The Lost Souls (6 page)

“Are you from another country?”

What the fuck? Did he sound French? “No,” he bit out. “I’m Romani. I’m not from any country. I’m from everywhere…and nowhere.”

“What’s a Romani?”

“A Gypsy,” he growled.

“Wow,” she breathed. “Did you travel in a caravan and stuff?”

Okay, so the rapt expression on Carrie’s face was kind of funny. She was romanticizing everything he was saying. As if living off the land, making everything from scratch, bathing in lakes was, like, totally the best thing, like, ever.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Sorta.”

“So, what happened to your…your caravan?”

“Fată,” he said, sitting up straight and glaring at her
. “Do you ever stop talking?”

Her lips twitched. “I haven’t had anyone to talk to in months.”

Oh. Great. And he was getting the side effects.

“Clan,” he mumbled, leaning back, getting comfortable again. “They’re my clan, and nothing happened to them…at least nothing recently. I left them in Ohio, backtracked to Pennsylvania, got thrown off course because of the storm, and here I am.”

“Why did you come back?”

“Enough questions,” he said and pointed to the stove. “More cooking.”

Looking disappointed, Carrie bit her lip, but thankfully turned around and began slowly stirring the pasta.

Thank fucking God.

“One more question,” she asked, spinning around.

“What!”

“How do you know that woman? Was she part of your clan?”

“Trinity,” he grumbled. “Her name is Trinity, and she was married to the clan asshole. Long story short, she got separated from my clan, and the asshole she married sorta…freaked out. Did some shit he shouldn’t have…with my fiancée.” Marko’s jaw clenched. “And I did something I shouldn’t have. The. Fucking. End.”

“Your eyes are white again,” Carrie whispered.

“Yeah,” he shot back
. “Because this shit makes me mad.”

“Maybe talking about it would help.”

He shot up off the couch, wishing he were the kind of asshole who didn’t have a problem with punching a female in the face. Grabbing his coat and hat, he dressed quickly and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice shrill, her words laced with panic.

“Gonna see what I can get from your
tată mare
’s closet,” he grumbled.

“What’s a tată mare?” she asked.

Yanking open the door,
Marko stepped out into the roaring winds. “Grandfather!” he shouted and slammed the door closed behind him.

Suddenly, freezing to death seemed like the best thing ever.

“Your turn, Hockey,” Rachael said, smiling. “Tell us something about your life…before
.”

Hockey looked up from his meal and glanced around at the waiting faces surrounding him. He’d made it months without incident by keeping mostly to himself, helping out as much as one man could with as little interaction as possible. But he supposed this was bound to happen sooner or later. After all, the six of them were stuck with one another, at least until winter passed.

“You don’t have to,” Rachael said. “We can move—”

“No,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s al
l right.”

What to tell them?

He couldn’t exactly be forthcoming about his clan or the magic they embodied. Anything he told them about his life would have to be an altered variation of the truth. They’d think he was crazy unless he proved it by using his own power. And that could go one of two ways. They either accepted it or they freaked the hell out, and out of fear, tried to kill him. Not having known many Gajes in his life, and just from gauging the personalities of these five people—Mira being the only exception—he found them to be high-strung, easily excitable, and not at all pliable in their opinions. All of which told him they wouldn’t understand what he was and, after finding out the truth, would fear him as much as the creatures they were hiding from. Therefore, he would be keeping both his and the abilities of his clan to himself.

Hockey
didn’t want to talk about his family either. Every day he worried about Becki and the baby, his mamă and tată, his frate and
soră
. Even his dreams were riddled with horrifying scenarios of finding his clan, their trailers all burned to the ground and bones scattered around the camp. A baby was always crying off in the distance, but no matter how far he ran in every direction, he couldn’t find it before the crying would suddenly stop and he was left standing alone, surrounded by carnage and deafening silence.

“I’m married,” he said quietly. “She was pregnant when I left her, but she would have given birth by now.”

“If she’s even alive,” Chris muttered, “which is highly unlikely.”

“Shut up!” Mira snapped. “We’re alive, which means others could be, too!”

Hockey didn’t say anything. Chris was right. Becki might very well be dead…or she might be alive and well and safely hidden away under the protection of magic.

“I was married,” Tyler said, thankfully drawing the attention away from Hockey. “Two kids, a dog, no picket fence, but you get the picture.”

