The Lost Souls (5 page)

Nico Čonka rolled over and met with the warm, soft body of his wife. He slid his hand up her T-shirt to cup her breast as he pressed his erection into her backside.

“Wake up, Becki,” he murmured. “I want inside you before Michaela starts screaming.”

Swatting at him, she mumbled something incoherent and fell back asleep.

Laughing, he covered her belly with his hand, felt her skin and muscles still loose from giving birth, and then moved lower, down between her thighs.

“Nico,” she muttered, trying to squirm away from him. “Not now.”

Goddamn it. Not again.

“Yeah, now,” he growled, rolling her to her back and maneuvering on top of her.

He tried to pull her T-shirt up, but she grabbed the material and shoved it back in place.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m gross.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“My body,” she hissed. “I’m fat!”

Angry, he yanked her T-shirt out of her grip and up over her head. As tossed it across the RV, she tried to cover herself, but he grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head. Becki was a damn beautiful woman, encased in silky bronzed skin with matching chocolate-colored eyes. Long, dark curls framed a sweetheart face composed of delicate, utterly feminine features. Nearly every man in camp appreciated a good, long look at her. She was also the most ridiculous woman he’d ever met.

“You are such an asshole,” she whispered, her eyelashes wet with tears.

“No,” he chastised, “you’re an idiot.”

Bowing his head,
Nico took a large, heavy breast between his lips and suckled, tasting the sweet tang of breast milk as it trickled into his mouth. Instead of continuing to fight him, Becki whimpered.

“Feel good, fată?” he asked quietly.

“Y-yes,” she said shakily.

Moving down to her stomach, he took a moment to nuzzle against her extra weight before sliding even lower.

Ah…God.

He needed her.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he said hoarsely, looking up her naked body to her beautiful face. “I’m so fucking hard right now. That’s how bad I want my wife, my beautiful fucking wife.”

With pure emotion gleaming in her eyes, Becki trembled beneath him. Feeling triumphant and grinning from ear to ear, he buried his face between her legs. And when she was nothing but a hot, writhing mess, he reared up over her and pushed inside.

She gripped his back, crying out. “Oh God…Nico…God…yes.”

Becki continued to cry out through her orgasm, and knowing their daughter was going to wake up any second now,
Nico pounded into her like a jackhammer, following her over just as Michaela began to cry.

“Crap,” Becki hissed, trying to push him off her.

“Wait,” he said with a groan.

“No, Nico,” she demanded
. “Get off me.”

He reluctantly left the warmth of his wife and rolled onto his side. Jumping out of bed, Becki dressed quickly and hurried across their trailer to where their daughter was screaming for her breakfast. Lifting Michaela from the cradle Nico had made her, Becki took a seat on the couch, wrapped them both in a thick woolen blanket, and gave the hungry
copil
her breast.

Observing them, watching Becki feed Michaela, Nico’s heart felt full. He was happy, happier than he’d ever been, and he’d owed all that to Becki. Other than the dangers lurking outside their camp, other than losing several dozen clan members since this bullshit had begun last spring, other than his little brother, Nicu, just up and disappearing…yeah, other than all of that, there was just one thing wrong in Nico’s world.

His clan
baró, Tobar Popa, was Michaela’s actual tată. Not Hockey, Becki’s deceased husband, but Tobar, the man she’d been sneaking around with behind Hockey’s back.

And Tobar, in Nico’s opinion, was a first-rate asshole. A first-rate asshole with a whole lot of sway within the clan.

Once Nico had married Becki after she’d given birth, Tobar had come clean to the clan, owning up to the fact that Michaela was his, and Becki—damn her—had agreed to let him be a father to Michaela. Now Tobar was abusing that privilege, using the time he was spending with Michaela to worm his way back into Becki’s good graces. Normally, Nico wouldn’t have given Tobar and his bullshit a second thought…if he could know for certain his recalcitrant wife actually loved him.

She liked him enough. Well, she’d liked him enough to sleep with him before he forced her into marriage. Yes, forced. He’d literally swept her up off her feet and taken her home with him. He hadn’t tied her up, like most Roma do when their wife of choice would fight them. At that point, she’d been too far along in her pregnancy for him to manhandle her, but he had barricaded the door and watched her like a hawk until the allotted three days’ time had passed and he could legally declare her his. Now, she couldn’t leave him
.

Right?

