The Soul Mate (4 page)

“Fată, what’s bothering you?” He leaned up
against the basin a few inches from me, too close for comfort, his
dark eyes always assessing. I always felt uncomfortable around him,
exposed in a way I wasn’t used to feeling.

“Your father couldn’t stay with the clan
because he wasn’t a Roma right?”

Surprise lit his features and for a moment I
didn’t think he would answer me.

Then, “Yeah.”

“So what makes me any different? Is it just
because it isn’t safe out there? If it was would I have to go?”

Xan just stared at me, his body ridged. I
gathered his father was a sore subject.

“I don’t know,” He finally said. “Now, my
laundry?” He nodded toward the bag and walked away.

I huffed. “Jerk.”

CHAPTER THREE

Serbia, 1065 A.C.E

“
Emilian! Emilian! Hurry, before my mami
sees!” Treime giggled at his surprised look as she tore past him.
Colorful petals now sprinkled the countryside as her long black
hair blew out behind her. The wildflowers and intricate braids that
had been woven into her hair for the earlier festival were both
lost to the wind.

His footsteps behind were a heavy stampede.
Her little heart began to race in anticipation the louder and
closer they grew. Treime’s excitement was palpable; it was easy to
ignore the dirty looks and nasty comments from the Gaje villagers
as they ran past them.

Treime let loose a scream of frustration as
the tips of his fingers brushed against her back. He was gaining on
her. Again.

On a whim she changed direction toward the
village well near the outskirts of the forest, but she hadn’t been
fast enough. Emilian’s hands slipped around her middle and in mid
run she was swung up through the air as Emilian began to laugh.

He crushed her against him and twirled until
she gasped for air.

“
Ah puţin o…” He laughed harder. “You’ll
never be faster than me. It’s just not possible.”

His dark brown eyes flashed gray as he set
her down and tapped her on the nose. Treime stomped her feet and
crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?”

Emilian shrugged unapologetically, still
grinning. “Well for starters because you’re 9 and I’m 16 but mostly
because you’re a girl.”

Treime, suddenly angry, grabbed his wrist and
released forth a string of the most unfeminine curses she could
think of.

She waited for Emilian to start laughing. He
always did when she cursed. He’d taught her most of them. Instead
he’d grown unusually quiet, his eyes somewhat unfocused as he
stared down at her.

“
Emilian?” She shook his wrist, feeling
his warm skin twitch under her hand. Treime loved the way their
skin warmed when it touched. It never did that when she touched
anyone else and she’d never told anyone about it either.

She wanted it to be their secret. Someday,
she though, when she was older, she would tell Emilian about it
too.

Emilian jerked his arm out of her grasp and
frowned at her. Treime’s lower lip started to tremble. Did he know?
Was he mad?

“
Go home Treime, no more playing
today.”

“
But Emi-

“
Go.” His eyes had turned gray and
Treime’s entire body warmed at the sight of them. Whenever
Emilian’s eyes changed color, all she wanted was to be closer to
him, to hug him, to hear his stories, and the songs he sung, even
though she’d heard them all a hundred times before.

“
Don’t make me say it again Treime,”
Emilian’s eyes flashed white with anger. Treime backed slowly away
from him, no longer recognizing her friend. Suddenly, Emilian’s
fist shot out, connecting with the solid stone wall surrounding the
well. With a scream, Treime ran from him, stopping only when she
found a wide tree trunk to hide behind.

He brought his hand back to him covered in
blood.

“
Are you hurt?” A small voice
asked.

A village girl was approaching the well
clutching a large bucket to her chest.

“
I could help you,” The girl said.

Slowly, he turned toward the villager and
Treime watched in astonishment as her best friend smiled at the
silly girl.

Was he going to talk to her, a Gaje? They
thought the Romani people were thieving beggar scum. Her clan had
to move all the time because of people like her.

Holding out his injured hand for the Gaje
girl’s inspection, Emilian waited until she was close. Then, using
his good hand, he pulled her forward and her bucket fell to the
ground. Treime saw his magic before the girl did. It was just a
small amount of fire that Emilian pressed against the girl’s
chest.

