by C. M. Owens
I remain a board of dead weight in his arms as he puts me down, and begins dancing with me, singing along with the lyrics like this song was turned on just for him.
His voice is almost hauntingly enchanting, and as he tips his head back to really enjoy the lyrics while dancing me around the room full of corpses, I try to just stare at his chest, worried what I’ll see if my gaze strays around the massacre.
Don’t panic, Violet. There’s no need. You can’t die.
More of Mom’s words try cajoling me as my breaths get quicker and quicker.
Oblivious to the panic attack I’m barely staving off, he keeps dancing as the song flips again to a salsa-dancing melody.
“And by that, I don’t mean the end. I simply mean you’re the beginning of whatever in the fucking hell happens next, because it’s time to move the fuck on,” he prattles on, holding me closer as he lifts me and spins me over one dead body.
I swallow the bile in my throat as I’m lowered back to the ground, and he kisses the top of my head, an action that both terrifies and soothes me.
Head kisses are reserved for concern and tenderness. Affection without sexual undertones.
“I like this monster. You dance around an orgy with him, and he doesn’t hide that he wants you,” Anna says on an awed sigh. “Give in to the Stockholm’s.”
I feel Arion’s grin against my forehead.
“Our story started in another country, in another language, and in a much different time. It started with a brotherhood of gypsies…until one woman. Then it devolved quickly into betrayal, lies, rage and a legion of curses we’re still stuck with for possibly all eternity,” he tells me conversationally as he sways to the new song: Lips of an Angel.
“Gypsies?” I ask on a rasp as I snap out of my trance and look up, finding his cold, dark eyes on mine.
His slow grin forms. “You think I’m the only one who’s hidden my true identity, Violet?” he muses as a hand slips into my hair.
I hiss out a pained breath from the tender scalp that hasn’t stopped fully aching, and he frowns as he stares expectantly.
“I was put in my place before getting tossed in here to stand before the vampire alpha,” is all the explanation I give him.
“I’m sure Shera is currently handling that. Good vampire help has always been hard to find,” he says by way of what I think is an apology.
I barely resist the urge to snort, since I’d rather he not be pissed off by me being disrespectful or something.
“But yes, Violet. The alphas in this town, and every other fault line, are most certainly from strong gypsy bloodlines,” he adds, sending a chill up my spine.
“Wait. That means they can see me,” Anna says incredulously.
Arion grins down at me. “First rule of being a gypsy: Never make eye contact with the dead.”
“Why wouldn’t they have told you that?” Anna asks me.
“Second rule of being a gypsy with pride,” Arion answers for me with a little shrug and a wicked smirk. “Never trust a gypsy, because you don’t know if they have pride or not, unless you’re a prideless gypsy.”
“Gypsies with pride are rare these days,” I say, echoing my mother’s words with my eyes fixed on Arion.
“Yet you have pride, don’t you, love? Can I kiss you?” he asks so randomly, and I actually startle when he leans over like he’s going to try.
He immediately pulls back, sighing as he shakes his head.
“You’re clearly not understanding what I’m telling you. I’m giving you the world right now, Violet. Four alphas you could reunite around your sweet Portocale blood and effortless intrigue.”
“Is he seriously asking you to be their happily-ever-after?” Anna asks like she can’t believe what she’s hearing, giving me a phantom slap on the arm like she’s making sure I’m paying attention to the screwed-up situation at hand.
What else could I possibly be focused on in this moment?
“Yes,” Arion says as he looks over at Anna.
She squeals when he makes eye contact.
“I am,” he adds, looking back down at me with a dark grin.
“Oh! Violet, do it! You have to do it! I will die the happiest-ever woman if I know you’re about to be the happy ending to a monster orgy love story.”
I wish someone would try to kill me so I could faint and get it over with.