Wrong. Tobar was baró now, and he was the only clan member who could declare Nico’s marriage to Becki null and void. And more than likely, he would happily find a way around the Romani law that clearly stated only a man could request a divorce. Nico could see it now, Becki getting pissed off about something trivial and running to Tobar, begging him to grant her a divorce.

Nico was not going to let that happen.

He was determined to make his wife love him. Although, seeing as how it was a fight just to get her to perform her marital obligations to him, he didn’t foresee this as an easy task by any means.

Sighing, Nico swung his long legs out of bed and ran his hands through his long brown hair. He knew he was obsessing, but he was trapped in this camp
. They were all trapped here and it was because of that, their self-imposed prison, that he feared the worst would happen. Caged humans were no better off than caged animals.

After dressing, bundling up in his winter outerwear, he paused by the door to glance at his wife and daughter.

“
Te iubesc
,” he said quietly, hoping this time she’d say it back.

Becki’s eyes lifted from the baby to him and she gave him a small smile, the last thing he wanted. “Stay warm,” she murmured, running her fingertips up and down Michaela’s cheek.

Feeling defeated, Nico left his trailer and headed into the
center of their camp to seek out breakfast. Shoving his hands into his pockets and keeping his head down against the cold winds, he trudged through the nearly knee-deep snow. “Winter needs to fucking end already,” he muttered. His clan had traveled a lot, and throughout their travels had seen some pretty hellish winters, but this one took the cake. It was if it wasn’t enough that civilization had been all but erased and the constant threat of dying at the hands of fanged lunatics loomed around every corner. No, the weather had to go crazy on them as well.

Nearing the food tent, Nico found Xan seated beside the camp’s large communal fire pit, smoking a cigarette and brooding as usual. With his shoulders hunched, frate’s long black dreads hung heavy around his face. How in the hell was he not freezing to death?

“Wat up?” Nico said, punching his friend in the arm as he passed by.

“Your kid,” Xan shot back irritably. “And because of her, the entire fucking camp
is up.”

Shaking his head, Nico ducked inside the food tent. He should be grateful for what he had—whether Becki loved him or not. Xan had lost everything that ever meant anything to him. Who knew what had become of Trinity after Marko had decided to add
“become the biggest dick that ever was” to his resumé. More than likely she was dead, and Xan was alone, miserable, wishing he could turn back the clock and rewrite history. Xan had never said the words, but Nico knew him well enough, could see the longing in the man’s eyes. The longing and the guilt.

Speaking of guilt, he was feeling pretty damn guilty himself all of a sudden. Xan no longer had the woman he loved but Nico did. And in this hellish new world they were all trying to survive in, he should be grateful for that, not wallowing in what might happen or wishing for more.

Carrie was having the best dream ever. She was floating on a cloud, surrounded by hot, silky water that warmed her cold, chapped skin and soothed her aching muscles.

How long had it been since she’d had a hot bath? It felt like years.

Maybe she was dead? Maybe this was heaven, and heaven came with hot baths and…

Ugh. She felt sick. Her stomach was still empty. This couldn’t be heaven.

Blinking, Carrie opened her eyes and stared down her body, her naked body, and into the dirty water she was currently soaking in. The dirty
, yet very hot water!

Startled, she sat up quickly, sloshing water over the edge of the bathtub.

“Hey, calm down,” a deep booming voice said.

Totally freaked out
, she shrieked as she skittered backward in the bathtub.

“Fată, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m the one who just saved your stupid ass from hypothermia.”

Carrie blinked up at the voice and found a large bearded man seated on the bathroom counter, watching her. What? Where was she? And who the heck was he?

“I’m naked,” she mumbled, trying to cover herself. Feeling confused, she tried to sort through her muddled thoughts. She’d been hungry
; she remembered that much. She was still hungry. Hungry and aching and exhausted.

“Yeah, well, your clothes were soaked straight through so I hung them up. Thought you might like some dry ones.”

“I’m
naked
,” she repeated, this time with more force, hoping the man would take a hint and leave her alone.

His heavy brow lifted, and the look on his face suggested he didn’t understand why she thought her nudity was a problem.
Even though she wasn’t a fan of strange men seeing her naked, it wasn’t her biggest, most immediate problem. She felt sick, the awful feeling growing worse with each passing second.

“I’m naked,” she murmured, feeling slightly dizzy. Her vision blurred and against her will, her body slumped down in the bathtub.

She heard cursing, then felt hands on her, lifting her, and arms wrapping around her. The cold air hit Carrie’s heated body like a smack in the face, and her eyes flew open as her skin shriveled under the onslaught. Then, just as suddenly, she was warm again, encased in something soft, and soon, she felt herself drifting off to sleep.