Where a typical village girl would have
probably run screaming if a Roma boy had kissed her, this girl
melted into Emilian’s arms. She watched as Emilian led the love
struck girl into the woods, already untying the laces on her
bodice.

CHAPTER FOUR

That night sleep never came.

After spending hours knee deep in salt water,
soaking sliced meat until I felt salted enough to hang myself on
the drying rack, I should have been tired enough to sleep for days.
Instead I ended up tossing and turning. Eventually, I gave up
trying and wandered out into camp.

I could see the Popa’s fire pit burning high.
As I walked toward it the low hum of male voices and the sweet
sounds of a violin grew louder.

Jericho, the Jankovic brothers Lajos and
Marcell, Mihai Asenov and his son Shandor, Xan, Gerik, Stefan Sava
Sr. and Hockey, without Becki, all sat around the fire drinking out
of Jericho’s large jug of homemade Plum Ţuică.

Gerik saw me before anyone else. He always
knew when I was near. My skin heated at the memory of what had
passed between us earlier and I looked away, embarrassed. When I
looked back at him he was smiling brilliantly, the happy expression
having reached his eyes. My breath caught at the exquisite sight of
his features lit up with happiness. Every line on his face was
symmetrical perfection, every plane and hollow, an artistic
masterpiece. Gerik wasn’t just handsome or attractive; he was the
masculine definition of beautiful.

Marcell looked up at me and smiled or
grimaced, I could never tell the difference. “Ah lepo dekle na lep
večer,” He grunted.

I didn’t understand a thing he said. Marcell
and Lajos spoke only Slovenian, neither bothering to speak English
or any other language. I was convinced they both could but simply
wouldn’t.

I looked around at the varying faces and
ages, “Boys night?” I asked, not wanting to intrude if it was.

“Not at all. Please join us.” Jericho
motioned to the chair next to him and offered me the precious
Romani drink. For the first time ever, I was seeing Jericho with
his long salt and pepper braid unbound. His hair hung long and
thick down his back and even though he had to be in his sixties,
maybe even seventies, he was a very handsome man.

I took a long pull of the sweet liquor and
savored the slow burn down my throat and the warming sensation in
my belly. “Mmmmm. My daddy would have loved this.”

“Your father liked his spirits?” Stefan
asked.

“He was a big fan of Absinthe and Ouzo.” I
grinned remembering when my daddy gave me my first shot at 16 and I
coughed myself into a ball on the floor.

“Man after my own heart.” Xan chimed in.

“I’m assuming Trinity, we have you to thank
for three fresh batches of jerky?” Jericho smiled broadly at me,
the lines around his eyes crinkling up. I nodded, grimacing.
“Thanks to Becki I’ll probably never get the stink out of me.”

Shandor laughed. “Where is that roommate of
yours?”

That was a good question. I was also
wondering where Becki was. She hadn't been in our trailer when I'd
left and she wasn't out here.

“Sleeping”, I mumbled trying to avoid
Hockey’s questioning gaze.

“Mmm…hmm.” Shandor drawled shooting Xan an
amused glance.

Hockey flipped the brim of his hat up and
turned toward Shandor. Shandor was one of few males in camp who had
short hair; it had been shaved into a bleached blonde Mohawk when
I’d first arrived in camp. Months later, his natural dark brown
hair around the hawk had grown in significantly giving him a very
cartoonish skunk like appearance. But his good looks made up for
his desperate need for a haircut. Dark olive skin with flirtatious
caramel eyes and a lean muscular body had the girls taking a second
or third glance but his attitude was another story altogether. In
my opinion, he wasn’t worth the trouble.

“What?” Shandor put his hands up, palms
forward in a submissive pose. “Just asking where she was?”

“Trinity?” Hockey looked at me. “Can I talk
to you for a minute?”

The question caught me off guard. Hockey,
although Becki’s boyfriend and often in my presence, barely speaks
to me. Not that I’d ever taken much offense to the lack
communication between us since Hockey lacks communication with
nearly everyone in camp.

When I didn't answer him, he bit his lip and
looked at the ground.

