Gypsy Freak (All The Pretty Monsters #2)(58)

Violet says nothing as we wade through the people. Without warning her, I lift her abruptly and carry her outside, because it’s freezing, and she’s only wearing a robe with no shoes.

She presses against me until I get her inside my warm car.

It’s not until I’ve driven us almost to her house that I finally speak to fill the silence. “That was all consensual, yes?”

She gives me a horrified expression that weirdly relieves me.

“Does Damien—”

“No, never. But he does push boundaries and things could have easily escalated—”

“I instigated every bit of that,” she answers a little stiffly, turning to look out the window. “Sorry if this is weird. I thought I’d hurt him, and you’re the only person I thought might truly care enough about him to come help me.”

“You can’t hurt Damien,” I tell her, slightly amused. “I assure you. But if his curse has truly lifted, he’ll be around a lot less. It’s nothing personal, but he’s always a child with new toys. He plays with them until he breaks them. Be glad you’re not the toy in this equation,” I go on.

My stomach sours when I hear the words that have just come out of my own mouth. Toys. Now I sound like a Portocale.

Her fingers start nervously rapping on the door handle. “Okay,” she says tightly.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you—”

“Just fine,” she cuts in, her fingers rapping quicker. “You usually drive so fast, and now you’re going ten miles under the speed limit,” she points out when she leans over to glance at my dials.

Lips tightening, I speed up a little, since being considerate of her tiring evening is apparently unappreciated.

“It’s just that it could have been bad if he hadn’t restrained some of himself. You’re very much mortal, and I’m struggling with all the miracles of the night,” I go on, wondering if there’s any Portocale information that might can fill in these blanks.

“I’m sure you are. Hey, here’s a question: Why are Portocale gypsies such a big deal to you guys? And why all the vague references to our pasts that makes it all sound dark and intertwined? And hey, oh, why do you feel the pain of every Portocale gypsy’s death when one of us dies?” she asks me in a flippant, annoyed tone.

My jaw grinds as I turn into her driveway, and I hold my foot on the brake instead of parking. She stares at me for another beat.

“That’s what I thought,” she says before smiling like the smart-mouthed little thing she is.

“I’ll be in touch,” I call out as she pushes out my door, slams it behind her, and runs inside her fucking unlocked house barefoot.

I could have at least carried her in and looked inside. Damn it. Now this is going to piss me off, and I need to know no one is in there.

Huffing out a breath, I back out of her driveway, park a few blocks over, jog back to her house, and sneak inside to make sure no perverts or monsters are lurking in her unlocked home.

I swear this girl has a death wish sometimes.





Chapter 21





VIOLET


Emit says nothing much across from me, as I swallow the lump in my throat. I was the least attached to Fay, but that doesn’t mean it hurts less. I can only imagine how he feels, though. She’s lived here for years, and she was his to protect.

Damien hands me a glass of something fruity, and I drink it down as he sits next to me, his eyes surveying me like he has thousands of questions.

No one has said anything about me not dying today. I’m not sure if it’s because Damien blabbed what I said and they’re silently assessing, or if it’s because he’s kept that to himself like a prized secret he can leverage against me if the time ever comes.

One thing is noticeably different; he’s a lot cooler toward me. Anna might have hated sex if she’d had to stick around for the complications it seems to present to me every time I decide to take her advice and do something I want to—damn the consequences.

Fay dies while I’m having sex, and no one even bothered to tell me when I was worrying over the aloof Damien.

“I spent the night partying, and—”

“No one is supposed to know this yet,” Emit interrupts, not allowing me to attach my own guilt. “You’re only finding out because I’ll have to tell my omegas. As far as the rest of the packs know, that minor pack is taking retreat right now. It’s a common wolf thing.”

“They’ll rush to assume vampires are to blame, and it’ll get bloody in Shadow Hills real quick. We don’t want camera phones out and recording battles that aren’t supposed to really exist,” Damien tells me as he picks a piece of lint off his shoulder in a way that gives him the opportunity to turn his face away from me.

I wipe away a stray tear, as Emit stares at the ground, his fingers locked together in a tight grip, like he’s working hard to remain this calm.

“The rest of my omegas will be returning from Vegas—”

“You sent them there because you worried there’d be issues with your betas. Lemon told me,” I interrupt this time. “Did they do this?”

The lethal glare Emit shoots me doesn’t bode well for my open invitation to his House, but I don’t give a damn. I’m sick of people dying around me.