“What’s the favor?” he asks again, his grip still firmly holding me in place.
I look away, unable hold his gaze while I answer. Which I don’t get to do, because Anna is blurting shit out before I can use my very well-rehearsed, carefully worded speech.
“We want you to fuck me while I’m borrowing her body,” she says with all the ineloquence I made her promise not to use. “Because you’re pretty, gentlemanly, and have this alpha vibe I really like. Since you’re not gay, why not?”
He finally glances at her, a blank expression on his face, and…then back at me. His grip grows a little tighter as he closes his eyes and seems to be searching for patience.
I snap a glare at Anna, who simply grins at me.
“You jest,” he finally says. I notice his eyes fluttering open from my peripheral.
Toughing out the awkwardness, I meet his eyes at last and hold his gaze. “Anna, give us a second,” I tell her without looking at her.
She fortunately vanishes without argument for once, and Vance tilts his head like he’s studying me.
“Gypsies don’t allow ghosts to possess them,” he says the second she’s gone. “It’s a very dangerous road to give any ghost a powerful gypsy—”
“Since my mother died and her spirit went into hiding, I’ve done a fantastic job of consistently screwing things up,” I say quietly in interruption, swallowing thickly.
His expression grows more serious as his lips thin.
“I know it’s weird to ask something like this—”
“You have no idea just how unusual of a request this is from a Portocale gypsy. Weird is quite the understatement,” he volleys in a dry tone, even as his gaze dips briefly and his grip tightens more, pulling me even closer. “So you’re doing this because you enjoy screwing things up?” he asks, that regular condescension back in his tone.
“No,” I tell him impatiently. “I’m an idiot for thinking I’ll find my mother’s killer when I can’t even find her death spot—”
“The cult killed her,” he states flatly. “Like they do all the Portocale gypsies. And because they know too much about us, they also know how to hide from us. They know too many of our secrets, because they remain hidden too easily. It’s a byproduct of placing our trust in the wrong person once upon a lifetime ago.”
Swallowing thickly and looking down, I shake my head. “Mom said they had some old-blood gypsies, but that would explain why her spirit is in hiding,” I add, relaxing in his lap.
“I have no idea why your mother’s spirit is in hiding from you,” he answers, even though it sounds like he’s just rushing us away from this topic.
“I keep trying to make educated guesses,” I say as I clear my throat, nodding slowly as I stare down at my hands between us.
After releasing a shaky breath and getting my emotions under control, I meet his eyes again.
“No one will tell me what’s going on. My mother sent me here without telling me why. I have no idea who I can or can’t trust. I failed to save Anna. I’ve done something else terribly wrong, but I can’t remember what—I just feel the pressing weight of it on my chest—”
The pitying look in his eyes has me clearing my throat of emotion again as the tears waver, threatening to fall.
“But I can give Anna her last day as a person. I can do something as simple as this without fucking it up. So yes, I realize weird is an understatement, but I’d consider us even if you helped me not fuck something up.”
He brushes the hair out of my face as his lips thin like he’s thinking it over.
“When would this take place?” he asks, letting the tip of his finger brush my jaw, before lowering his hand.
“Tomorrow,” Anna chimes in as she pops in at my side.
He sighs harshly and drops his head back to stare up at the ceiling for a few seconds. After a beat, he looks at me again and gives a sharp nod.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says before standing and lowering me to the ground. “Do you want to stay for a drink? I could sure use one,” he adds.
I glance around at the wreckage and back up to his face. “I’ll have that drink with you another time. I have to go home and wax myself in a lot of inconvenient places because Anna doesn’t want to spend any of her time in me tweezing, plucking, or primping,” I tell him as I turn and walk toward the door.
He just makes some sort of sound of amusement behind me as I go. I’m feeling a little lighter for at least doing this right.
Chapter 3
VIOLET
Tears cloud my eyes, and I curse as I dab the running mascara off my face, when one tear finally slips and rolls down my cheek. My eye is burning too much, the makeup is kicking my ass, and the mascara brush is an evil super villain in training.
Why can’t I be good at being a girl?
“Can we just skip the other eye?” I ask her on a huff. “I keep having to redo to the makeup because the brush keeps stabbing me in the damn eye.”
“The brush is an inanimate object. You’re stabbing yourself in the eye,” she states dryly. “If I can’t have all this razzle dazzle in corporeal form,” she says, twirling as she gestures to herself, “you’re going to look as good as possible. I need jaws to drop on my last day on earth.”
Refusing to focus on that right now, I go back to trying to apply the mascara.
It’s a screwed up situation when you can’t spend your best friend’s possible last day with her because she needs to borrow your body.
“I’ve never spent so many hours doing so much painful primping so that another woman can enjoy the use of my body—”
“And I appreciate it,” she says with a grin. “You really are much hotter when you actually try.”
Giving her a little glare, I finish up with the makeup bag and put it aside before moving on to my hair, pulling out the large rollers she had me put in it earlier. Directly after, I start doing the finger comb thing she detailed.