“Ty,” Rachael whispered. Turning in Tyler’s lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Their relationship had been a recent development, and one that had woken them all up in the middle of the night. The following few days had been awkward for everyone except Hockey; he was used to living in close quarters. He had heard many, many different couples sexually expressing their feelings for each other. He’d initially woken up to the sounds of soft crying and heavy breathing. Knowing exactly what was happening, that no one was hurt or needed his help, he had rolled over and fallen back to sleep. But the rest of them…

David, who was now staring daggers at Tyler, had spent the following weeks cursing and moping over
their couple status, only furthering Hockey’s suspicions that the man could eventually prove to be dangerous.

Chris, too, was jealous
, but hadn’t done much more than make suggestive and lewd comments, yet Hockey could sense the jealousy.

Hockey remembered being seventeen, wanting nothing more than to be inside a fată, but he had curbed his baser needs with hard work and prayer. Chris had been raised differently than him. This boy was spoiled, moody
, and rebellious. He’d had everything given to him on a silver platter and, despite the current state of the world, still felt himself every bit as entitled.

Chri
s’s attitude made Hockey thankful that he’d grown up as he had—hardworking and with a love and deep respect of the land. He appreciated his family and his clan, and their reasons for continuing the traditions of their people by staying in touch with nature and valuing all that was given to them. If they hadn’t, if they’d succumbed to Western civilization, to the ways of the Gaje society, they would have lost their magic years ago.

Hockey smiled to himself as one of
Maisera Popa’s many fireside stories echoed inside his head.

“Once upon a time, all of mankind possessed the ability to wield nature’s elements. But like most Gajes nowadays, having this power wasn’t enough for some. They thought they were entitled to more, and they wanted the ability to control everything around them, not just nature but animals and people.

“
Out of greed, they used the elements to create a much darker and infinitely more powerful version of magic, manipulating what was good and natural into a more twisted version of its former self. A darker version.

“
Kings were born from the darkness.

“
Totalitarianism.

“
Slavery.

“
Hatred.

“
And the sickness only continued to spread. Men became monsters, jealous and cruel, greedy and lustful, and because of it, Nature took back her gifts.

“
But it was too late. The world had already been forever changed.

“
A small group of people had managed to escape this new way of life. They came from all over the world, and together built a life away from the madness around them. They refused to bow down to any king or ruler and instead kept true to nature, holding honesty and respect above all else, and in turn they were able to keep their magic.

“
Eventually, after enough time had passed, the outside world had forgotten magic altogether and began to fear that which they didn’t understand.

“
The ones who had run, their families became hated, known as tramps, vagabonds, and thieves.

“
They were used as scapegoats and accused of crimes they hadn’t committed.

“
Persecuted.

“
Hunted.

“
Killed.

“
They were slaughtered by the thousands.

“
So they continued to run, never staying too long in one place, never trusting anyone who wasn’t part of their clans.

“
And so…the Gypsy was born.”

Taking a deep breath, Hockey flipped up the bill of his Blackhawks hat and met Tyler’s sad gaze. It was obvious what Rachael’s true purpose in the man’s life was. She was a fill-in, a way to ease the grief and loneliness. Hockey knew this because the faraway, broken look on Tyler’s face mirrored what he felt inside. The man missed his family, still loved his wife, and would leave Rachael in a heartbeat if it meant he could have it all back.

Feeling the bone
-deep loneliness he’d been living with rear up inside him despite trying to keep it at bay, Hockey tossed what was left of his spitfire rat into the barrel fire and got to his feet.

Misery did not like company. At least
, in his case it didn’t.

“Night,” Rachael called out.

“Hockey!” Mira shouted, jogging up behind him.

He stopped and turned. “Don’t leave me alone with them,” she whispered loudly, fighting a smile.

Amused, he shook his head and held out his arm. Skipping forward, she slipped underneath his arm and settled into the crook of his elbow. Together, they headed to his bedroll. Not only was it freezing, but he didn’t blame Mira for not wanting to be around David or Chris. And as much as he hated to admit it, the warmth from her body made it easier for him to sleep through the bitter cold nights.

Under the covers, Mira coiled around him
. Hockey buried his face in her hair that smelled faintly of smoke, and held her close. She smelled strongly of body odor, faintly of urine and bonfire, but underneath it all, she smelled like a woman.