“The others will take a little work, but you’ve already started laying the groundwork, unintentionally, so it shouldn’t be too terribly hard to make them see the way. Especially given how exquisitely intrigued with you they all are,” he assures me. “I’d like to think we’ve all grown a lot over these past few centuries.”
I wonder about the speed a vampire alpha might have, when I glimpse an orange on the table. The reddish tint to it and the sweet, familiar scent in the air reminds me how quickly that orange went missing in front of the cemetery.
And I never even caught a glimpse of anyone taking it.
That window seems a lot farther away all of the sudden.
“He’s my favorite monster ever!” Anna says as she starts dancing around the dead bodies she thinks are having sex. “And he’s almost as hot as Damien. Maybe equal with the sexy savage, even though the savage has slightly harder abs. But still, the vampire is just a peg down from the gay Van Helsing,” she adds. Then, in an assuring tone, she looks at Arion. “You’re still super hot. Just not as hot as them. And your personality makes up for what you lack in abs. The other guys have eight. You barely have six. Is that because you’ve been buried a while. Is that why you’re so pale, or is it the vampire thing?”
She continues rambling, but I tune her out.
I’m stuck in a room with a psychotic vampire and an insane ghost, and no one will kill me so I can pass out for a little while and reboot.
“Do you see, Violet?” he asks me seriously as he tosses salt over his left shoulder.
Anna is unceremoniously kicked out of the room, either because she’s annoying him, or because she ranked him too low on her hot-monster tier.
My one piece of security is ripped out with her ejection, and the chill settles deeper into my bones.
He steeples his hands in front of his face, studying me like he’s trying to figure out which angle is best to crack me from. My hands have taken a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the counter I’ve been backed against, as I continuously flick my gaze to the window closest to me.
My breath rushes out again when I find myself sitting atop the counter once more, and the vampire is magically missing from in front of me.
It’s when the music cuts out that I look back over at him, seeing him lowering a remote that he’s apparently got no trouble using. I guess he spent time stalking the twenty-first century’s new amenities.
He starts singing, distracting me with an old song I can remember my mother singing while we did double-dutch jump-roping with my father.
I barely even hear him singing the words, because my mother’s voice rises up in my head with the dusty, old memory, and I feel that lyrical charm wash over me with remembered feelings of laughter and me tripping over the rope every single time I reached thirteen.
No true gypsy can jump the rope more than thirteen times. It’s how you know you’re a gypsy, according to Mom. I was so excited I was going to be a gypsy when I turned thirteen.
“The tea leaves warned of blood and death. Four gypsy first-borns breathed the last breath. War! War! Beyond the double-dutch doors. Sing, sweet gypsies, who will be mistaken no more...”
Arion stands in front of me as my mother’s voice trails off in my head, and I see the knowing smirk on his lips.
“Strike a memory, love?”
He backs up and starts singing again as violin music starts playing in the background to the same tune my mother sang.
“Six gypsy families all stood nigh. Five gypsy families for one sacrifice. Four gypsy families broken apart. Three gypsy families turned cold of heart. Two gypsy families coul
dn’t back down. One gypsy family went underground.”
He moves toward me, his intense eyes trained on mine as he resumes singing, and I hear his voice over my mother’s when he continues on his slow approach to me.
“Forever is such a long time to bleed. Worst are the gypsies brought to their knees. Sing, gypsies, sing of your lies. Never trust a gypsy with no gypsy pride. Sing, gypsies, sing of your truths.”
He pauses, caging me in as his lips move to be too close to mine, eyes locked and waiting expectantly. “What’s the last line, Violet?” he asks me.
Swallowing thickly, it takes my lips moving a few times before words will come out.
“The apples have all rotted; the oranges just bruised,” I say on a rasp whisper.
A sinister, slow grin crawls across his lips like I’ve said the magic words.
“I have no idea what any of that means. It was just a twisted song that my mother would sing on occasion, and we turned it into a double-dutch chant.”
