My Soul To Take (2 page)

CHAPTER ONE

FALL

I have the worst luck. Really, I do. You would think I had been a serial killer in a previous life with the sort of luck I have.

“You really don’t want to do this,” I repeated, my eyes fixed on the shotgun barrel aimed at my chest.

The teenage girl holding the gun laughed. It was a nervous laugh and I knew instantly she felt no joy in the thought of blowing a hole in my chest. She was simply trying to survive in a world where the odds were stacked against her.

Angry at being held at gunpoint, I was still impressed that she had made it this long with only a shotgun and her clumsy boyfriend to protect her. The latter, who at present, was rifling through my belongings.

“Where are the keys, bitch?” he yelled, whipping my duffle bag across the room. I sighed. Did he really think I was going to tell him?

“I’m only going to say this one more time,” I told the shotgun. “You really don’t want to mess with me.”

Yanking me up by my t-shirt collar, the boyfriend brought me face to face with him. He smelled horrible, as if he hadn’t had a bath since the world had come apart at its seams. His face was covered in dark smudges and his chin-length brown hair was matted and beginning to naturally dread.

Dreads. Dark bronzed skin. Brown eyes so opaque they looked black.

“Listen bitch, I want the keys to that Jeep outside and I have no problem killing you to get them.” He gripped the front of my jeans, jerking me back to the present.

“Jason! No!” the girlfriend screamed. He shot her a dirty look.

“Jesus, Carrie, it’s the only place we haven’t looked.”

“No!” she screamed. “Her eyes! Look at her eyes! They’re black!”

“I warned you,” I told them calmly.

Looking down at me, Jason’s light blue eyes widened in shock. “What the…”

I blasted the creep backwards. In a cacophony of smacking skin and cracking plaster, he went through the wall and knocked his head on the beam behind it. He fell hard on the wood-planked floor and bounced a little before falling still. Blood began to pool around his head and I knew without having to check that he was dead. I swallowed hard. I hadn’t meant to kill him. I had just wanted him away from me. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Hardening my emotions, I used the girlfriend’s momentary shock to rip the shotgun from her shaky grasp. I threw the thing across the room to join her boyfriend and grabbed my duffle bag.

I had known this was going to be a bad idea. Yet sleeping in a real bed, after months on the road sleeping in vehicles or magically-warded ground, had been too tempting. I had stumbled across this deserted, Podunk town in the middle of Nowheresville, Pennsylvania and took a chance. As I was saying…I have the worst luck ever.

“Wait!” the girl screamed as I turned to leave. “Take me with you! I’ll die if I stay here!”

I shot her a look that I hoped conveyed how much I really didn't care about what happened to her. “Good,” I said. “It’ll save me the trouble of killing you.”

“Please!”

“Listen,
Carrie
. I might have considered it if you hadn’t just held me at gunpoint and tried to steal my only means of transportation. With that said…fuck off.”

Her screams followed me down the carpeted stairs of the two-story prefab home. I had to hold my breath when I reached the first floor; the kitchen was filled with garbage that had never made it outside and any food that remained was long past rotten. A slick puddle of brownish green liquid seeped slowly from the bottom of the refrigerator, now home to an abundance of happy maggots.

In the front yard, where I had parked the Jeep Wrangler I had recently commandeered, was what remained of the family dog; a pile of bones and dried goo, still chained to its doghouse. Lovely.

The dark blue Jeep had been prepped for summer; its owner had removed both doors and taken the top off. It was exactly what I had needed for a quick get-away and worth the two days it had taken to teach myself how to drive stick.

Grabbing the roll bar, I swung myself inside; popped open the glove box, where I’d left the keys, and stared. “Dumbasses,” I muttered, shaking my head. Putting the Jeep into second gear, I punched the gas and made quick work of putting Nowheresville, P.A. and its last human inhabitant behind me. “Good riddance,” I told the view in my rearview mirror.

My main focus is my own survival, the constant search for food and water and a safe place to sleep. For the most part, I am not unlike the two teenagers I had just encountered, the only difference being that I have an advantage most people do not.

I have magic.

Guns will only protect you so much against Skin Eaters. A lethal combination of animal and human, they possess incredible speed and agility, they self-heal at an unthinkable rate, and each one of them has a mouthful of fangs that could tear a human to shreds within minutes. One bite and you are done for. I assume it is their saliva that holds the poison that will eventually turn you into one of them, that is, if there is anything left of you to turn.

I had only survived the initial attack on humanity because of one man. A Scandinavian Gypsy named Gerik Hjemsäter, who had fatefully been at the same Spring Carnival as me, when within minutes the world as I had known it had turned into something out of a bad horror movie.