Curled up on a small sofa in front of a blazing fire in the man’s trailer, Carrie threw up the first two bowls of broth the man gave her. Just as she thought she was going to lose the third, her stomach finally began to settle and her dizziness subsided. Her strength, however, was far from renewed. She continued sleeping on and off, and each time she awoke, the man was always there with more soup and water.

It was dark when Carrie awoke, feeling strong enough for the first time in days to sit up on her own. The only light in the trailer was coming from the flickering fire and a few candles on the windowsill. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she stared at the shadowed figure bent down in front of her, tending to the fire in an archaic-looking stove.

She realized she didn’t even know his name. Then again, she’d been half
-catatonic until now.

“Hey,” she said softly as she attempted
to untangle herself from the pile of blankets covering her.

He glanced over his shoulder and grunted.

“My name’s Caroline,” she continued. “But everyone calls me Carrie.”

“Marko,” he said.

“That’s a weird name,” she mused.

Another grunt.

Maybe he was a caveman? With the full beard and long hair, he could certainly pass for one. Maybe none of this was real? Maybe she had died out there in the snow? Maybe she’d…

“I’m starting to think I’m dreaming,” she said, shaking her head.

Marko snorted as he straightened his body. Standing tall, he towered over her. “Then, do you mind waking up?” he asked. “Because your dreams really suck.”

She burst out laughing because, well, she wasn’t exactly sure why, but she couldn’t seem to stop
. Pretty soon, she was clutching her stomach, her body quaking and her stomach cramping as she continued to laugh with wild abandon.

The expression on Marko’s face as he watched her only furthered her amusement.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, holding her hand up. “I’m…sorry.”

But she couldn’t stop.

She was laughing. It was a sound, a feeling, she’d forgotten.

And then, just as suddenly as she’d started laughing, she was crying, shaking and sobbing and blubbering like an idiot in front of a total stranger.

Her world had ended, she’d lost everyone, she’d been so sure she was going to die and she almost did, but…

She’d been saved.

Carrie’s thoughts slid back to before her little world had come crashing to a stop, and she began remembering all she’d planned for herself and how she’d wanted her life to go.

Instantly calm, she glanced up at a bewildered Marko and studied him—his long black hair, brooding dark eyes framed with heavy lashes, the striking structure of his cheekbones, the strong jaw, the dusky hue of his skin. He looked like a younger, darker Joe
Manganiello.

“Do you ride motorcycles?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Uh, I rode stunt bikes in carnivals and…” He trailed off, gaping at her.

She was laughing again, laughing and crying, releasing months of pent-up emotions—horror and grief from living in fear of the world outside her house, then in fear of her brother
. And finally, in fear of living out the rest of her days alone, dying alone, never having done anything with her life, never having left Elderton.

Then she laughed at the expression on Marko’s face as he watched her break down, put herself back together only to break down again, sobbing both joyful and devastat
ed tears.

“I think you need more soup,” he muttered, averting his eyes.

Carrie laughed even harder because—yep, he so thought she was crazy. Maybe she was. Maybe all that time she’d spent locked up in her own mind had driven her over the edge, but she didn’t care because she was warm and her belly was full and—God, thank God—she was no longer alone. She wasn’t alone anymore. There was hope now. Marko, his heated trailer, his food, his clothes—it all added up to hope.

“Thank you, Marko,” she choked out. “Thank you so much…for saving my life.”

• • •

Marko watched the girl lean over the stove, mixing the dried vegetables into the already boiling pasta with shaking hands. He felt bad. No, he felt more than bad. She was seriously thin. Skeletal
, even. A few days ago, she had looked like she was damn near death’s door when she’d literally fallen at his feet.

Her wavy blonde hair was clean now, full and shiny. Her pale face was flushed with a healthy glow, but dark circles still ringed her light blue eyes. He doubted she could be more than sixteen or seventeen, yet her tired eyes looked ancient. She had the eyes of a girl who’d seen too much, who’d been to hell and back. And whereas that pretty much sucked ass…she could join the fucking club. Anyone left standing today had been through hell and back.

“Did you steal this trailer?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “Or is it yours?”

“Mine.”

“So, you have gas?”

He shook his head. “Ran out.”

“Oh. This is my grandparents’ farm.”

