Gypsy Blood

It’s pure torture to a deviant such as I.

“Because once upon a time, two gypsy women cursed me at the same time as punishment, and they turned me into a bigger freak than I already was.”

My attention is still snagged on her lips, and her hands are sliding up my chest, moving up to my neck.

“Seems harsh,” she murmurs as her fingers tangle in my hair.

“You’d likely disagree if you heard the whole story,” I tell her. “Though, I think I’ve more than been punished for long enough.”

“This is really happening,” Anna says excitedly from somewhere close by.

Everything on me is hard as I press Violet against the wall, letting her feel what she’s doing to me as I rock against her, tempting her with the forbidden the same fucking way she’s doing me.

“You did hear the part about my curse that comes with the possibility of a death sentence, right, gypsy girl?” I muse as I lean over to her ear, nipping it.

She shudders against me, and her nails press into my shoulders.

“So not a problem. Do it, Violet. Do it now,” Anna, the daft, reckless ghost, cheers from the sidelines.

“According to Emit, I’m a freak too,” she says as she drags her lips across my cheek, her hands climbing up again and tangling in my hair as I lift her from the ground.

Her legs wind around my waist as I leverage her between the wall and my body and kiss a spot on her neck, telling myself I can have a small taste and back away.

“You’re a gypsy freak,” I say against her skin. “I can assure you it’s entirely different,” I add as she starts pushing my shirt off my shoulders.

I really should stop. She’s not thinking clearly, and neither am I.

Throw two forbidden fruits into the same fucking basket, and there’s no telling what chaos will spring free after that.

“How?” she asks, though it’s more of a moan, since I’ve found a spot on her neck she particularly loves having kissed.

My grip tightens on her ass as I grind against her, unable to stop myself when a fresh flurry of images roll around in my mind.

“Boring easily is a shared affliction among my kind,” I tell her as her lips brush the edge of mine and we both freeze.

“And?” she asks quietly, her tongue barely touching the corner of my mouth and driving me out of my motherfucking mind in a way that surely shouldn’t be possible.

“Sex is our weapon,” I go on, touching her cheek. “Illusions are our birthright. But I’m the only one who can’t have pleasure. That means a piece of me, the monster I am that craves the carnal, is denied unless I kill someone during the process, because it drains their life to give me that pleasure. Sort of a mood killer when your date drops dead before you can fully finish,” I tell her dryly, even as my stomach sours.

“What if you found someone who can’t die?” she asks as I press into her harder.

“Vampires die. Werewolves die. Creatures I’ve created die. I’m an alpha, Violet. Nothing is stronger than me,” I say as I stop myself from tearing her clothes off.

Just barely.

Her lips are on mine in the next instant like the insane gypsy just can’t refuse anything forbidden, and I forget everything when her tongue touches the seam of my lips.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I kiss someone back, opening myself up to all the frustration I stopped allowing myself to suffer through.

She moans into my mouth, which just fuels everything in all the wrong directions.

Just as I decide to give her the pleasure she wants, minus the risk, of course, she tears her lips away from mine, breathing heavily as she reaches into my back pocket and pulls out the mirror.

I blink a few times, feeling a little confused about why the fucking hell I’ve just told her so much. But with her still pressed up against me, it’s hard to think about anything other than giving her what she really came here for. Maybe the frustrating aftermath would be enough to free myself of this cumbersome obsession I’ve developed with her.

“We really shouldn’t do this,” she says quietly.

“I don’t have to be inside you to make you feel better than you’ve ever felt,” I say against her ear, nipping it again. “You aren’t at risk unless I’m inside you, and the only way I can find true pleasure is that way. No worries, gypsy girl.”

She hisses out a breath when I start kissing my way down her neck again.

“Maybe training with you is too ambitious. There’s definitely something that magnifies freaks when they’re in the same place at the same time, it seems,” she says, causing me to grin against her neck.

“Curse of the forbidden,” I state without hesitating.

“I guess there’s a curse for everything,” she says as I start kissing her again.

She groans against my mouth, pulling me closer one second, and then shoves me away in the next.

I drop her to the ground and take a step back, running a hand through my hair. “I’m really confused,” I decide to tell her, frustrated for a new set of reasons.

She grins as she touches her red lips, eyebrows lifting. “Enjoy the mirror.”

My jaw grinds as she starts toward the door, without a rhyme or reason as to why she’s leaving, dropping the mirror off by the door again on her way.

“I can’t accept the mirror if you’re going to get Emit to train you. We haven’t bartered for anything.”

