I’ll finally be able to prove I’m the strongest Morpheous Alpha. I’ll be awarded my family’s name for the first time, and be titled as Head of House, just as I’ve deserved to be all along.”

  The next image that assaults me is one of him over my body, both of us naked, and I scream in protest, only to be choked by a fresh pour of blood.

  “If I do this right,” Dorian says, both in my head and in my ear, his voice nearly taunting me with all his sadistic enjoyment, “you’ll bear my mark by the time we’re through. You only get one Flame, Violet. You’ll never be able to take another, and Damien will have no choice but to surrender you to me. They’ll have no choice but to deal with me instead of him. It’ll be me at the center of all the power. I’ll take his place in every way.”

  “Aaaahahahahahahah!” The Tarzan-like battle cry cuts through my thoughts so randomly that the illusion shuts down, and I glimpse reality.

  Dorian has my shirt ripped down the middle, standing behind me, eyes cutting to the side, just as Anna charges into the room. His eyes widen as he’s launched back, too startled to react quickly enough.

  All the illusions stop at once, and I drop to the ground, my body wrung out with exhaustion, as I catch the first breath of air that stabs my lungs almost painfully.

  Coughing, I hurriedly do the first thing that comes to mind, not eve
n trusting my monster. It’s the first time I’ve ever frozen in fear in my entire life.

  The threads all around me finally crash into me, and they swirl my body, as Dorian tangles with Anna long enough to distract him.

  “You stupid fucking ghost. Do you really think you’ll get out of this alive?” he snaps.

  The threads quickly encase my whole body, shutting off my line of sight, and for the first time in my life, I choose to hide instead of fighting back.

  My entire body is trembling, as I cocoon myself inside the safety of the threads. If he breaks through the threads, I don’t want to know.

  So, I do the only other thing I know for certain will work, in an effort to combat anymore sadistic illusions or sensations.

  I faint.

  But when dealing with someone who can invade your mind, fainting isn’t as effective as it usually is.

  “Violet,” Dorian’s voice chimes. “Violet, where are you?”

  I rock in the corner of my mind, unable to fully black out, because he’s invaded my safe place.

  “Violet, you can only hide for so long before I find you. I told you once already, daft girl. I’m the perfect countermeasure to all your little tricks.”

  After that, there’s silence for so long that I’m almost certain someone must have come to save me.

  The next voice I hear isn’t Dorian’s.

  “Violet! Violet, come out! Listen to my voice and come to me!” Damien calls.

  I start to go, but pause, confused once again by illusion and reality. Is it really Damien?

  “Violet! Violet, where are you?” Damien demands. “Come to me, sweet monster. Listen to my voice.”

  Just as I stand up, a shadow falls over me, and my breath catches in my lungs when I see Dorian’s face instead of Damien’s. His lips curve in a sinister grin.

  “There you are,” he says in Damien’s voice.

  I turn and begin sprinting as fast as I can, as my mind turns into thousands of mirrors, all of the reflections revealing Damien’s face.

  He smiles as he laughs.

  “Run Violet,” he says in Damien’s voice. “Run all you want. I’ve found you now.”

  Another voice whispers to me, one I’ve heard before but can’t place. It’s so low I nearly miss it, but I hear one phrase that doesn’t make any sense.

  “Madam Genie’s Fun House.”

  Why in the world is someone telling me about a carnival knock-off museum right now?

  I glance back, seeing the floors turning into dizzying swirls, and spot Dorian swaying when his gaze lands on them.

  Is that a weakness? Did the familiar voice plant the perfect thought in my head?

  If it’s a madhouse I need in order to eject Dorian Gray, then I can do that. I can do that well.

  This is my mind. It’s a scary place, even for me. Instead of running away, I think up the craziest madhouse I can craft.

  The walls shift, and the mirrors turn into those warped ones you find in those creepy mazes. Every dizzying circle gets reflected in them, overlapping with the image of Damien’s face.

  As the changes quickly take place, I turn and face Dorian, watching as he sways more, blood dripping from his nose. The lights blare from overhead, shining down more of those patterns, while carnival rides start appearing.

  He staggers to his knees, seeming surprised, and I smirk.

  The mirrors all shatter at once, and Damien/Dorian curses, as the debris rains from all around.

  A roar sounds inside my head, rattling the walls of my mind, as I hurry away while he’s distracted.

  I’ll thank the mystery voice later. For now, I’ll just make a fucking mess.

  “You don’t know all my tricks,” I whisper with some steadily budding confidence, the tears drying at last.

  Chapter 4

  DAMIEN

  “If I bench Demetria, then I don’t see any reason why this law rules in unfair favoritism,” Idun states with a soft smile, trying to charm us into agreeing with her.

  At this point, however, we don’t have much of a choice left.

  Every valid point she’s made has ruled out every valid argument we built.

  “Law is still law, Van Helsing. Have you forgotten your role?” she prods.

  Vance’s forehead is beading with sweat. This is why he hates her so much. I forgot how good she was at using his curse against him.