“Cool,” he muttered
, and she went back to stirring. He continued to stare at the back of her head, not sure how he felt about her as a roommate, especially after that…episode the other day. He’d never known what to do when a female started crying or acting irrational. Usually he would just walk away, but walking away from Carrie would have entailed walking into a subzero snowstorm. So Marko had ridden out her emotional train wreck, continued to offer her soup, and eventually he had fallen asleep, sitting up. When he had woken up, it was over.

He’d since formed a plan in case she went all hormonal on him again. He’d nap it out. He wished he’d thought of that strategy back when Nadya had thrown her temper tantrums.

Nadya.

Beautiful, sweet, and loving, yet kind of annoying when she would talk his ear off. Maybe she couldn’t cook very well and…well, who was he kidding? She was a fucking whore. He was in love with a whore who had apparently never loved him back. The word fool came to mind. All those damn years…how many? Fuck, it had been fifteen years since their betrothal. For fifteen years, he’d only had eyes for her. He had never been with anyone but her, had never wanted anyone but her.

And she’d fucked Xan Deleanu. She’d chosen Xan over him. Xan was a goddamn man-whore with a jacked-up attitude and a drinking problem. He preferred fighting to talking, and his solution to working through his emotions consisted of jacking his cock off inside another man’s property. He was a guy who didn’t so much as blink at the thought of killing another human being. He was coldhearted and single-minded and just an all-around asshole.

Marko’s fists clenched as old anger boiled up anew inside him.

“Are you okay?”

He glanced up and found Carrie staring at him.

No, she wasn’t staring at him. She was gaping at…his glowing fists.

Shit.

Marko had never learned how to control his powers when he was angry or aroused. That was probably because when he got angry, he was all in. There was no in-between, and the same could be said for his libido. But that was neither here nor there. Here was the teenage Gaje girl gaping at him because his hands were glowing with internal fire and his eyes were undoubtedly a solid glowing white. Taking a calming deep breath, he tamped down his power and shoved it back into stasis.

“I don’t
wanna get into it,” he said gruffly. “But seeing as how there is a goddamn snowstorm outside, I don’t have any gas, and we’re both fucking stuck her…then you might as well know that I have magic.”

Pursing her lips, her expression thoughtful, she nodded.

She just nodded.

What the hell? No freak-out? No questions? Was this the calm before the next emotional storm? And more importantly, would he be able to sleep through what was going to come?

Marko shuddered at the thought of how much more hysterical she could get.

“Do you think I’m the only human left?” she asked.

His eyebrows shot up. “Say what?”

“Well
, those things out there,” she said, making an all-encompassing gesture, “are definitely not human anymore, and the only two people I have seen since this whole crazy mess began is you, and before you, a woman who was definitely not human, but she wasn’t like those things either. She was more like you except she had black eyes and black stuff coming out of her hands.”

Marko’s heart thundered in his chest. It couldn’t be a coincidence. “Black eyes?” he repeated and Carrie nodded.

“Long black hair? Olive skin?”

She gave him another nod and his heartbeat triple-timed it.

Trinity. It had to be her.

“Where?” he demanded. Oh crap. “And when?”

“Um, it was fall, October or maybe November, at a house in town. We, um…my brother had me hold her at gunpoint. He, uh, wanted the keys to her car, and then she…she killed him.”

Killed him, huh? Well, what had he expected? He’d seen what she’d done to that hospital
where he’d found her. She’d decimated the entire structure by accident. She probably hadn’t meant to kill the girl’s brother either. But the woman was a force of nature beyond anyone’s comprehension.

Gerik
Hjemsäter
was the most powerful Rom of their time. He was, according to the prophecy, “The One” and Trinity was his soul mate. Together they shared a soul, shared powers, and shared what-the-fuck-ever else. Add dark magic into the mix, and the final outcome was going to be a big magical mess just waiting to blow up in your face.

Whatever. He still needed to find her.

Only…

He glanced out the window at the snow
, and thought about his lack of gasoline.

“Is she evil or something?” Carrie asked.

With a disappointed sigh, he turned away from her. Slowly, he crossed the trailer and sat down heavily on the small sofa.

“Evil,” he repeated, staring across the small space at nothing in particular. “Nah. Or at least, I doubt it. Trinity’s just…” Letting his head drop to the back of the couch, he sighed again. “She’s just one damn unlucky fată.”

“Fată?”

“Girl,” he said absentmindedly. “It means girl.”

“So, she’s human?”

Marko
let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

“And you’re human?”

He lifted his head. He was accustomed to chatty females, but this particular one was getting annoying.

“Do I look like an alien?” he snarled.

His temper didn’t seem to faze her in the least. Damn.