“This is the most lucid I’ve been in too long,” she says as she seems to strain to focus. “I think it’s the excitement.”
Trying not to overthink things, I lift the bag next to us. “This is for the first part of your day,” I tell her as she squeals in excitement and ghost-claps her hands.
“The bag downstairs is for the second part of your day,” I go on, causing her to squeal even louder as she dances on the toilet seat.
My smile grows, even as my heart sinks a little.
“Okay. Let’s do this,” I say as I turn to face her, my hands a little shaky.
She stands and meets my eyes, a small smile on her lips. “Thank you, Violet,” she says seriously.
I fan my eyes and shake my head. “Unless you want the makeup ruined, don’t make this a thing right now.”
She just grins and steps into me. I feel a tug in my mind, like someone is trying to break in, and I open the sealed door for the first time ever.
It all turns dark.
Chapter 4
VANCE
There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s the sassy Anna walking toward me in Violet’s body with a vixen’s grin on her red-painted lips.
Unable to help myself from taking in the way she looks in a very tight dress with spiked heels, I lose my train of thought for a second.
“I told her she cleaned up nice. She never listens to me,” she drawls, mocking me a little as I continue to stare at the way her waist dips in, showing off every perfect curve on Violet’s tempting body.
I down the glass of whiskey. The first bottle didn’t knock the edge off. The second is slowly starting to work its way into a steady burn in my veins.
She pauses, staring at the corner of the room. “How odd. I’ve never seen it without a giant dildo there,” she tells me, causing me to choke a little on the sip. “It’s never really been there, has it?”
I just shake my head in response, and she huffs out a breath of laughter.
“You’re a little early,” I say as I stand to collect the
most expensive bottle of bourbon I could acquire on short notice, and walk back over to the table, pouring her a glass.
“Well, I don’t have quite as much time as I’d hoped, so I decided to skip the massage Violet scheduled for me and come straight toward the main event of the evening,” she answers, her voice sounding like Violet’s but her tone completely different.
She takes a seat, sniffs the bourbon in the glass, and a smile crawls over her lips as I lower myself back to my seat. “Now this is the good stuff. Lie to Violet. Tell her I love the cheap bourbon she bought me.”
I’m not sure why I smile.
“She’s breaking all sorts of gypsy laws to give you this day,” I decide to tell her.
She nods as she sips the bourbon and moans around the edge of the glass.
As she lowers her drink, she smirks over at me. “She chose you because she’s the least attracted and least drawn to you.”
I bristle, unsure how exactly I feel about that, and her smirk grows more taunting.
“She thinks it’ll be less awkward afterwards because she never sees the two of you in a similar situation,” she goes on, swirling her drink.
“Why exactly are you telling me this?”
She shrugs a shoulder, still smiling. “Because I always root for the underdog. Terrible habit of mine.”
Scrubbing a hand over my jaw, I lean forward. “I think you’re confused about my interest in Violet.”
“I think you’re in denial about your interest in Violet,” she’s quick to volley.
Sitting back, I watch her as she studies me with a shrewd eye that Violet lacks. Her age is showing.
“How did Violet raise Arion?”
“How did he make her forget she did that?” she asks instead of answering.
I huff out a breath.
“Please answer my question. It’s important I get details before I deal with him next time.”
“I honestly don’t know. I wasn’t there when it happened,” she answers, clearly playing coy as her eyes dart around the room. “I expected a lot of swords and things to be hanging in here, since you’re a Van Helsing.”
“Not my room,” I remind her as I sit back. “It’s just on loan. And my weapons stay in their vault, regardless. Who tricked Violet into helping them raise the bastard? And don’t dodge the question.”
Her eyes connect with mine. “Sitting here, seeing a dildo-less corner, and no purple gorilla following us around, I question how much I truly know. I feel it’d be reckless or dangerous to give you misinformation as truth, considering I could most definitely be confused about what I do or don’t know. I’m dead; I shouldn’t involve myself with problems of the living. It defies a natural order,” she goes on, striking a nerve with that last comment without realizing it.
“Very well.” I decide not to point out that possessing a body to have a fun blowout party before final decay oblivion is also defying the natural order.
“Is he a threat to her?” she asks me, eyes on mine. “He made her forget everything, but he was spewing some romantic gibberish during an orgy, I think.”
“Orgy?”
“Yesterday. When you came to save her,” she goes on, gesturing toward me.
I laugh humorlessly, realizing just how misinformed her information must be.
Then, on an annoyed exhale, I tell her, “I’m not sure about anything involving Arion right now. I can’t get into the cemetery until the acidic fog in there dissipates. It nearly burned my eyes out when I tried.”
“Enough gypsy talk. Let’s talk more about Violet.”
“Violet’s most certainly a gypsy,” I point out, lips twisting in a semi-suppressed grin when she rolls her eyes.
“Well aware. She’s a pitiful little gypsy who has no idea what’s going on around her, and God help her for relying on me to help her through it. She’s going to need someone much saner and more dependable when I’m gone.”
The seriousness to her last note has me sipping more of my whiskey. I say nothing to her as she looks down at her glass of bourbon.