  “There’s no need to fight me on this, when you know you have no real case,” she continues. “Not if I’m conceding my unfair advantage.”

  Marta rolls her eyes.

  “I’m perfectly fine with beta combat, so long as Demetria is benched. However, if you have another freakishly powerful, uncontested champion emerge, we’ll have no choice but to revisit these chambers,” the Portocale representative tells Idun in a bored tone.

  “Arion chose a weak, female beta as his favorite, simply because she looks similar to how I looked when I first seduced him. Vance’s top beta is almost at retirement age. Damien doesn’t even have a beta enlisted to his House. Emit’s betas are barely around, when they’re not plotting mutinies. And the Portocale hunters are nothing more than glorified hags or washed-up, has-been males these days. Should I choose a weak beta just so I can contend on your pathetic levels? Would that be most satisfying?” Idun asks in an amused tone, her grin only growing. “Is this really what a thousand years without me keeping everyone on their toes looks like? How disturbingly pathetic.”

  I bristle in my seat, not liking how quickly Marta gives in. I don’t have a beta for fucking disputes. Talbot Lane may be an impressive rogue beta, but he handles most things by running his mouth. Physicality isn’t my people’s strong suit.

  “I suppose powers will be limited in these combat trials,” I state, still dealing with the uneasy feeling on my chest.

  I’m ready to cave as well, just because I can’t stand feeling like there’s something wrong.

  Why do all four of us keep glancing to the bells in the distance?

  Why do all four of us grow more restless with each ticking second?

  “If I’m not allowed an unfair advantage, then your deviants can’t use their despicable pheromones to distract my people in a fight. Hand-to-hand, Morpheous. Grow a stronger crop if you have a problem with it,” Idun states dismissively. “Or get your dick out of your hand long enough to manage your covens.”

  I stand abruptly, pulling my phone from my pocket.

  “I’ll agree with whatever you four decide,” I tell Emit, Vance, Arion and Marta. “I need to make a quick phone call.”

  No one objects, aside from the one predictable bitch.

  “Now, Morpheous? Can’t you take your job seriously for longer than five minutes?”

  “We’ve been in here for over two hours, and it’s clear you’d spend all day long pathetically trying to garner our attention by any desperate means at your disposal,” I tell her without glancing at her, turning to go. “Play your games with them. I have a phone call to make.”

  She mutters something too low for me to hear, but I hear Arion say, “That’s because he’s clearly right. I never pegged you as being this sad and lonely without us. I thought you were more independent than this, Idun. After all, you’ve boasted for centuries we were nothing without you. I actually believed you until—”

  I shut the door behind me, sealing out the conversation inside the soundproof Van Helsing rings that was built with the finest quality materials to keep the screams silenced from the soft human ears that may happen by.

  Shera answers my call with an exhausted huff, as a baby cries in the background.

  “What’s wrong with our lad?” I ask her.

  “His mother is missing, Violet’s locked herself away in her office to do some work, and babies clearly fucking hate me. I don’t particularly like them, either. I’ve never held babies before. I don’t know what I’m doing, and—”

  “Violet’s in her office?” I ask, not really caring about hearing the vampire beta’s
grievances all day.

  “Yes,” she says, and then curses. “You can’t put that in your mouth. Aren’t you supposed to be older before you’re doing all this stupid shit?”

  “You’re not really talking to the baby like that, are you?” I ask, grimacing.

  “Don’t judge me. I’m not a babysitter, and I’ve never pretended to be one. I’m not an awful person just because I don’t know how to make babies laugh and shit. What’s the verdict?”

  “Still undetermined, but it’s not looking like a good future for betas who aren’t at the top of the power chain. You may want to look into giving up your seat in Arion’s home. Consider that charitable advice,” I tell her, casting a dubious look toward the doors behind me. “Take the phone to Violet. Her phone is going to straight to voicemail.”

  “That’s because she’s in her office with the door shut. When the door is open, she can be bothered. When it’s shut, it means she wants absolute silence and alone time. The door is shut,” she argues.

  “I don’t give two shits if the door is shut or open. I want to speak to Violet right—”

  “I answer to Arion, and I answer to Violet. If you want a beta to break rules and get into trouble, hire your own beta to assume the risks. Me? I do what I’m supposed to, because I’m a damn good beta,” she says as she hangs up on me.

  Fucking vampires.

  Cursing, I pick up my phone, tempted to call Talbot. I pause, deciding I don’t want the prat thinking he’s got the job. If I start using him like a beta, he’ll never go away.

  Just as I’m about to head back inside, my phone rings, and I glance down, spotting Amos’s name flash across the screen.

  My brother hasn’t contacted me in centuries, aside from matters of the obligatory nature. He didn’t even respond to my email that I sent that tasked him with keeping a close eye on Dorian until we have Idun sorted.

  I’m curious enough to answer.

  “Amos, to what do I owe this—”

  “Is Dorian there with you?” he asks, cutting me off and sounding slightly irritated.

  Frowning, I answer, “No. Why would he be with me? I’m the last fucking person—”