And no man could deny that sleeping beside a woman wasn’t infinitely preferable to sleeping alone.

Nico was overreacting. He knew he was and yet he was helpless to stop it. But damn it, Tobar-motherfucking-Popa was sitting on his couch, next to his wife, holding his daughter. And she was his daughter because it wasn’t Tobar who woke up in the middle of the night, every night, and undressed a snoring Becki, freeing a breast to feed the kid. It wasn’t Tobar who rocked her in his arms for hours on end, keeping her warm, and it wasn’t Tobar who changed her many, many shit-filled diapers. No, that wasn’t Tobar, that was him.

But it was Tobar who was currently getting her little coos and smiles, and it was Tobar who was seated so close to Becki that both their arms and legs were touching
. And it was Tobar who was going to get his face pounded into the corner of the counter—

“Frate,” Xan said, elbowing him.

“What?” he snarled.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Nico glared at him. “In the snow?”

“Yeah, in the fucking snow.” Grabbing Nico’s coat off the hook by the door, Xan tossed it to him.

Fine. Whatever.

He’d put
on his coat and go for a walk but before he left, he was going to make a big show of kissing his daughter good-bye. And his wife…she’d get tongue. A lot of it. Maybe a boob grab too.

“Don’t do it,” Xan said quietly
. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s only going to make shit worse.”

Nico, about to tell Xan when and where he could go fuck himself, glanced toward Becki, saw her playing with Michaela, smiling and laughing with Tobar, and decided that once again Xan was probably right.

Gritting his teeth, he shrugged on his coat and without a word to anyone, stalked out the door Xan was holding open for him.

“Smoke?” Xan asked, digging through his pockets. Emerging with a pack of hand-rolled cigarettes and a lighter, he placed one between his teeth and then offered the pack to Nico.

Shaking his head no, Nico folded his arms across his chest. “Frate, is there a reason I’m standing in the snow, freezing?”

“I like blood as much as the next guy,” Xan said around an exhale of smoke. “Maybe a little more than the next guy. But blood and babies don’t mix, and with all that aggression you were throwing off in there, frate, it was about to get bloody.”

Nico’s hands fisted. “I would have dragged him outside first.”

Smirking, Xan shook his head. “
Baró Fuckhead is more powerful than you. He’d have you flat on your ass before you got near him.”

Before Nico could punch him in the face for that asshole statement, Xan grabbed his arm and started dragging him forward, weaving through the rows of trailers until they came to the center of the living lot
. Then Xan shoved him in the direction of the food tent.

“What we need to do…” Xan said, ducking in behind him under the heavy canvas tent flap. Ignoring him, Nico took a seat at the nearest picnic bench.

“Lyuba!” Xan shouted in the direction of Marko’s mother. “
Două vă rog
!”

From behind the steaming pots, the older woman glared at him. “Only because you said please, you big idiot!”

“What we need to do,” Xan repeated, sliding into the bench across from him. “Is get him laid. Then he’ll lay off Becki.”

Nico snorted. “Fat chance of that happening. Nobody likes him anymore.”

“But he’s Baró,” Xan said, grinning.

The two men stared at each other.

“Magdolna,” they said simultaneously and just as quickly started laughing. Magdolna was one of the Horváth triplets, all three of whom had pretty loose morals when it came to men. Before he’d gotten serious about Becki
, he’d dabbled between Magdolna’s thighs more times than he could count, but their mutual feelings for each other had never surpassed friendship.

Lyuba appeared above them and slammed down two bowls of steaming stew. Pausing for a moment, she glared down at Xan before spinning on her heel and marching back to her post.

Xan watched her stalk away, shaking his head. “She blames me,” he said quietly. “For Marko running off.”

As far as Nico was concerned, Marko was a fucking asshole who deserved whatever fate he met.
“Forget her,” he said. “Are you good, frate? All bullshit aside?”

“I’m breathing,” Xan said quietly. “I’m keeping my dick in my pants and I’m sober, and that’s about all I am.”

What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? Congrats on no longer drinking yourself to death? Or good job on not falling between every pair of spread legs in camp?