“Violet is the one soul who cares for me.”
“Since your death?”
Her eyes level mine with a cold look. “Ever,” she answers with a tight smile.
She bends to pick up the bag and starts walking toward me again.
After she deposits the bag to the table, she opens a compact, inspecting herself in the mirror, softly touching her face as she just stares.
“Violet isn’t fragile, but she’s not yet strong either,” she goes on, snapping the compact shut as her eyes find mine.
I sip my whiskey, content to hear her story as she just stares down at the bourbon in her hand once more.
“I didn’t expect to like her so much,” she confesses. “She sneaks up on a person like that. I have the dazzle. She has the sneaky razzle.”
She laughs bitterly, still not meeting my eyes.
“I’m the secondary character, after all,” she goes on, confusing me. “She’s the lead.”
Her voice wobbles on the end when her gaze lifts once more. She pushes her glass aside and props up on the table as she takes her seat once again.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask her softly.
“Because someone should know,” she says with a shrug. “Also, someone needs to know something has been killing me slowly.”
“What do you mean?” I ask in confusion. “Violet isn’t feeding on you, if that’s what—”
“She’s not feeding on me. You should figure out what her mother attached to her soul to keep ghosts away. And you should figure out why she did it.”
“Me?” I muse as I finish off the last of my whiskey and push my own glass aside.
I don’t even know if that’s a thing.
“You’re the Van Helsing. Isn’t it your duty to serve and protect or something?”
“Protection is a compulsion to a small degree,” I state vaguely. “Serving…not so much.”
Her lips tug up in a lopsided, sardonic grin. “Well, let’s get on with the part where you do serve,” she states abruptly as she pulls out two long ropes from the bag.
“What’s that?” I ask her, my eyebrows lifting.
“It’s so that you don’t get away too easily,” she states like it’s obvious, confusing me.
Before I can ask more questions, she pulls out an odd, terribly sewn leather contraption.
“She can thread a needle like a boss, but her sewing skills are…horrendous. Was she telling me the truth about her family once sewing for royalty?” she muses when I lift the leather harness thing and try to figure out what the hell it’s for.
“Yes,” I state distractedly. “It saved her family from annihilation. Her family was enslaved at one point and forced to create the most sensational fashion for the royal families of the throne, or of relation to the throne,” I add.
“Well…that’s a bit more morbid.”
“So is the vast majority of our past,” I answer absently. “What is this?” I ask, holding up the harness contraption.
She just grins. “It’s so I don’t get away too easily. I hate to rush things along, since it’s nice having a companionable evening with a man and talking about my favorite-ever person, but my time is dwindling.”
She snaps her fingers like she expects me to spring into action. I glance down at my lap and take in the fact I’m anything but aroused right now, even though she’s stunning. It’s…unnerving to plan to fuck a Portocale gypsy who is possessed.
Lifting the whiskey, I drink a few long chugs before putting the bottle down and standing.
Anna tosses the leather contraption and the ropes to the bed, and then looks over expectantly at me as she walks to stand right in front of me, craning her head back to stare into my eyes.
Those eyes are confusing me, because they belong to Violet, and Violet never stares up at me with that much desire and want. Probably a damn good thing, since this is all really fucking confusing and crazy.
&nb
sp; “I’ve lived a long time, but fucking a ghost is a first for me,” I tell her when she slowly starts unbuttoning my shirt, showing care.
“I can promise you my expectations are extremely low,” she assures me.
She leans up on her tiptoes as she finishes unbuttoning my shirt, and her fingers skate across my shoulders as she pushes the shirt off slowly.
Leaning down, trying to get myself in the mood a few hours earlier than I planned to have to, I let my lips brush hers.
It still feels awkward, especially when she kisses me, her lips gliding over mine with no familiarity.
The kiss stops abruptly and she pulls my head down to whisper against my ear. “You can pretend I’m her,” she says in such a muted tone I barely hear her. “I won’t judge.”
This time when her lips touch mine, I kiss her harder, lifting her so that her legs wrap around my waist.
She moans into my mouth as I carry her to the bed, and I shut my mind off so I can stop overthinking it all and give her the send-off Violet wants her to have.
At least until a triplet set of creepy children land in the room.
My lips go still on hers, even as I avoid eye contact.
“Don’t mind them,” Anna says like she knows exactly what has me pausing. “I told them they could watch.”
I’m not really sure how my life has turned into this without any sort of warning.
Chapter 5
VIOLET
I’m staring down at Vance when I come to, and his arms are…tied to the bed…
His hips buck up, like he’s urging me to move, and I come to the jarring, mind-boggling, surreal realization that we’re decidedly in the middle of having sex.
He’s inside me. I’m wearing the leather harness that attaches my body to his—Anna’s design that I sewed.
The brief moment of surprise has me stunned and just staring down, almost non-responsive, as he thrusts up again, groaning as his eyes open.
“So close,” he tells me…a little desperately with a really gruff, indescribably sexy tone.
Gypsy Freak Page 3
