Gypsy Truths (All The Pretty Monsters #6)- Kristy Cunning Page 0,148

be this woman he loved, because I’ve never been loved like that. For the first time in too long, I had the chance to have a family, so I took it. Then I buried my head in the sand and pretended everything would be okay,” Marta confesses. “And it was. At least until her thirteenth birthday when the life I’d forsaken came back to haunt me.”

“Why not feed her those damn green apples?” I ask, unable to help myself, as my own ire ratchets up. “No one would have ever smelled the Portocale blood, and she’d have been left alone.”

“She ate them all the damn time. However, she ate just as many oranges, so they cancelled each other out,” Marta states on autopilot, still numbly staring at nothing.

“Some fool unearthed the Book of Vales,” Talbot says. “An unnatural amount of blood magic had already been used to place Hyde back in its box time and time again. It was so powerful all on its own, that it managed to survive over a century in the ghost plane with no form. That book gave power to one altar after another, as it passed from greedy hand to greedy hand.”

“The sea swelled, and the gypsy moon was at its strongest,” Marta carries on. “I knew Tom had Neopry blood in his veins, but I had no idea it was from the original branch of the family—pre-immortality.”

“I had no idea I was speaking with the original Marta Portocale when I came to hunt Hyde down again. I sensed its presence in the world once more for the first time in ages. I didn’t know what to do when I found it in an innocent thirteen-year-old girl,” Talbot says, flicking his gaze to Marta.

“While I was still reeling and vulnerable, I shared some details with him, and in return, he told me all about Hyde and what the monster is capable of,” Marta supplies. “He told me the electrical storm must have charged her body, while she was still in the womb. He told me about the perfect storm of events that had led the monster to my child—the botched first ceremony, Hyde’s constant deaths at the hands of Van Helsing, the persistent and reckless use of blood-magic to return the monster to the box, and the unnatural storm—”

“Which was caused by us,” Bobo cuts in, giving her a grim look.

We’re all so stunned to hear him speak, that none of us really react at first, including Marta.

My body aches, feeling a restlessness stir within me, as well as the urge to find and protect my mate clawing at me from the inside.

“We couldn’t stay under anymore, but we couldn’t go back to the way it was. So we all used our hope to wish for something awful, sensing each other’s feelings clearly enough to be on the same wavelength,” Bobo goes on, wiping the rain or tears from his face.

The wind blows, and the rain ceases over our circle, while continuing to pour all around us. Talbot’s eyes hold dilated pupils, signaling this is likely his blood-magic doing.

“We wished for a hero who could defeat Idun and cause the wheel of power to start moving once again,” Bobo says, his voice cracking. “Deep down, we knew we were damning some soul, but…”

His voice trails off, and I exhale harshly in understanding.

“But, considering your innate sensitive nature and the way you’ve had to view the world, you stopped having hope there was any good left in people. You figured it was better to try things with a new devil, in hopes someone else would move to the bottom for a change,” Damien interjects.

He gives a slow, sad nod.

“So the universe, being the humbling enigma it is, sent you a genuine, fair-hearted girl you now feel guilty for condemning,” Vance surmises.

The universe makes no exceptions.

“She was supposed to be someone else, and she didn’t ask for this. It was forced on her,” Bobo states in soft agreement. “She’ll have to become something she never wanted to be, and that’s our fault. She didn’t want Idun to be her problem. She just wants to build—not destroy.”

Bobo points to himself, as if signaling she’s just like him. His eyes water harder.

“I couldn’t do it. So I damned her to do it for me,” he adds, lips trembling, as he turns and begins to silently sob.

The damn, poor fella is definitely all broken up about this. I’ve had a long relationship with guilt, but I don’t have his