Gypsy Freak (All The Pretty Monsters #2)(34)

“It is. My hands get cold when I get…scared. Which I’ve been all night.”

He grins as he pulls me to him again, and we’re dancing before I can object. Or rather, he’s dancing. I’m just stumbling along next to him.

He finally sighs and shakes his head, though I can tell he’s amused. “You aren’t even trying.”

“Because it’s even worse when I try,” I tell him as I stare down at his feet that I keep stepping on.

“You can say you hate dancing.”

“Actually, I love it. I’m just terrible at it and prefer to do it in private or in a place where absolutely no one knows me. Never in the town I live in amongst a lot of monsters.”

He continues letting me bumble my way around the fancy dance floor, and I glance longingly at the rave entrance where I could hide amongst the throngs of bodies.

“I’m going to assume you’ve given my idea some thought, considering how you handled last night’s situation,” he states, moving me around.

We’re the only ones even on this side anymore.

“Why did everyone leave?” I ask instead of answering, since it probably does look to him—the slightly delusional, terrifying vampire—like I’m trying to have four boyfriends.

I don’t want to tell him I struggle keeping one man’s interest, let alone four. He’s crazy, but I’m very reasonable and sane.

Mostly.

Kind of.

Sort of.

Not really…

Hell, I honestly forgot what he expected from me until I was in between him and Emit.

“When Vance put me underground, I was supposed to be unconscious for the hundred-year sentence. It should have been as quick and painless as falling asleep and waking up.”

“But that’s not what happened,” I state, knowing this since I met him outside that box.

“When I was a young gypsy lad, I used to fall asleep in peaceful meadows to get away from my very high-expectations family. Sometimes, when I was just between awake and asleep, I could astral project myself around. The thing is, everyone could see me when I did it. And it was terribly hard to do. I only managed to do it a handful of times. I couldn’t do it at all after turning immortal.”

I pause, remembering what he said about me seeing his projection when no one could.

“It works differently as a vampire, but I was only able to do it because I was so far underground and had nothing better to do but strain for that moment in between. Then I realized no one could see me.”

“So you watched them to learn their weaknesses and dole out your revenge after you returned,” I say quietly, a small tremble going up my spine.

He stares over my head for a second, nodding slowly, before I resume stepping on his feet and trying to dance alongside him.

“Initially, yes.”

I stare up at him, hoping he elaborates.

He doesn’t look down as his jaw grinds. “When I woke up in that coffin, had no way of telling time, and spent what I assume was years clawing at the insides of that damn thing to get out, I certainly started plotting revenge.”

The lump in my throat returns.

“Then I bloody watched them. They had no clue I’d woken. They worried what I’d do when I returned, and worried how they’d handle it, because they sure as hell didn’t really want to leave me underground, though they did bring it up to each other through letters numerous times. It’s when they were alone and I saw the wreckage my punishment had caused them that I realized…there’s still hope.”

“Still hope?”

“For reunification, of course. One girl tore us apart,” he says, looking down at me. “One woman can piece us back together during her short, mortal life. If I could turn you into a vampire to give you more time to do it, I would. To be honest, I’d have already done it. Your Portocale blood prevents that.”

He’s back to talking like this is our plan of action, and we need to get to work. He even acts like I’m dragging my feet about it. I suppose I’m not even allowed to react to how he would turn me into an entirely different creature, regardless of my opinion on the matter, if he could.

I idly wonder why Portocales can’t be turned into monsters…

If so, what the hell am I?

“But, aside from the small council, Portocale gypsies are as doomed to mortality as we are to immortality,” he goes on.

“The council is immortal?” I ask, clearing my throat as I keep my more pressing questions to myself.

“In…a way. We need to get to work before they realize a Portocale gypsy is sleeping around with monsters and trying to free us from the Portocale curse.”

I stop abruptly, and he smiles down at me, winking. “It’s just one little curse. We have plenty of others attached to us that are irreversible to make up for the loss of this one punishment, sweet gypsy.”

“Because the true objective is to relieve you of this curse. Not to have that weird happily-ever-after,” I state, needing clarification.

“If we can stop falling in agony every time a Portocale is killed, that’d certainly be great. Because it’s not just old-blood Portocale gypsies. It’s anyone with Portocale blood in their veins, no matter how miniscule it is. You have threading abilities, which means you’re of strong Portocale old-blood and have the power to stop the curse.”