“You’ve missed the story is all I’m telling you, which is such a good thing, sweet gypsy girl. You don’t bear the scars of the past. That horrific tale has already been written. No one ever hears what happens next—after they finish a tale. No one sings songs of a brighter future. Everything is always about the bloody war, no matter what story is told. You’re the chapter just after the epilogue…the part where life actually begins…again.”
I’m sure he finds that not at all confusing and very much poetic, given the look in his eyes. I’m worried he thinks this is a date, and I’m not sure how those signals got so crossed.
When he just continues staring at me expectantly, like he’s waiting on my permission to kiss me, I turn my head. I’d love to push him away and get a little space between us, but I keep my grip safely on the edge of the counter.
“So,” I say while clearing my throat and staring blankly at the wall across the room where five bodies are piled up, “you want me to be your chapter after the epilogue, after tricking me into getting you out of the ground—”
“Ah, love, don’t be so sore about that. It was only another two or so years that I was going to have to remain in that hell hole,” he says dismissively as he leans over, running his nose along the side of my throat as I continue to stare at the wall.
“And,” I go on, undeterred, “you think I’m destined to be shared between the four of you—”
“Not destiny. Destiny turned its back on us long ago when we went against the natural order,” he interrupts. “You’re just the perfect hiccup in the universe because you can change everything. Life debts can be paid, pain can stop, vengeance can finally be over…”
He lets his confusing sentence trail off.
“And you sing a double-dutch song that makes no sense, yet expect me to just do…what exactly?”
His lips twitch as his eyes narrow. “All I want to do is feel your touch right now, sweet gypsy. I’ve been stuck underground and you’re the only one who saw my projection—”
“Projection?” I ask on a shaky breath as his hands move to my hips and drag me back to the edge again, just as I’d finally gotten myself pushed back.
“You’re the only one who saw me,” he says quieter. “And I haven’t felt any sort of touch in over a century.”
It’s understandable that he’s completely insane, and since he seems moderately obsessed with just touching me in non-sexual places and not trying to eat me, I decide to keep him happy. Like any good captive.
“How could I see you if other gypsies couldn’t?”
“Maybe because you have so much gypsy pride,” he points out, feeling my relaxing body and groaning against my throat when I ease my hands up his chest.
A rumble of appreciation sounds from his chest as he adds, “You have so much gypsy pride that any prideless gypsy would happily bare their soul to you. I’ve been resisting since I got my hands on you, because my soul would terrify such an innocent gypsy.”
Well…that’s far less poetic and very much a reminder of the dangerous game at hand.
He told me how to play Damien, and it’s the only lesson I have to fall back on with aggressive monsters.
A sound of pleasure seems to vibrate from him as I simply let my hands glide over his chest and up to his shoulders. I even give a little massaging squeeze to his shoulders that has him shuddering against me.
“If I were Emit, my tail would be wagging right now,” he says, his grin spreading against my neck.
I blink a few times, stopping myself from smiling, so that I don’t actually end up with Stockholm’s. It seems like laughing at your captor’s unexpected jokes is the first step down the dark road.
I’m still hoping the lying gypsy monster hunter shows up.
A door crashes somewhere in the house, and Arion’s head pops up as he looks over my shoulder, a slow, calculated, dark grin tugging at his lips as he cups my chin.
Someone shouts and something else crashes, and I actually end up leaning into my captor, because he, unfortunately, seems like the safest option at the moment.
“It’s going to get ugly, love. You should probably go home,” he says like simply leaving has been an option all along. “I’ll take that kiss later.”
My head turns when I hear someone throw open the double doors to the room, and a full body sigh of relief crashes through me when I see Vance stepping inside.
His eyes widen, and Damien comes to the same wide-eyed, abrupt halt beside him as they both stare in shock and anger at the man I’m essentially pressed fully against.
“Would you boys like to warm yourself by the fire?” Arion drawls. “It’s rather cold outside.”
