Gypsy Origins

Swallowing loudly is my next big reaction, along with a few more blinks.

“What the hell are you trying to do to us?” he groans.

A thought crosses my mind, and I almost curse some new friends. “I’m going to kill the omegas. These oranges are like crack to you guys. That’s why they packed it instead of my cheap stuff that I prefer. I mean, it’s not like they’re expecting me to hook up—”

I don’t know where the rest of my words go, because the second his firm, soft lips just barely brush mine, I almost ask what Anna would do.

Again.

Then remember why that’s a terrible plan.

Again.

Example A is in the gas station after saying confusing things.

Example B is probably perving on us right now, if I had to guess.

Example C is trying to happen as we speak, because it takes a helluva lot of willpower not to lean forward and give him what he’s asking for.

He’s a lot hotter when he’s taking charge. I didn’t know how into that I was until this moment.

Instead of speaking, since all the words are caged inside me somewhere, I stupidly jerk my baggie up.

His eyes flick to it, then to my eyes, his lips visibly resisting a smile.

“You make toothpaste?” he asks in a humored tone as he gives me a little space, slowly pulling his hands back, even as he lets one hand linger on my hip, effectively holding me in place.

I have no idea why my body enjoys that so much.

“It’s not really an interesting story,” I assure him.

He scrubs a hand over his face like he’s trying to wipe away his smile, as he finally releases me and turns to walk around to his side of the vehicle.

I’m still a little stupefied.

Just as I turn to get in, a little black car pulls up, and the two women who glared at me inside wave me over.

I’m hesitant at first, because, well, I look a little slutty at this point, and some women can be mean.

I stop a few feet away as the driver leans her head out. “This is probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever asked another woman, but what kind of toothpaste do you use?”

It’s hard work to keep a straight face. “It’s actually my own,” I say, holding up my baggie for the third time.

“Do you have business cards?”

I start to laugh, but stop. “Actually, I do.”

I jog over, grab out one of the cards I was annoyed with the omegas for shoving in here, and jog back.

“Can I just smell your breath?” she asks with a slight wince. “Is that too weird to ask?”

I blow in her face as Vance walks by, missing a step when he spots us. His eyebrows bounce up to his hairline.

Both of them swing their gazes to him and back at me.

“It really does smell that good,” the driver says with an excited smile and a shudder.

“Road trip,” the second says as she stares at my card.

They give me a quick wave, and speed off…

I just thought this day started off weird.

Vance is still giving me an incredulous look, but Emit is smiling, lips barely turned up in the corners, as he stares at nothing in particular.

“That was because they got the wrong idea about you two, but if it’s good for business…”

I let the words trail off as I skip past Vance to the vehicle, feeling a little peppy. And Mom thought I was ridiculous for making that toothpaste.

“Here,” Vance says, putting all sorts of bags of food in the car, and handing a sack of burgers to Emit. “I never see you eat, and I’m starting to wonder how you even have a curve left.”

Emit pauses his food at his mouth, eyes quickly flicking to mine in the mirror, as his brow furrows.

I snort. “I’ve tried going down a size for two years. And with all the monster stuff going on so very often, the opening of my store during my downtime, and having a houseful of horny omegas who have no problem tending to each other at all hours of the night, food isn’t the first thing on my mind.”

“Don’t forget being kidnapped by two monsters, who slayed your ancestors, while you merrily sit in the back like you don’t hate us,” Vance chimes in.

Emit glares over at him. “It’s like you want her to hate us.”

“I feel like she’s toying with us,” the grumpy Van Helsing mutters just loud enough to be heard.

“Maybe because you guys think all women are Idun,” I point out as I start digging through the bags and settle on some chips.

They’re both waiting and staring, as though they expect me to elaborate.

“In case you haven’t noticed, the omegas are really great women, even with their quirks. Not all women think like Idun,” I point out. “And I can’t believe I sort of like Shera, but I do. Do you know about the whole Emily thing?”

“I can’t do girl talk,” Vance says like he thinks I’ve lost my mind.

“I’m with him,” Emit cuts in with a shudder.

“She’s a substitute and she’s very self-aware with the entire situation,” I go on, finally processing that.

Vance runs a hand through his hair as he shuts my door at last, and he gets in the front, while Emit cranks the car.

The second we’re on the road again, I spend thirty minutes of the ride discussing my opinion, and the next ten minutes after that begging them not to say anything to anyone because I don’t want Shera knowing my opinion.

“Weirdly,” I say toward the end, “I feel sorry for her, and I think she could do better.”