“I guess you can owe me,” she says as she leaves without a backward glance.

“What the actual hell?” I say under my breath, putting a hand over my rapidly beating heart as I try to slow it back down to the almost deadened beat it normally has, as my other hand scrubs through my hair again.

My heart, however, does not slow down, which really pisses me right the hell off. And the crafty little gypsy just left me with a debt, because I can’t possibly give up that mirror, something she has no idea will drive me insane.

“She really doesn’t deserve that vagina,” Anna says on a disappointed sigh as she walks out too.

I glance around, finding the mirror to be on the dresser next to the door where she’s left it, and a cold, sinking sensation sinks in as she pulls out of my driveway.

Did I really just fucking tell her who and what I am?

Why would I do that?

I’m in the middle of slapping my forehead when I catch the scent of wolf, and I snarl at the door. The barbarian bangs on it like he has something urgent to discuss.

Cursing, I swing open the door, and there’s the alpha mongrel himself, pushing that long, sloppy hair of his out of the way as he shoves a bowl against my chest.

“Smell that,” he growls.

“You’re out of your damn mind,” I say, even as I lift the damn bowl to sniff it.

I curse when something wet touches my cheek before I even get a whiff of anything. All I smell is wolf, wolf, and more wolf.

“Why is it wet?” I snap.

“Because I licked it for like a fucking hour,” he says like he’s really pissed off.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I bark as I toss the bowl at the wanker’s head.

He snatches it out of the air and shoves it back at me. “Just smell—”

“Portocale oranges,” I say on a hushed breath as I finally catch the scent of something I haven’t smelled in ages. “No wonder you licked the bowl,” I add with an insuppressible grin. “Please fucking tell me you know how to get more.”

“Possibly. But don’t trust the cost,” he says, snapping me out of my trance as I put the bowl down and furrow my brow.

“Explain.”

“I just ate a bowlful of cookies made with those oranges. I didn’t even realize what I’d actually eaten until ten minutes ago when the bowl finally stopped having any taste at all. Not one bitter bite in the batch, Damien. Which means that treat took a lot of her time. The information I spewed isn’t a full debt. Which means I’m still in debt to her.”

I have never envied him more than I do in this moment, and I’m seconds away from stabbing him…if I can find anything to stab him with.

“Where’d you get the damn cookies?” It’s the most ridiculous question to ask with such an urgency to one’s tone.

“From the only Portocale gypsy who wouldn’t have any clue just how big of a deal it was,” he tells me.

“So what’s the cost?” I ask him like nothing else matters.

Damn her. My heart is beating harder again, just because my senses are nowhere nearly deadened enough right now, not after what she just did to me. Finding anything interesting at this moment is a certain pain in the ass to come.

“She fed me these, and I couldn’t stop yammering on about the fucking Portocale curse when she asked me questions.”

My eyes widen as a sick feeling settles on my stomach. “What the hell did you tell her?”

“Nothing about our part in her curse, of course. But I damn near got close. That gypsy is much more fucking dangerous than we give her credit for being. Even after she staked four fucking vampires, we’re still treating her with the same carelessness we do a typical mortal,” he growls as I look over to my newly acquired mirror.

I go to pick it up, careful not to look at the reflective surface, and just stare at the back.

“What’s my one rule?”

“Never really explain what you are,” Emit states as if on autopilot.

“Not only did I tell her what I am, I specifically used Dorian’s name to explain,” I tell him, more annoyed with myself than with her.

“Are you serious?” he snaps as he comes over and looks at the mirror in my hand. “How’d she know you fancy mirrors?”

“How’d she know it’s the one gift I can’t refuse?” I ask, getting to the more important question. “Especially when she only just learned of what I am?”

His eyes meet mine. “Vance,” he bites out.

“Why would Vance give her any information on us?” I ask him pointedly.

“What if she hit him first?”

“He’d be here right now, bitching just like us about that conniving little gypsy,” I say as I run a hand over my mouth that can’t decide if it wants to scowl or grin.

It’s been far too long since I’ve dealt with a gypsy woman who has gypsy pride, and I love it as much as I hate it.

Emit looks to be showing the same frustrating confusion on his face.

“She hit your house before mine. What if she’s on her way to Vance’s next?” I ask him.

“She’ll likely drive really fucking slow,” he tells me, causing me to arch an eyebrow.

“So we can beat her there.”

I pull on a jacket and tuck in the mirror in the inside pocket.

“It’s been a while since I felt the power a gypsy with pride can possess with a simple gift,” I tell him. “Especially one with Portocale blood pumping through their veins.”