I had lived in his Gypsy camp with him and numerous other Romani families for nearly five months. They not only knew how to live off the land and could survive a catastrophe of this magnitude but also possessed powers that kept them protected from the outside world. Powers that I – as a Gaje, a non-Gypsy – had not been allowed knowledge of further than knowing of their existence.

And that wasn’t even the half of it.

During my stay in their camp, I would come to find out that I had been born with only half a soul, half of someone else’s soul. If that wasn’t creepy enough, Gerik, the owner of said soul and by association the owner of me, was supposedly my soul mate.

It gets worse.

Gerik was the proud owner of affinities for all five elements:
earth, air, water, fire and spirit. Apparently, one person cannot hold onto this amount of power without going mad and eventually dying. Enter soul mate. Gerik had pursued me relentlessly in order to bond our soul and give me half of his magic. This, I was later informed, was the sole reason for my existence.

Mmhmm. That’s it. My only purpose in life was to be the magical equivalent of a storage bin. Maybe that would have been all-good and fine if I had been willing to lay down my free will and succumb to a man I barely knew. Which I wasn’t. I was a damn stubborn soul mate.

Enter Xan Deleanu. Part of the same Romani Clan, Xan was a beautiful and exotic combination of Romanian and Native American descent. With his dark and dangerously slanted eyes, knife-edged cheekbones and bronzed skin molded tightly over an impressive body, it had been easy to fall for him.

With the help of Xan, I fought against the ties that bound Gerik and I together. The battle for my own free will was just as much physically painful as it was emotionally, but I had ended up free of Gerik and inadvertently married to Xan.

At least I’d thought I’d been free.

The camps magically protected borders were breached and, unable to fight against the sheer number of Skin Eaters, several Roma had died. Gerik, using his powers, fought to protect us all. Ultimately, it was him who had singlehandedly saved us by using the fifth and forbidden element –
spirit.

Like all things in
nature, for every action there is a reaction. In Gerik’s case, his use of spirit transformed him into one of the most formidable creatures to ever exist in mythology. A dragon, er, half a dragon. Instead of thanking him for saving their lives, the clan banished him. Dark magic was a big no-no amongst the Gypsies, even if you had sacrificed yourself for your friends and family. Nice, huh?

Then, in what I am convinced was the final act of a desperate man, Gerik grabbed me and fled camp. Using his power, he completed the joining of our soul, and left me with half his magic. Literally left me. I’d come to consciousness alone and haven’t seen him since.

When I had returned to camp, I found it deserted. The clan had left me as well. Initially, I had searched fruitlessly for them. However, as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, alone and desperate, I’d eventually found myself caring less and less about finding them. My main focus was surviving. Anything less, any sort of distraction, would result in my death. And my death was simply unacceptable.

CHAPTER TWO

Xan blinked back sleep. Stretching, getting a ripe whiff of his body odor, he grimaced. Eh, he never claimed to be a hygiene freak. Leaning out of bed, he grabbed a pair of jeans off the floor of his trailer and fumbled through his pockets.

Lighting a cigarette, he stretched back out in bed, took a few drags and then grabbed the bottle of bathtub gin he had been reduced to drinking and making; not actually in a bathtub but close enough. The last several raids he had gone on had not produced much of anything. Booze was scarce…a hot commodity during the end of days.

Where the hell was he anyway? Somewhere in Pennsylvania? He had stopped paying attention. He had stopped doing a lot of things, aside from existing. Not that anyone cared anyway about anything anymore.

So many clan members of Clan Popa were dead and gone. His mamă was dead; killed by a Skin Eater that had hitched a ride on the back of her RV. Jericho Popa, the clan Baró, was dead; died of old age in his sleep about a month ago. Lucky bastard. In his stea
d was his only progeny, his grandson, Tobar. Tobar was a shitty Baró, in a shitty world, and everything was falling apart.

Barós were leaders, law enforcers, and part judge and part jury. Romani law had been built purposely around the Gaje law to ensure that their worlds collided as little as possible and to make certain the Gypsies no longer faced adversity and prejudices. Safety and clan continuation were everything to the Romani.

What everyone had failed to realize is that without the Gaje world and the Gaje laws, their laws meant nothing. They had been a race of people hellbent on survival in the worst possible odds since the very beginning. Life skills were passed down from generation to generation, so yeah, they could survive an apocalypse, but what they could not survive was anarchy, not amongst themselves.

The Gaje world was in ruins, the remaining humans lived as they pleased, violent, greedy and afraid, as they fought their inevitable extinction. The Romani had done their best to keep their clan together but the odds kept stacking up against them, one death after another. The Gaje’s anarchy was trickling into camp, one Roma at a time. Nothing lasts forever, he supposed.

He took a long swallow of gin and started choking. Not good. Nevertheless, it got the job done and he planned on working overtime today.

