The Soul Mate (2 page)

He was a force of nature and muddled my brain
with energy the likes of which I’d never felt before. He zapped my
body of will and strength just by being near me. Gerik was the
stuff Gods and Goddesses were made of. But a Viking God. Well,
actually a Gypsy God, but tomato, tomáto.

His hands slid up my sheet covered calves,
the material of the sheets thin enough for me to still feel the
rough and calloused skin on his fingers, caused by years of
physical labor. The kind of labor you didn’t see in the world I had
been accustomed to.

I couldn’t stop the shiver that tore through
me in appreciation of his masculinity.

Gerik was strength incarnate; it showed in
how he carried himself, how he spoke and now in how he was
deliberately and oh so slowly and very neatly sending me down a
path he knew I wasn’t ready to travel.

I pushed at his chest. “Stop,” I whispered
hoarsely. Gods, he was just too much, too intense, for someone as
inexperienced as I was.

His voice was a deep rumble in his chest when
he answered, “Is that what you really want?”

I was breathing heavily, our lips so close,
his hands still gripping my sheet covered knees. It was a sliver of
sanity he had allowed me to keep, one I was thankful for. If Gerik
touched me, skin to skin, I would be los-

“Gerik!” I gasped as he gripped my naked
thighs. Roughly pulling me underneath him, he was suddenly situated
overtop of me.

Heat flooded me as his hand slid up my
t-shirt to wrap around my waist. Everywhere he wasn’t touching
began to shake with the need to be in contact with him.

Gerik and I had this crazy chemical reaction
to each other: something that I’m sure scientists would have loved
to have gotten their hands on and studied until there was nothing
left of us but blood and guts.

We were like that ridiculous song, “Just one
look, that’s all it took.” Except in my case it was, just one touch
and Trinity turns to mush.

“Tell me to stop Trinity. Tell me to stop
right now... and I will.” He ran his lips across my cheek, then
down my neck where he sucked softly and my body involuntarily
clenched. Gods, he was such a liar.

My skin tingled, my limbs trembled, and my
body’s sensitivity heightened to unbearable amounts, as the fever
of his touch raced through me. I couldn’t tell him to stop because
I couldn’t speak. I was so desperate for him, so focused on the
completion of our joining, how magnificent it would be.

He wasn’t playing fair at all. Once he
touched me, he knew I was lost to a world of only sensation, where
only feelings ruled. Awareness of the outside world was sucked away
to a teeny tiny part in the back of my brain that I could barely
reach.

Stop! Stop! I thought over and over again.
This wasn’t right, wasn’t the way I had imagined losing my
virginity. Not in haze of magic and desperation. As if he’d heard
my silent plea, he released me. I scooted backward until my butt
hit the canvas.

“Trinity...” His voice was, so ragged, so
full of hunger, full of… everything a girl would want to hear in a
man. “I didn’t mean...”

“Save it,” I snapped, trying to shake the
haze of lust that, to my embarrassment, so easily consumes me in
his presence. He stared at me for a moment, then, in a quick
singular movement reminding me of an acrobat, jumped off my
bed.

“You touched me.” I accused, trying to right
my clothing. “Skin on skin. We made a deal Gerik: we would only do
that if we prepared each other. Which…” I gave him a deliberate
look. “You definitely did not.”

He didn’t even have the decency to look
apologetic. He stood there, in all his Viking glory, looking as
proud and as indifferent as ever. If it wasn’t for his refusal to
meet my eyes, I wouldn’t have even known he was feeling anything at
all.

“It wasn’t a conscious thing, yeah? I got…
caught up. Don’t freak out.” He ran his hand through his wet hair
and headed for the door.

“Gerik?” I called. “Do you think that maybe
someone could fix us?” I braced myself for his anger. It always
surfaced when I brought this up.

He took a deep breath before answering.
“There’s nothing wrong with us.”

“But…it’s magic, it’s got to be.”

“Trinity,” He said, turning to face me. “I
don’t know how many times I have to tell you: no one cast a spell
on us. There are no witches casting love spells, like in your Greek
stories. And before you even suggest it again, there are no fairies
either. The magic the Romani possess is ancient and was gifted to
our people by Nature. It isn’t something that is thrown around for
silly little things like love or lust spells. But that’s all I can
tell you about it, my little Gaje princess. You know the
rules.”

