Gypsy Moon (All The Pretty Monsters #4)(37)

My eyes flick to his, but his attention is solely on dressing me for the cold, so I put one arm in, turn, and then do the same with the other, as he assists the process.

Spying the ghost triplets off in the corner, I pause, watching as they all three simply glare at me, while Arion kneels and begins helping me slip on my matching red, and very softly lined, boots.

Arion’s hand slides up my calf as he finishes putting the first boot on, and I take in the look of concentration on his face. I lift my other foot, reaching to his shoulder for balance, while he helps me into it as well.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, which seems to make his forehead crease like he’s confused, before he quickly moves away with his back to me.

The triplets are gone when I look over again.

Damien starts guiding me out, and I shake out of my distraction.

“Are we going to be able to raise them early or something?” I ask Damien, who clears his throat.

“No, unfortunately, we’re bound by the gypsy moon for the gypsy rising,” he says tightly. “Which is the full moon.”

“Does anything going on in there have anything to do with me?” I ask, gesturing toward the house where the shady activity is transpiring.

“I’ll fill you in completely, once I have the facts,” he assures me, softly cupping my cheek as we stop walking a few feet away from the door.

I nod like that’s acceptable, already feeling overwhelmed for the day.

His hand moves to be even gentler, gingerly stroking the side of my neck as it lowers, and his eyes soften.

“Your mother’s enemies don’t yet seem to be your enemies. Is that a good sign for those of us desperately overthinking each second with you at current?” he asks with a casualness I don’t see in his eyes.

“Of course you’re not my enemies,” I say, getting that out of the way, before sucking in a fortifying breath.

I can’t figure out what to say. He lied for Vance—twice. I’m not an idiot, and all of them look surprised any time he’s inexplicably nice to Vance.

He wasn’t nice to Vance today. He was nice to me—ensuring I didn’t walk out of here alone if I felt betrayed by everyone else.

A thought niggles into my mind, distracting me from my own mental tangent. It’s a sucky day to be me. Those days are coming in more frequently lately, and I’d really like to know which cosmic cluster of stars I need to flip the bird.

“You all feign guilt over the wrongs of the past, because you’ve numbed yourself to actually feeling that guilt,” I say very quietly.

“No,” he interrupts, holding up one finger as he arches an eyebrow. “We just didn’t feel guilty again until…you. Especially after the most recent revelations pouring in back to back,” he adds with sincere, unapologetic honesty.

He runs a frustrated hand over his face as he leans against the wall, looking like the most beautiful man no matter how mussed he is. It’s an unfair advantage because of the inconvenient distraction it provides time and time again.

I really like pretty things, damn it.

“My head hurts,” I decide aloud when my brain actually tries to meltdown between mental tangents. “I feel like I’m trying to reboot, but I’m a person and not a machine, so it’s sort of not working.”

I quite literally plop down on the snow, aching all over, as the heavy weight of emotion settles onto me with a physical, seemingly tangible, mass.

He hisses out a breath and drops to a knee beside me, before starting to lift me.

“If I’m hurting, the cold feels better,” I remind him. “Hurting,” I add, gesturing toward the phantom mass on my chest, as the stupid tears spring to my eyes.

He clears his throat several times before standing and abruptly taking a few steps back.

“Usually this burden seems to fall to Vance. Sorry,” I say, not sorry at all, if I’m honest. “My mom will be alive again, and I’m just starting to get the gist now. I basically thought I had the gist of everything in broken increments, but now I see how wrong I was and I get the gist of the overall big picture,” I go on, playing out that thought that started this downward fucking spiral in the snow.

He moves back toward me like he’s willing to take the empathic hits that I simply can’t control right now. I don’t even know what being empathic means, or if I really am. Or if my mom is alive or dead. Or if that soul sucking thing is somehow linked to all this. Or—

My breath gets lodged in my throat, almost as though I’m suffocating, as I struggle and strain against the impending panic attack I can’t afford to have right now.

Just as he warily lowers himself to the ground next to me, reaching for me and stopping twice, I meet his eyes, shaking my head like I’m telling the barrage of tears no; don’t come out.

Damien’s hand covers one of mine, and his other hand slides up to cup my cheek, the pity in his expression making me almost nauseated.

That’s when Emit walks out and moves toward us like he knows exactly what’s going on.

“I’m sorry,” I tell the wolf on a tight, choked sound, causing brief hesitation in Emit’s steps, until he takes a seat on my other side.

My eyes stay on him, and I speak before he can. “I don’t know if my mother kept my secret to keep me safe, to keep others safe, or to keep her own secrets buried until she could remedy the guilt.”