Gypsy's Blood (Page 17)

“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 as 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.