Yes, I knew them. Being a Gaje, a non-Gypsy,
I wasn’t privy to the Roma secrets, the origins of their magic, or
their true history. Unless I was allowed to marry into the clan,
something that would only happen if I cut my ties with the Gaje
world completely and a council of elders deemed me worthy. Then, a
ceremony that consisted of purging my Gaje blood would be
performed, all before the marriage could even occur…

According to their laws, it was forbidden for
me to even live here. An apocalypse changes everything.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Stupid
rules.”

He shrugged. “They have protected my people
for centuries.”

“Fine, whatever. You go on protecting your
Viking sex hoodoo and keep me in the dark,” I pouted.

“I’m not purposely keeping you in the-

He paused and his eyebrows rose. “Did you say
Viking sex hoodoo?”

I narrowed my eyes and snarled. “Don’t make
fun of me!”

“So what you’re saying is, no one is actually
attracted to me, hmm?” He grinned “They only want me for my long
ship and battleaxe skills, yeah?”

I couldn’t look at him when he started
flirting with me; it was nearly as bad as him touching me.

I cleared my throat, embarrassed. “You are
such a guy.”

“You want me too, Trinity.” He spoke softly.
“And don’t pretend it’s magic.”

I couldn’t share the sentiment. “Shoo.” I
waved him away. “I need to get dressed.”

CHAPTER TWO

The Romani camp was in set up in a clearing,
roughly the size of a football field, in the Catskills Mountain
Region of New York State. The Gypsies had strategically parked
their trucks, vans and motorcycle trailers in a circle surrounding
camp. Outside of the clearing a thick forest surrounded us on all
sides.

Camp consisted of three main areas, the
biggest being the very center, where a hodgepodge of RV’s, trailers
and two and three room canvas tents were parked in neat rows,
called the living lot. The trailers ranged in age and style from a
typical 70’s aluminum Winnebago to top of line Recreational
Vehicle’s that could comfortably house families of five. Every home
had their own small fire pit for cooking, heating water and
individual light, since propane was hard to come by these days.

A small stream ran through the front lot that
deepened into a water hole which the clan utilized for bathing. The
front lot was used mainly for chopping wood, cleaning dishes,
laundry, and gutting and cleaning the animals hunted in the area.
It was also home to a family of chickens and one mean as hell
rooster that I’d nicknamed Frank after my old next door neighbor
who refused to give out Halloween candy.

The back lot was strictly for fire meetings.
A large fire pit had been dug out for entire clan gatherings. The
area was roomy enough for nearly eighty clan members to fit
comfortably together.

Everyone was already hard at work, working in
sync together like a well oiled machine, when I’d left my trailer.
That was the way of the Gypsies. Not even an end of the world like
assault could stop them from living their lives the way they always
had.

At first it had seemed impossible that I
would somehow be able to fit in among this close nit group of
people, half of whom were related in some way.

I was an outsider, a Gaje, someone that they
learned through generations of persecution, deportation and
genocide not to trust. After hearing portions of their history,
mainly of the relatives lost in the WWII concentration camps, I
really didn’t blame them.

Yet, when Gerik had brought me here, no one
had questioned his judgment. Jericho Popa, the Baró, leader of the
entire clan, and his wife Maisera, had welcomed me with open
arms.

When Jericho made a decision it was final, he
had final say and was the enforcer of the Roma Laws. Their legal
structure had totalitarianism written all over it but from what I
had witnessed in my time here, both he and Maisera were kind and
fair and loved every one of the clan members as if they were their
own children.

As always when I left my trailer, part of my
personal morning routine, I checked to make sure the wards that
surrounded camp still held. The wards were a magical wall of
protection, invisible to the naked eye. It protected what was held
inside and kept what lie outside from entering. It didn’t, however,
keep us from seeing the horrors it held at bay.