I looked around. We had become the center of
attention in this small group. No longer talking, everyone was now
staring at me and Hockey, whose half hidden face had become bright
red. I took another swig out Jericho’s jug and jumped up,
suggesting that we go somewhere else to talk. I chanced a glance
back at Gerik. I shouldn’t have. I’m positive he was channeling his
Norse ancestors as they went A-Viking.

“Has Becki seemed… off to you lately?” Hockey
paced back and forth beside the creek while I soaked my feet in the
warm water.

Startled by the strange question, I glanced
up at him. “Not that I noticed really, why?”

He waited a minute before answering. “No
reason,” He said, kicking a rock into the water.

“Did something happen tonight? Did you guys
get into a fight?”

He sat down next to me, his face twisted in
confusion. “Tonight?”

Oh. Shoot. So she hadn’t been with him
tonight and unless I wanted Becki's problems to become my own I
needed to change the subject quickly.

“I… uh… so what do you think is off about her
exactly?”

He began to fidget, taking his hat off and
on, nervously run his fingers through his hair.

“I feel like she’s hiding something from me,
she seems distant and unhappy…” He trailed off, staring at
something in the distance. Gerik was standing near the swimming
hole. Everything about him told me he was annoyed.

Hockey stood up quickly and cleared his
throat. “I’ll talk to you later.”

I wiggled my feet in the warm water and
leaned back on my elbows. I was actually glad for the interruption.
Whatever Becki had been up to tonight I certainly didn’t want to
get in the middle of it.

Hockey walked quickly away giving Gerik a
wide breadth.

“What was that all about?” Gerik asked,
taking a seat next to me. I shook my head. I wasn’t going to tell
Gerik anything about Hockey and Becki’s personal business.

“Is something going on with you two?” He
asked.

Used to his jealousy, I looked up at him with
what I hoped was a mysterious look on my face and in a low voice
with a sinister undertone said, “There are things of which the Gaje
cannot speak of to the Romani. For the protection of my people, it
is forbidden.”

He narrowed his eyes. "Hockey isn't a
Gaje."

I had to laugh at him. “Are you actually
jealous of Hockey?”

He didn’t answer.

“Have I ever told you about Phthonos Gerik?
The Greek spirit of jealousy?”

He smiled. “No Trinity, you haven’t.
Yet.”

He bumped shoulders with me, causing the tiny
hairs on my body to stand to attention. The contact made me
shiver.

“You’re cold, yeah?” His voice was a throaty
whisper that stroked my senses wide awake.

“Come here.” He pulled me over him and
settled me in between his legs, tucking me in close against his
body, with his arms across me. The instant he'd touched me, fire
licked across my skin causing my body to arc upwards on a gasp. He
grasped my arms to hold me down and keep me firm against him.
Rubbing my arms slowly, up and down, I eventually calmed to his
touch.

Using his face, he brushed the hair away from
my neck and rolled the soft skin there between his teeth. I tilted
my head to give him better access and ground my body backwards into
his. The friction caused the heat between us to flare hotter as the
need for him burrowed a deep tunnel inside of me.

Then he kissed me.

Oh, Aphrodite.

“Please,” I panted, now fevered with need and
desperate for completion. I dug my fingernails into his thighs.
“Please Gerik.”

“Anything Trinity. Just tell me what you
need…” He spoke to me in a chorus of barely audible growls.

I grabbed his hand and put it where I needed
it most.

My world went dark with pleasure as the
fierce, desperate ache inside of me was replaced with a small flame
of desire that grew bigger and stronger with every touch and
sensation until I couldn’t take it anymore. Like a match thrown on
gasoline, I simply erupted.

As hot as a summer on the beach of Skala and
a soft as the waves of the Aegean Sea, I came apart in Gerik’s
arms.

The scents of freshly ground cinnamon and
ripened pine needles continued to caress my senses as I lay limp
against him. Gerik was Christmas in the summertime.

Gerik was...everything.

The next day I found myself squeezing my eyes
closed in fear as Marko Siwak caught Xan around the neck and
slammed him down hard on the ground. He then turned, fell to his
knees breathing hard as if that final action had taken the last bit
of energy he’d had.

Becki’s twin brother, Indiana, roared his
enjoyment at the turn of events. There was apparently no love lost
between Xan and him.