Gypsy Truths (All The Pretty Monsters #6)- Kristy Cunning Page 0,9

breath catches in my lungs when I see Dorian’s face instead of Damien’s. His lips curve in a sinister grin.

“There you are,” he says in Damien’s voice.

I turn and begin sprinting as fast as I can, as my mind turns into thousands of mirrors, all of the reflections revealing Damien’s face.

He smiles as he laughs.

“Run Violet,” he says in Damien’s voice. “Run all you want. I’ve found you now.”

Another voice whispers to me, one I’ve heard before but can’t place. It’s so low I nearly miss it, but I hear one phrase that doesn’t make any sense.

“Madam Genie’s Fun House.”

Why in the world is someone telling me about a carnival knock-off museum right now?

I glance back, seeing the floors turning into dizzying swirls, and spot Dorian swaying when his gaze lands on them.

Is that a weakness? Did the familiar voice plant the perfect thought in my head?

If it’s a madhouse I need in order to eject Dorian Gray, then I can do that. I can do that well.

This is my mind. It’s a scary place, even for me. Instead of running away, I think up the craziest madhouse I can craft.

The walls shift, and the mirrors turn into those warped ones you find in those creepy mazes. Every dizzying circle gets reflected in them, overlapping with the image of Damien’s face.

As the changes quickly take place, I turn and face Dorian, watching as he sways more, blood dripping from his nose. The lights blare from overhead, shining down more of those patterns, while carnival rides start appearing.

He staggers to his knees, seeming surprised, and I smirk.

The mirrors all shatter at once, and Damien/Dorian curses, as the debris rains from all around.

A roar sounds inside my head, rattling the walls of my mind, as I hurry away while he’s distracted.

I’ll thank the mystery voice later. For now, I’ll just make a fucking mess.

“You don’t know all my tricks,” I whisper with some steadily budding confidence, the tears drying at last.

Chapter 4

DAMIEN

“If I bench Demetria, then I don’t see any reason why this law rules in unfair favoritism,” Idun states with a soft smile, trying to charm us into agreeing with her.

At this point, however, we don’t have much of a choice left.

Every valid point she’s made has ruled out every valid argument we built.

“Law is still law, Van Helsing. Have you forgotten your role?” she prods.

Vance’s forehead is beading with sweat. This is why he hates her so much. I forgot how good she was at using his curse against him.

“There’s no need to fight me on this, when you know you have no real case,” she continues. “Not if I’m conceding my unfair advantage.”

Marta rolls her eyes.

“I’m perfectly fine with beta combat, so long as Demetria is benched. However, if you have another freakishly powerful, uncontested champion emerge, we’ll have no choice but to revisit these chambers,” the Portocale representative tells Idun in a bored tone.

“Arion chose a weak, female beta as his favorite, simply because she looks similar to how I looked when I first seduced him. Vance’s top beta is almost at retirement age. Damien doesn’t even have a beta enlisted to his House. Emit’s betas are barely around, when they’re not plotting mutinies. And the Portocale hunters are nothing more than glorified hags or washed-up, has-been males these days. Should I choose a weak beta just so I can contend on your pathetic levels? Would that be most satisfying?” Idun asks in an amused tone, her grin only growing. “Is this really what a thousand years without me keeping everyone on their toes looks like? How disturbingly pathetic.”

I bristle in my seat, not liking how quickly Marta gives in. I don’t have a beta for fucking disputes. Talbot Lane may be an impressive rogue beta, but he handles most things by running his mouth. Physicality isn’t my people’s strong suit.

“I suppose powers will be limited in these combat trials,” I state, still dealing with the uneasy feeling on my chest.

I’m ready to cave as well, just because I can’t stand feeling like there’s something wrong.

Why do all four of us keep glancing to the bells in the distance?

Why do all four of us grow more restless with each ticking second?

“If I’m not allowed an unfair advantage, then your deviants can’t use their despicable pheromones to distract my people in a fight. Hand-to-hand, Morpheous. Grow a stronger crop if you have a problem with it,” Idun states dismissively. “Or get your dick out of your hand long enough