Gypsy's Blood (Page 50)

“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 couldn’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…”