Today, the number of creatures our camp had
attracted seemed to have grown. I counted six of them staring
around confusedly, wondering why they could smell us yet couldn’t
see us. That was Romani magic for you. Unless you were Roma, you
couldn’t see it. Those standing on the outside of the wards see
nothing but an empty clearing…just like I would see if I were out
there, with those…things. I shuddered at the thought.

They looked human enough. I suppose that was
because not all that long ago they had been human. Then everything
changed. I lost everything: my family, my friends, and the world as
I’d always known it.

Two of the creatures closest to the wards
suddenly bolted across the clearing, toward the edge of the forest
line where a lone deer had wandered. Simultaneously, fangs bared,
they ripped into the squealing animal and within minutes tore the
poor creature apart. Then, sated, eyes glowing red, they turned on
each other.

Those creatures were a deadly combination of
both animals and humans. They not only possessed great speed and
agility with heightened senses, and the incredible ability to heal
instantly, they also had the power of reason making them the
ultimate predator.

“Trinity?” I jumped as a hand came down on my
shoulder. Stefan Sava, a man around my father would have been if he
was alive, was smiling down at me.

“You’re shaking, child. Come away from here.”
With a big arm around my shoulders, Stefan pulled me from the
gruesome sight beyond the wards and began walking me back to the
innards of the living lot.

I saw Gerik sitting by a small fire near the
tent where food was prepared. Made first thing in the morning and
kept heated all day, it was available for the clan to eat at their
leisure. I would have gone over to him if not for the prostitute
sitting next to him. Onyx, not really a prostitute, had a long
standing thing for Gerik. Whereas typically I find the Gypsy women
gorgeous, Onyx just reminds me of a cheap impersonation. Maybe it’s
the emptiness I sense inside of her.

I watched her press her tiny, devoid of
curves body up against his in an obvious sexual invitation. For a
moment I fantasized that he would tell her exactly where she could
shove her “been around the block and then some” ass, even though I
knew he wouldn’t. He never did.

As I continued to stare, I was growing more
and more jealous by the second. According to Becki, Gerik and Onyx
had been an on and off item since Gerik was 17. Now at twenty-nine,
their twelve year relationship made our couple of months look like
chump change.

I knew I didn’t have any right to feel as I
did, I didn’t have any sort of real claim on Gerik. I had made that
perfectly clear to him time and time again refusing to make any
real commitment to him. It wasn’t for his lack of trying. I just
couldn’t seem to wrap my head around what was really between
us.

But watching him with her, seeing the hunger
in his eyes heighten as her actions grew bolder, stirred something
ugly inside of me. I had never been outwardly jealous of my two
sisters, but being an averagely pretty girl in a family of
supermodels will give you a complex whether you want one or
not.

Both of my sisters had taken after our
father: Greek born with black hair, dark brown eyes and flawless
olive skin. With their slender sleek frames and legs that went on
for miles, both men and boys alike had gone out of their way to
stare at them.

I suppose I was an odd mix between both my
father and my mother, a 5’2” second generation Irish spitfire with
blue eyes, flaming red hair, and a pale freckled body with curves
that rivaled Betty Boop’s. Then there were my eyes. Not one person
in either side of my family had bright green eyes.

“Ah, Trin. Looking most miserable this
afternoon.”

Xan Deleanu.

The guy loved getting under everyone’s skin.
I was starting to think it was his mission in life. He was
frustrating, annoying and downright arrogant.

Shirtless, wearing only a pair of weathered
green cargos and work boots, he was covered head to toe in chunks
of mud and bits of wood. A pair of goggles sat atop his mound of
waist length dreads currently tied up in a thick knot.

Xan wasn’t classically good looking, or quite
as muscular as Gerik was. His body was built more like a boxer,
more meat, less definition, but raw strength all the same. He had
beautiful, dark bronze skin and sharp exotic features that gave his
face a hardness he used to advantage: his bad boy image.

“When did you get back?” I asked him. Last
I’d known, he and a few others had gone on a supply raid a few
weeks ago.

“This morning.” Xan’s dark gaze looked back
to where Gerik and Onyx were huddled close and he smirked at me. I
shifted uncomfortably, wanting to avoid his merciless teasing.