Gypsy Moon (All The Pretty Monsters #4)(72)

“Arion, this is on me. It didn’t even cross my mind that three ghosts could combine and possess me, and I apparently opened the door to such a mess when I willingly let Anna possess me.”

He reaches over, about to pat my knee, but pulls his hand back before he can touch me.

He feels dirty. I feel dirty.

And it’s not just because there’s salt everywhere.

Those evil bitches.

He stands abruptly, and I watch as he starts lifting the cover. I stand and do the same, letting the silent, awkward tension mount as he shakes out the salt from the bedding.

Then he goes to the wall and moves a large plant in front of the hole he punched, before walking into the bathroom. I hear the shower running, and I close my eyes, no lingering hysterical laughter anymore.

Just dread and a sick feeling.

He walks back out, shaking his head as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the ground.

“The creepy girl ghosts?” he asks in an unusually high octave, giving me an incredulous stare.

“No,” I lie. “Different set entirely. Much older.”

His brow furrows as he just stares at me like he’s checking for a lie. Either he wants to believe me or needs to, and he walks back into the bathroom, as I exhale a groan.

He walks back out again, undoing his pants almost distractedly, like he’s not really here.

“I didn’t actually enjoy it,” he tells me like he’s informing me of this very important detail.

I have no idea what to say besides apologizing again, so I do. He simply waves it off, before turning and heading back into the bathroom, and then rejoins me once again, like he can’t force himself to end the conversation just yet.

“I actually tried talking to you. I’d prepared a big monologue that would set the scene for what happened to get me sentenced to my time underground. They shut me up, and I tasted your blood to make sure it was you—”

“Arion, it’s not your—”

“It was an impressive speech,” he carries on, eyes finally meeting mine.

“I’ll hear it if you want me to,” I tell him as I pull the cover over my legs.

The salt starts skittering across the room, falling from his hair and mine, slinking out of every crevice and slithering to a pile near the door.

Arion’s attention turns to it as a crease lines his forehead.

“Curious, Violet, is that you?” he asks, lazily twirling a finger in the air to gesture to the flying salt, just as the final grain lands on the pile.

“Gypsies and salt, you know,” I state tightly.

“Gypsies and salt don’t do that,” he says, confused.

“They do, actually. I’ve always been able to do that. We have a connection to salt, just like Portocale gypsies have a connection to threads.”

His lips purse, but his phone rings, and he leaves his pants undone, as he silences it and types out a message.

“Could you not tell them about this right this very second?” I ask, grimacing.

He snorts derisively. “I’m certainly not. My brother is being impatient about a matter that he needs not involve himself in.”

He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, before he glances over at the salt pile. “Not a trace of it left,” he murmurs almost to himself, before turning and walking into the bathroom again.

“If you need to go—”

“I don’t,” is all he says before he shuts the door.

My life sucks so hard sometimes.

After reassembling the bed, I lie down and I don’t move from my spot. For the next five-ish minutes until the water turns off, I don’t do anything besides try to think of what a person actually says to someone after that. I’m still not clear what exactly did or didn’t happen.

A more daunting thought slinks into my head. Absolutely everyone agrees about one thing: Arion’s never been with anyone but Idun. I’m possibly the only other woman he’s ever even kissed, and there’s no doubt his mouth has been somewhere else tonight.

My eyes snap to the door when it opens, and I try to remember the fucked-up-ness when Arion walks out with nothing but a towel slung low on his waist.

There’s a knock at the door, and I cover up better with the sheet, as he walks into the other room to go answer it.

“Thank you, Linda,” he says, signing the tab.

I can’t see her from this angle, because the door isn’t open wide enough.

Linda apparently does everything at the hotel for pretty monsters who look inconveniently good in towels and damp hair.

I’m embarrassed to say that I watch a stray drop of water run down the center of his chest, following that contoured line down his abs. If I had to guess, I’d bet Linda is watching it too.

“I’ll just get this set up for you, Mr. Arion,” Linda calls after him.

Arion’s eyes come up in time to catch me watching, and I clear my throat, as I dart a glance away.

“So, are the guys coming here?” I ask, cutting through the awkward tension, as Linda rattles something in the other room.

“If you’d rather they do, I’m sure that can easily be arranged,” he says a little tightly, turning his back to me.

A glimpse of the man that shouldn’t still linger inside him—if he’s truly soulless—surfaces with his discomfort. There was a line crossed, and he feels like he’s the one who wronged me.