Vance takes a step forward, jaw grinding as a sword slides free from the little handle tucked in his hand.
Arion’s grin only grows as he leans over to whisper in my ear. I don’t even really hear what he says, but I feel a warmness in my chest and a little dazed just before he releases me and steps to the side.
“How exactly did you get out?” Damien asks him as he slowly moves toward me. “Vampires can’t walk those grounds.”
Arion just smirks and moves toward the fireplace, as though this is all casual. “Yes, well, I’m an alpha vampire. You know what that means.”
I don’t, so I wish he’d elaborate.
“How did you get out?” Vance asks in that voice he’s used on me before, and the urge to confess bubbles out of me.
“It’s my fault,” I blurt out.
All the gazes in the room swing to me, and Arion’s grin only grows larger.
“Van Helsings aren’t the only ones who can walk consecrated grounds,” Arion drawls. “But don’t blame her. Obviously she had no choice in the matter,” he easily lies.
I open my mouth to argue, but no words come out in my defense.
“That casket of yours will be quite pointless, though, so it looks like I’m here to stay,” Arion states as he lifts the remote, turns on some more upbeat music, and starts dancing back around the bodies.
Vance’s gaze darts to me for a brief second before returning to Arion, but Damien has disappeared.
The scent of cigar smoke has me turning back around to see Arion finishing up lighting one, waving a match until the fire turns to smoke once he’s finished.
He puffs the cigar and dances carelessly while saying, “It’s a wicked new century, don’t you think?”
Vance doesn’t answer, and I keep my gaze trained on the vampire in the room.
He lifts a knife from the table, flips it over in his hand, and I tense as he smirks over at me.
Vance shouts something as Arion flings the knife, and my eyes screw shut as it flies at me.
A harsh grunt has my eyes cracking open, and an exhale of relief comes out of me when I see the knife suspended in mid-air next to my face. But then my eyebrows lift as Damien comes into view, blood dripping around the knife wound in his hand that was apparently reaching for me.
He glares at Arion as he rips the knife from th
e center of his palm.
“You can see me?” Damien growls at him.
“Everyone can see you right now,” Arion answers with a shrug.
I open my lips again to speak, but I remember why I can’t this time. I made a gypsy promise. Gypsy promises come at the cost of gypsy pride if broken, even when one is tricked into a promise under false pretenses.
“You don’t get to save her,” Arion adds with a smirk, his eyes trained on me. “She’s free to go, so she doesn’t actually need saving.”
“Then I think it’s time she left. You and I should have a talk,” Vance says to Arion, even as Damien steps out in front of me.
Swallowing thickly, I carefully hop off the bar.
I start to leave, but then remember the fact I now have a vampire stalker to add to my list of monster problems. It’s best to show respect in a home of a gypsy alpha vampire, regardless of the circumstances that brought me here. Especially if I want to stay on his good side.
Something tells me that leaving Shadow Hills right now would be damn near impossible. I have a feeling he’d hunt me just to carry through with his really insane plan of me somehow reuniting the band of monster brothers he’s stalked from his grave. Literally.
I used to think my life was complicated. I feel silly now that it’s actually gotten extremely complicated.
Damien hisses out a breath when I move toward Arion, and Arion’s lips twitch as I approach.
“Violet,” Vance bites out like he’s chastising me.
Arion just smirks down at me when I reach him, and I get up on my tiptoes as he leans down. Without overthinking it, I quickly press a kiss to his cheek, the way my mother instructed me to do if I ever visited another gypsy’s home.
His arm snakes around my waist before I can withdraw, and the show of respect backfires when I worry he’s not going to let go.
“I’ll see you later, sweet gypsy,” he murmurs close to my ear before releasing me.
I’m not sure if it’s a threat or simply a warning, but I turn and walk away the second his grip loosens.
Vance’s jaw is grinding as I near him, and his hand comes up to my chin, cupping it and gently halting the retreat I really want to make.