Knocking open the window near his head, he flicked out his cigarette, closed the window and lit up another. He took another couple of swallows, shook off the burn, recapped the bottle and tossed it on the floor. He finished his cigarette and not wanting to let more cool air in, he instead stubbed it out on the counter. He would clean it up later.

Right.

Because he cleaned so much lately. His trailer floor was carpeted in dirty clothes and muddy boots. His sink was piled high with dirty dishes, his counter littered with empty cigarette packs, rolling papers, loose tobacco and bottles.

Yeah, he really didn’t care. His morning wood, however, he cared about.

Turning to his side, he ran his hand over the body of the naked woman sleeping with her back to him. He slid down beside her and lifted her thigh. Positioning himself at her entrance, he pushed inside of her, groaning as her muscles clenched around him. She woke up gasping.

“Xan!”

Ugh. That voice, like nails on a chalkboard. He nearly lost his hard on.

“Shhh, fată…don’t talk.” His fingertips dug into her thigh and he pumped harder, needing the release but also needing to get this over with as quickly as possible. Just before he finished, he pulled out of her and emptied himself on her backside. It was possible he'd just set a world record for the fastest fuck ever.

Nadya Popa sat up straight, her brown eyes flashing with anger. “What about me? Don’t I get to finish?”

He was already rolling out of bed, pulling his jeans on. Grabbing a dirty t-shirt, he threw it at her. “Here fată, clean yourself up. I gotta take a shit."

He tied his waist-length dreads up in a knot and pulled a hooded sweatshirt on. As he stepped into his work boots, he turned and looked at her. Her heart shaped face was pretty enough. Her slanted amber eyes w
ere probably her best feature, but her tits were too small and her ass was nonexistent. Not that it mattered what she looked like; she had a warm, wet hole to sink inside of, which was infinitely preferable to his own hand.

Still…if he wanted to keep her around, he should probably let her come once in awhile. He could consider it his good deed for the week. Month. Whatever.

Climbing back in bed with her, he pulled her into his arms, palmed a breast with one hand and her sex with the other and quickly worked her into a moaning, writhing mass of flesh. When she stiffened, whimpering through her orgasm, he let himself pretend there was an entirely different woman in his arms. That the body on top of him was curvier, the breast he was holding, larger and softer. That the hair draped over his chest was much darker, thicker, and longer.

He found himself hard again and back inside Nadya, still thinking about
her
. The only problem, Nadya was a far more passive fuck than
her
. He had never expected the sweet, sexy little Gaje to be the sex goddess she had been. She had torn him up during sex, bitten and clawed at him, and as far as noise making went, she didn't whimper, she downright screamed. And he'd loved it. So much so that even after a night of sex and a morning release, he'd hunt her down in the middle of the day just to be inside of her again, not able to wait until nightfall. Nope, he had not been able to keep his hands off her. Leave it to him to stupidly fall in love with a woman who was destined to be with another man.

And speaking of said man…frate wasn't even a man anymore, but an animal. She had chosen an animal over him. How’s that for knocking a man’s ego down a couple of notches?

He pulled up his pants, feeling like shit for a guy who'd just came twice in a half an hour.

"See you later?" Nails-on-chalkboard asked.

"As long as you're naked," he said on his way out. The door slammed closed behind him.

"Asshole!"

"You're the one who keeps coming back," he muttered.

When he was done in the outhouse, he headed to the food tent to grab something to soak up the alcohol in his empty, churning stomach so he could get right back to drinking. Lyuba Siwak filled his plate with some kind of casserole and he took the only empty seat he could find. Smack dab in the middl
e of Nicu and Nico Čonka and straight across from Marko Siwak. The atmosphere at the picnic table went from cool to downright frigid.

Marko and he had been tight until he had started fucking the frate's fiancé. But Nadya had come to him, not the other way
around. Fata hadn't been the same since she'd lost half her family. Instead of being the flighty, happy-go-lucky woman she had been, she was bitter and angry and taking it out on his cock. It was a good thing too; otherwise, he would be nine inches deep between Fifi Horváth’s sweet thighs and fata didn't deserve to be used that way.

At the age of thirteen Fifi's brother, Gunari, died in a motorcycle accident. Fifi had taken the loss especially hard. He’d come across her crying behind her family RV, sat down beside her, offered her a smoke and for the next few hours they shared funny stories of Gunari. Then she’d jumped up on his lap and kissed him. Even at thirteen, she had been beautiful with her big, brown doe eyes and sex kitten lips. Being the eighteen-year-old manwhore he had been – still was – he had not put up much of a fight when she had stripped off her clothing, yanked open his pants and used him to rid herself of her virginity.

