Gypsy Moon (All The Pretty Monsters #4)(5)

He unlocks the door, filling up the doorway, and I notice more feet pass behind his, as someone else walks by.

The food gets quickly put down, and he backs away, eyes warily assessing Shera. He darts a glance from her chains to her face, over and over.

I carefully go to pick up the food and come back once he’s vanished from sight.

“If you had one ounce of guile, you’d bash him over the head with that when he returns, and then find somewhere to hide until Arion finds you,” she says as her jaw grinds.

“If they’re feeding us, then they’re probably not in the mood to torture us. I have no idea what’s beyond this room, and I’m a one-trick pony.”

“Use your tricks, gypsy. Find a place to hide,” she states in an almost tired tone.

“That’s ridiculous,” I mutter distractedly, as I lift the plate toward her.

“Now who’s not recognizing the shit we’re in?” she asks on a huff, as she slouches against the wall.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a vampire, Violet,” she says as she swings her gaze to me. “What do all vampires need? Hint: It’s not a turkey wrap.”

Her eyes drop to the turkey wrap in question, and then up to my throat, before they bounce to mine, as she arches an eyebrow.

“They just put you on timer,” she says through a tight, grim smile. “It’s a countdown. When I’m starved to the brink and smell your sweet blood, I’m going to have whatever strength necessary to break these chains and come after you like the true monster I am.”

She crosses her legs at the ankles, staring ahead. “That’s why I’m in these chains and you’re not.” She slowly shuts her eyes, shaking her head as though she can’t believe this. “That pureblood fauxmega is quite the cruel bitch.”

“How long do we have before that happens?” I ask her.

Hopefully I don’t have to rework my entire plan.

I still haven’t even had sleep.

My life sucks sometimes.

“I’m quite hungry already, so I’m going to say we have a maximum of four days,” she says as she picks a loose thread free from her shirt. “Maybe three.”

“So when Arion was underground…and awake…he was the monster full time,” I say in quiet realization.

“Arion’s monster is far different. He’s in a lot more control than all the others combined because he doesn’t feel the torture or the cruelty of the curse. He likes killing things. The work is finding the appropriate targets at the appropriate times, in his case,” she says in a tone barely above a whisper.

“Okay, so I have something to tell you to ease the burden of worrying about—”

“I can’t drink your blood, Violet,” she tells me like she doesn’t want to hear where I’m going with that, deliberately cutting me off, as her eyes meet mine. “I’ll die a painful and agonizing death if I try.”

My brow furrows. “Why?”

“Because Arion told me I would if he ever smelled your blood on my breath. Whether you live or die will not be the issue from this. It’s whether or not I can control my monster enough to not drink from you.”

“Can you control it?” I ask, as the bottom of my shirt starts spilling threads as well.

She goes silent, not answering me for a moment. I’ve given up on getting an answer by the time I hear her breath leaving in a heavy, deflated rush.

Our eyes collide at the same moment, and she gives me a soberly solemn look.

“I think Emit, Damien, and Arion should have split the sentence underground because they were all to blame for what happened that day. Arion overstepped. Emit and Damien let too much go for two separate sets of reasons, and without reasonable explanations. And I think Vance’s punishment should have been to clean up the mess and get things in order before their return,” she tells me softly, giving me the answer to a question she wouldn’t answer when she saw herself walking away from all this.

“When one alpha is failing, it’s up to the others to make them do their jobs without crossing over into a territory where they don’t belong,” she goes on. “It’s the order. So long as order is kept, fewer people seem to die.”

I nod once again, as if that makes perfect sense, and look back at the bars.

“I’m going to need to borrow your clothes,” I tell her as I stand and stretch again.

“I’m going to need more information, because I’m not sure this is the time to do girly bonding things like swapping clothes,” she says with a matter-of-fact and mildly serious tone.

“I’m a one-trick pony, Shera. Get grabbed and kill who you have to while escaping. My mother wouldn’t let me be a badass for reasons I mostly understand. But I’ve been known to work in a few new tricks along the way.”

“Such as?” she asks.

“I staked four vampires. I can learn on the fly.”

The threads from her shirt start unraveling, and she gives me a dubious stare, as mine slowly falls free from the last thread, leaving me in my bra. My jeans start unraveling next.

“Four vampires? There are at least a hundred wolves nearby. I can smell them, even with their weaker scent.”

“Hopefully you’ll be more badass with them than you were with Abby,” I tell her without an ounce of humor.