Thankfully, Xan chose that moment to pick up his spoon and start eating, saving Nico from having to respond. The two men ate in silence until
Xan set down his spoon and said, “I miss her. I feel like I’m gonna miss her for the rest of my life…” Trailing off, he let out a large breath that hung like a cloud in the frigid air, and glanced away.

“Frate
—” Nico started, then stopped. He didn’t have a clue what he was going to say.

Xan turned back to him. “Do you think she’s…Trin…do you think she’s alive?”

No. Despite her magic giving her an advantage most people didn’t have, Trinity had been alone ever since receiving her powers. Without learning how to properly use them, after seeing firsthand what she had accidentally done to that hospital, Nico couldn’t fathom that things had gotten better for her. But what did he know? He’d lived as part of a clan his entire life, had been taught by an entire community of people everything he knew. They’d worked as team to survive; they always had. The absence of a few wouldn’t change much, whereas the absence many would change everything. But Trinity…she hadn’t grown up like that. Maybe she was alive. Nico didn’t think so, but that didn’t mean he was going to tell Xan that.

“Yeah,” Nico said quietly
. “I do, frate.”

As he stared across the picnic table at Nico, Xan’s lips began to twitch. “You’re a bad liar,” Xan said. There was no malice in his tone, no anger in his expression. In fact, Xan looked more at peace than he
ever had, and Nico felt the stew begin to churn in his belly.

Everything he had
—his wife, his daughter—could all be gone in an instant. One little attack on their camp, a raid gone bad, the appearance of a half-out-of-his-mind dragon hybrid who just so happened to be his best friend’s wife’s soul mate… Okay, maybe not that last part—that was all Xan’s problem—but everything else…

Nico didn’t have enough time. He wanted decades and decades with his family, but in a world like this, where survival
was spotty at best…

“I gotta go home,” he said, jumping up and swinging his leg over the bench.

Xan smiled up at him. It wasn’t a happy smile. Xan didn’t have much to be happy about, but it wasn’t a sad smile either. It was a deliberate smile, and seeing it, knowing his friend was going to hurt like hell for the rest of his days because the guy had lost what Nico still had—in his trailer…with Tobar—had him running.

He burst through the door and found the scene much as he had left it. Only now, Michaela was sound asleep in Becki’s arms and Tobar was still sitting far too close to Becki.

Grabbing Tobar’s arm, he yanked his baró off the couch and shoved him toward the door. “Time to go,” he growled.

Tobar’s eyes turned white. “What the fuck?”
he hissed.

“Nico!” Becki cried as she got to her feet
. “You promised you’d—”

“Shut up,” he told her, reaching for the sleeping baby. Gently, he took Michaela out of her arms and offered her to Tobar, who, for a moment, only stood there gaping at him.

“Take her,” Nico said. “Take her to see Maisera or Nadya and spend some quality time with your family.”

Stunned, Tobar glanced to Becki, who looked equally stunned.

Nico rolled his eyes and tried again. “Take her.”

Although bewildered, Tobar took her, shifted her into a upright position
, and wrapped her tiny body up inside his coat. With one last long look at Becki, Tobar was finally gone.

Nico was on Becki within seconds of his departure, hauling her up against him and yanking down her pants. While he was down there, he slung an arm under her bare bottom and heaved her up over his shoulder.

Quickly crossing the trailer, he threw her down on their mattress, his hands curled around the back of her knees, and in one swift move, he pulled her body to him, thrust his hips forward, and sheathed himself inside her. Becki cried out, her hands scrambled for the sheets beneath her, searching for something to hold on to, something to keep her grounded. But he wasn’t going to let her; he pounded into her without regard for her comfort or pleasure because this wasn’t about love, this wasn’t even about getting off. This was a free-for-all, a spin into oblivion with not one goddamn thing to keep themselves tethered to this awful reality they were all stuck within.

“Fată,” he said roughly. “
Până la moarte
…”

She didn’t respond.

“
Dupa moartea
,” he rasped.

“Nico,” she gasped, her eyelids fluttering. “Nico…”

“No,” he growled. “
Mereu
…say it,
soție
…”

“Mereu!” she cried. “
Te iubesc, mereu
!”

Becki might not have meant it, but it didn’t matter. She was his, he was hers, and he was going to milk every second he had left with her. Nico was going to devour her, use her up, drain her dry, and then come back for more, over and over again until they were nothing but bones, nothing but dust.

And even then…

He’d still take her.