But, like all females, there had been a method to her madness. Despite her young age, Fifi was a smart girl. For nearly seven years, she had messed around with only him; more or less using him so she wouldn’t end up forced to marry. Being as beautiful as she was, she had been at risk for being dragged off and forced into a marriage with members of their own clan or another. But no one messed with Xan Deleanu. He was infamous for his violent temper and other things... Even visiting clans, who had passed through, took one look at her with him and never took a second.

He had not been with Fifi since
her,
and he had no plans on being with her ever again. He had too much respect for her to use her just to fill a void. Funny how the only two virgins he had ever been with, he loved with all his heart.

His dead heart.

Soooo...basically it sucked to be Marko.

“Wat up?” Nico asked.

He mumbled something and got busy eating. Shovel, swallow, breathe, shovel, swallow, breathe...

Fuck. He couldn’t play nice with the natives. All he wanted to do was go back to bed and drink. He was miserable, angry, and too damn close to homicidal. Half the time he didn’t know what to do with himself. He could not bear to be alone yet he despised being around anyone; he didn’t want to drink all day long but it eased the constant anxiety that had taken root in his stomach. He didn’t want to be fucking Nadya, he wanted to be fucking…
her
.

Yeah, he wanted to fuck her and then beat the living hell out of her; wrap his hand around her slim neck and squeeze the fucking life out of her lying, cheating ass. Fuck her and her bullshit promises. Fuck her sweet personality, her adorable face, and her beautiful body.

Shoving his food aside, his head in his hands, he slumped forward. She’d fucking used him. A means to an end to get away from Gerik. And she’d ended up with the fucker anyway.

“Xan, I need you.”

“I’m here. I’m not leaving this time. I promi—”

“No.” She smiled at him. “I mean I want you.”

Jesus. The moment he had been waiting months for was finally here and he did not want to do it. Well, he wanted to do it, but he did not want to hurt her. Not even a little.

“I don’t want it to be horrible for you.”

She shook her head, their noses touching. “Not being with you is infinitely worse.”

Warmth, the likes of which he’d never felt before, seeped into his hardened heart and he’d known right then that she was
IT
for him. There would never be another woman who would make him feel all the terrifying, wonderful things that she did.

Fuck all her lies. Fuck her for making him love her. Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck him. Fuck everything.

Forcing his head back up, he found Marko glaring at him.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” he muttered.

“Why her?” Marko hissed, under his breath. “Why Nadya?”

Why? Because she was there. Because I don’t give a fuck who I’m sticking my cock in and I really don’t give a fuck if you don’t like me because of it. In fact, I don’t give a fuck about anything at all.

When he didn't respond, Marko’s fist came down hard on the picnic table. “Why her!” he roared.

Xan shrugged. “Why not her?”

“Because,
you fuck
, she was mine!”

Ha. Like that meant shit.
Her
had been his and now…she wasn’t.

“Obviously, frate, she wasn’t or she wouldn’t be in my bed right now, naked, well-fucked and covered in my—”

Nico’s hand slapped down across his mouth, but it was too late; Marko had known exactly what he'd been about to say. Shaking with anger, Marko jumped to his feet.

“You’re a fucking disease, Deleanu! You kill everything you fucking touch! It’s a good thing Trinity got out before you rui—”

Without preamble, he stood and swung. Marko ducked, he hit air and stumbled forward. Fuck. He must be drunker than he thought.

“Don’t ever say her name you fucking shitbag,” he growled. “Ever.” His heart was pounding in his chest; his muscles were bunched tight, and he was itching to pound this fucker's face in.

Marko grinned, baring his teeth. “Touchy, touchy. Exactly whose name do you not want to hear? Was it—”

“Both of you sit down and shut up or leave!” Aishe Sava hollered, pointing to the tent entrance. “Not one person in here wants to know either of your personal business!”

“Nothing of mine is personal in this shit pit anymore!” he yelled back. “Not even my cock!”

“You're the one who decides to stick it into everything you see! Deal with the consequences!” Aishe shook her ladle at him and several people burst out laughing.

Damn, he missed Shandor. God knows frate would have been laughing his ass off over this, had he not gone and gotten himself killed.

“You want her,” he told Marko. “Go get her. Door's unlocked.”

Stopping at Fifi's table, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and high-tailed it out of there.

“We need to talk, Xan!” Becki Bálan-Sava hurried to catch up to him.

He inwardly groaned. Fata never wanted to talk to him; she wanted to counsel him. Save him from himself, help him work through his pain, blah, blah, blah.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Pregnancy has been kind to you,
surioară, you finally have some tits. Congrats.”

She rolled her eyes. “Xan, you need to talk about Trinity."

He stopped walking to properly glare at her. “Don’t. Say. Her. Name.”