Gypsy Truths (All The Pretty Monsters #6)- Kristy Cunning Page 0,65

beside my head, aggressively thrusting, as he anchors me to him with his other hand. I cry out, so desperately close, only to be painfully denied again.

“What spell is this, witch?” he demands, as though I’m the reason we’re both being denied an orgasm.

Fucking mental connection.

This? This is where the line is drawn? Orgasms?!

To be honest, all my senses are slightly dulled, possibly because this is just my head inside his head…

I whimper, and he groans, as he stops moving and trembles against me.

“How cruel of a woman are you?” he whispers, sounding both furious and really turned on.

How screwed up were you?

I don’t ask that aloud.

“I’m going to have to get my life put at risk, apparently, because sex isn’t the magical, intimate connection I was expecting,” I tell him, moaning against his mouth when he kisses me as though he’s seducing me into giving him what he really wants.

I’d be happy to oblige.

Really, I would.

If I was a witch doing whatever it is he thinks I’m doing.

This really got too complicated. Usually these things just sort of pan out for me.

Now there’s an angry Van Helsing buried inside me, staring down at me like I’m a vicious woman who is toying with him. He shakes his head, blinking several times, and sways to the right.

Just that motion elicits another whimper from me, since…I really am almost able to feel release. Almost.

He grabs a knife, and I panic a little, when he narrows his eyes back over at me in a way that suggests he’s decided I’m the enemy. Just as he lifts the blade into the air, clearly ready to kill me without farther ado, I start singing like a panicking idiot, my voice shrieking with the rushed words.

“The apples have all rotted; the oranges are just bruised.”

The image changes around us, and we’re jarred apart. My breath is sucked out of me, because this time, there’s a flash of light and a house-ton of pressure that slams into my chest.

For a moment, I think I’ve been ejected from his head, but when my eyes open, we’re in a far different setting than the more medieval surroundings I’ve been in for most of the night.

It looks like Europe. London? I don’t know.

I’m geographically challenged, and terribly uncultured.

The cobblestone, scent of smoke, and hand-crank cars set a confusing scene.

The oddly dressed children who are laughing draw my attention, and my eyes widen in slight horror. Only a few of the kids are cringing and covering their eyes, while a few others laugh about wringing a chicken’s neck for the butcher. The butcher laughs with them, as though this is the fun part.

This is terrifying.

I’m clearly a sheltered monster.

My mother made me so un-badass—

I slap the side of my head that is getting foggy…or maybe the air is getting foggy.

“Jack!” Vance shouts in the distance.

I wobble around, trying to process the major change in scenery.

Shit. Did I really send him back into the trance?

I run down the streets, wondering what the hell this has to do with apples and oranges.

“Jack!” Vance roars. “This ends tonight.”

Who the hell is—

My breath rushes out of me, and my eyes go wide once more, only this time, it’s because there’s a man. A man who is dragging two mutilated women’s bodies.

He grins with more menace than anyone I’ve ever seen, as he drops the women and adjusts his hat, as though those two motions go together.

My hands tremble, because this guy seems pretty unafraid of Vance. Is he another alpha?

Jack’s eyes turn to meet mine, and he grins a smile that chills me to my bones.

Vance’s head turns as well, all of it confusing the hell out of me. How does a memory see me?

Vance is dressed in something much fancier than his last wardrobe. This suit was meant to make James Bond jealous…before James Bond was born.

His lips move, and true horror lights his eyes, as Jack lunges for me. Vance throws himself at Jack, blade raised, but Jack dodges it and crashes into me so hard it sends me—

I bolt upright, my eyes flying open, and my head feels like it cracks, when it hits a hard surface that’s as unforgivingly rigid as a brick wall. Pain sears through my face and skull. Someone grunts and curses, and I immediately realize the vampire’s forehead is what has possibly broken my face.

The numbness fades, and pain slices through me long enough for my eyes to water.

“Shit! You just woke up and I now