Gypsy Freak (All The Pretty Monsters #2)(67)

Ian continues to smirk. “I know how to trick a Van Helsing.”

“You went in a long loop?” I muse, wondering just how many people know that trick.

He nods like he’s a smug genius, and I look away.

It’s going to be a painful day or so of suffocating, so that helps me resist the urge to feel sorry for him for simply being an idiot.

He pulls out a knife, and I give it a bored look.

“I really hoped you’d be more crushed. Maybe feel the way we did when our friends were slaughtered at the hands of that psychotic son of a bitch who kicked your pathetic ass. I hoped this would disgust you just as much as it disgusted us to hear you stand before us and tell us no farther retaliation will be taken toward him, after you’d attended his homecoming party,” he goes on, his jaw ticking.

“Live for over a thousand years, and tell me you still feel that burning anger every time someone lets you down, pup,” I say with a bitter smile.

He just stares at me like he’s disappointed, and I bite back the defense of Arion, even though the words are on my tongue. I’ll never publicly defend him.

I was careless, and he overstepped. We were both at fault, but he was far more at fault than I.

“He suffered,” is all I say to defend myself.

“He can never suffer enough,” Ian growls.

“Vance should have killed them when I failed to. Arion overstepped. You’re making this personal, just like I did when I decided his sentence. The difference is, I know when someone’s been punished enough.”

“You don’t get to decide that for us,” Ian grinds out.

I stare at him for a long minute as the other wolves, sensing my ire, slink back a few steps, no longer as brave as they were before.

“You willingly turned over that sort of control the day you signed over your loyalty for the chance at eternal life. Yes, Ian, I do get to decide that for you, and I will. Sooner than you’d probably like.”

Just the hint of fear shines in his eyes before he steels them. “We made this world at any cost. We’ll ensure civilization does not collapse around our wars,” I go on.

“War gets paused until we find a work around. It’s a stalemate. A draw. Not over. I know the speech,” he bites out. “But you won’t give us that—”

The scent of sweet Portocale blood hits my nose, and the iron cracks around my wrists, causing silver to burn much worse. The sound of my skin sizzling hits the air as I growl at Ian, causing his words to cease.

Everyone turns as Violet is dragged toward me, and my stomach churns when I see her throat slit open and her skin paling. She’s bled out for so long that she’s not even dripping blood anymore.

My fangs snap when my body tries to shift, denied the right by the silver sizzling into me the more I struggle.

Ian’s gaze returns to mine. “It’s more upsetting when it’s personal, isn’t it? I spared you the sight of watching it done and being able to do nothing about it. I’m not heartless,” he says with a cruel smile, as my jaw tightens. “When Arion comes for us, we’ll be ready. Even if he could break the loop, the Van Helsing won’t find you, because he’ll be too busy getting buried as well.”

I shove hard, causing the iron to creak more, and he darts a look over his shoulder as I growl with the effort I put into the next push. The silver burns so much that I finally have to stop, unable to get past that next barrier of pain.

“Remember that you made this personal. It was just life before, Ian,” I say in a very calm tone.

“It was already personal,” he assures me.

My eyes flick to his. “‘Sick and searching is the man who cries for blood on the backs of the fallen he never really knew. He’s a soul in need of bloodshed, and soulless are those who follow with righteous damnation on their tongues.’ I knew a pastor once who told me that when I came to him for guidance, back before I was ever a monster,” I say as I’m fully lowered, the casket jolting and causing the edges of my skin to sizzle until I wiggle back onto the mat.

My breath is knocked out of me when Violet is rolled in on top of me, her lifeless body slamming into mine as dead weight. Ian actually smiles down at me.

I swallow against the lump in my throat, forcing my expression to stay neutral.

“What would that pastor tell you to do right now?” Ian asks with a smirk.

My lips twitch, even as my jaw grinds, feeling the tickle of Violet’s thin blood as it barely drips on my neck. She’s bleeding again now that her open throat has been tilted at a new angle.

“Right now, I’m just hoping that fallen pastor doesn’t rip out your spine before I can. I can assure you it’ll be whoever gets their hands on you first. I won’t fault him for your life.”

His smirk slips and he steps back. I lose sight of him when the lid to my casket is dropped abruptly. It’s aligned, sealing out the light, causing my night vision to kick in.

The sound of zipping tools assaults my ears as the vibrations jostle me, causing painful shocks of silver to slash against my skin as they bolt me in.

What has me confused is why the hell I’m not writhing in pain already. I’m always wide awake when the first strike of the Portocale curse hits me. I’m almost always hit first, unless the Portocale is killed during one of the specific times that make one of the others go first.