“I want to skip ahead to the part where we slaughter her family by this point,” Vance says on an irritable grumble.

“Too far,” I caution, tapping him with my foot, since my feet are stretched out and resting on the middle thingy between them.

“Sorry. Car rides make me cranky,” he states as he fidgets a lot more with his tie than usual.

“Why?” I ask, looking to Emit’s eyes in the mirror.

The wolf shakes his head, as if he’s telling me to drop it.

“Pull over,” Vance says as though he’s suddenly twice as angry, and Emit immediately cuts to the emergency lane.

Vance pushes out of the door and starts walking before we’re even stopped. He moves unnaturally fast, gaining momentum, with the grace of a seasoned hunter in his stealthy gait. He’s out of sight in the next instant.

“What’s he doing?”

“Vance’s curse gets to him worse some days than others,” he says as he starts driving back onto the road.

“What are we doing? He’s—”

“There’s a bar in the next town. We’ll meet him there,” he says with a shoulder shrug, as I climb up to the front seat.

“Was it the girl talk?” I ask, now feeling really guilty.

“No,” he says on a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “He itches to hunt, and when he has something to hunt but hasn’t found the trail, it gets to him. He can’t find everything immediately, such as the cult, so he finds ways to suppress those obsessive urges.”

“His twitching,” I say in quiet realization.

Something vibrates under me, and I lift up, finding Vance’s phone lit up with a text from Arion. Lifting it, I find my gaze skimming over the new message.

I’m not usually one to read other’s messages, but it’s on the preview screen. If he wants privacy, he should fix his settings or something.

ARION: I don’t remember voting on who went away with her first. Don’t start changing the rules. They stay the same even if…

That’s unfortunately all the preview screen shows, and he has a lock pin. It’s not an invasion of privacy when it’s about me.

“How will Vance know to meet us at the next town’s bar if he doesn’t have this?” I ask, wiggling his phone before I put it down. “And why is Arion so fixed on this deranged life-plan he has for the five of us?”

I try to ask that as casually as I can, but it still comes out hella awkward, if I’m honest.

“There’s a bar and a chapel in almost every town,” he says with a shrug. “Somethings change. Some stay the same. We always meet at the bar.”

He makes a sound that can only be described as hesitant frustration, which suggests he doesn’t know how to really answer the second question. He does his stalling/nervous thing, I’ve realized, where he messes with his beard.

“When we once voted on whether to meet at the chapel or the pub—or whatever it was called back then.” He pauses as though he’s giving it genuine thought, but then shakes his head. “My memory isn’t too fresh in some spots. Anyway, Arion was the only one who voted for the chapel.”

I swing my gaze to him, and then I turn the rest of my body more toward him as he stares ahead.

“He was a rarity. A gypsy preacher. People believed gypsies to be pagan devil worshipers. Damien, Vance, and I voted bar instead of chapel.”

He smiles almost sadly. “To make up for all the bars we dragged our holy friend to, we’d go to hear him preach. We held our own chapel, and Arion stood before us in whatever field we found to squat in. He preached the gospel as he interpreted it.”

Yeah, no. I can’t see it. Arion doesn’t seem to have ever been the gentle type.

“I guess some things change too much to ever be the same again,” I say in a very understating sort of way.

“He put his religion on that altar, Violet. He quite literally sold his soul for immortality—for Idun. His compassion is scarce—shown only to those he favors, and only to a certain degree. Even as a righteous man, he didn’t bat an eye when she confessed all her lies. Even though she’d duped all four of us into loving just her, he didn’t mind. He loved her too much. He questioned if surrendering his soul was worth the reward of immortality, and we all agreed it was. Who needs a gentle soul if you’re never going to die?” Emit continues, asking that last part rhetorically in a distant tone, almost as though he’s replaying the past in his own mind.

“Afterwards, he simply didn’t care what happened, so long as she remained his as much as ours,” he adds in a hollow sort of way.

Little by little, I see past the top two layers, understanding more and more how they actually hate how much they care about Arion.

“And he wants me to be the stand-in, because Idun didn’t work out,” I say quietly as I look out the window at the passing scenery.

Still worrying about Vance, I put off feeling anything at all about learning something I pretty much already assumed.

Either Arion thought I was Idun—like Damien did—or he wanted me to be the two-point-oh version.

I’m not sure how pathetic it is that I feel that pang of disappointment. He’s a psychotic vampire who unapologetically uses and manipulates. I shouldn’t feel disappointment.

The worst part is feeling stupid because you let someone like that make you feel special in the weirdest possible way.