Gypsy Freak (All The Pretty Monsters #2)
Kristy Cunning
Prologue
Then…
ARION
Emit is toasting Damien as I walk in, all of them laughing at a joke they surely won’t share. I pull my chain, that bears my small, wooden cross, out of my shirt and let it hang in front of me as I approach, hoping the devil’s demons aren’t dwelling in this tavern and simply waiting for a weak, intoxicated soul to attach themselves to.
When I take a seat, Vancetto slaps me on the arm as he speaks Italian to some girl near us. Emit is speaking another language, one I vaguely recognize, as he claps the busty bar wench on her derriere.
“What have you found us, reverend? Must be important if you’re walking into this place just to seek us out,” Damien states with mocking undertones tinging his words.
“A perfect plot of land,” I say with a growing smile.
“Really?” Emit asks, his attention turning to me.
“It’s outside of Romania, has plenty of land for farming, a small but effective mountain at its back, and a rushing river that circles the majority of it. There’s plenty of room for all six families. We can start our own community, and we can defend ourselves.”
“Unless they send an army after us. I’m sure a horde of gypsies starting their own town would draw quick attention,” Vancetto states dismissively, winking over at the flattered Italian woman in an…immodest dress, who certainly isn’t his girlfriend.
“We can have a home,” I tell them seriously. “We could stop moving, stop finding each other in places like these, and settle down. With the way most of you look, we can hide the gypsy roots we have—”
“I’ll stop you there,” Vancetto says, smiling as he waves a turkey leg at me. “We’re no good at hiding who we are, which is why we stay on the move.”
I put my bible on the table, opening it, but Emit shuts it before I can read. “Don’t preach to us, reverend. Just tell us what you think.”
He gives me a pointed look.
“I think Victoria and I could marry and have children, a home, and a life if we start our own community. I think all of you could marry your beloveds instead of flirting with bar wenches and Italian women who work for the brothel just above this…filthy, unholy establishment,” I say, glancing warily at a corner where I think two people are involved in relations outside of wedlock…and certainly outside of the privacy of the bedroom.
My eyes quickly move away, and I hold my cross like it’ll protect me from the devil’s reaches until I get out of this place. A tremble of discomfort spreads up my spine when a fight breaks out on the other side, and a woman’s dress is ripped, as another man tosses her atop the dirty table. A rat scurries to get out of the way.
Emit nods slowly, as though he’s actually considering this, before reaching over and petting the wolf pup that has calmly sat at his feet this entire time. Even as pups, his animals are better trained than the wealth of common slobs that frequent these poorly establishments.
“My wolves could have their own land to roam, and I wouldn’t have to worry so much about hunters. This little fella is the next pack alpha. He’s Fang’s son,” he tells me like he’s making introductions.
I’m not sure why he treats wolves like men, but some people enjoy animals. I’m allergic.
As if cued, I sneeze twice, and Emit starts laughing as I dig out my handkerchief to sneeze into.
“A man with a hanky is a man with a target, Arion,” Vancetto says on a laughing breath. “It makes you look wealthy.”
“It was a gift from Victoria,” I tell him as I quickly tuck it back into my pocket, looking around in search of seedy eyes. “I need out of this hellish place. Find me at the second meeting place if you want to take this seriously. Because I’m starting this gypsy town. I hope I have the support of my best friends,” I state quickly as I stand and move toward the door.
Spew lands in front of me when a man retches, and I restrain a gag when some of it lands on my shoes that I spent hours shining to a mirror polish.
Without waiting for an encore performance, I step over the spew and hurriedly exit. As I reach the outside, I see stars just before I feel an explosion of pain on the right side of my face.
My head jerks hard to the left and my bible tumbles from my hands, as I collapse to the ground, dizzied and disoriented. The taste of copper invades my mouth as the blood leaks, dripping from my lips as the unsteady, sickening feeling of the hit keeps me downed.
Muffled laughter finds my ears as someone starts patting me down, and a single stream of blood continues to drip from my mouth.
“Thank you, preach. Now I can buy some ale,” someone with vile, contemptible breath states near my face.
The laughter ends abruptly, and suddenly one of those men are lying in a crumbled heap next to me, completely unconscious.
I’m hauled upright, still seeing some bits of double, as my bible gets pushed to my chest by Vancetto. He snarls at someone else, shaking his head.
“I’ll have to hunt you down if anyone else touches him,” he warns the surrounding group. “And a Van Helsing always finds what he hunts eventually,” he adds with a tone that chills even my bones.
I practically scramble away. A man of cloth is a man with little pride.