The BlackBurne Legacy (The Bloodlines Legacy Series Book 1) (6 page)

Chapter Six

It’s been a week since my little impromptu adventure in the woods. Jason had been asleep when I came home, so he didn’t need to know about my wild run. It would only worry him, and he is taking enough of a chance letting me stay here.

The voice in my head has been quiet as well. Not a peep. Maybe I
had
just imagined it. I want to believe that, but I don’t think that’s the case. I can still remember the distinct sound, low and gravelly, but slightly familiar as well. It had warned me away from the guy from the diner. Why? Or is it my own paranoia making things up after hearing the weird conversation about him from Micah and the waitress?

I’ve been so upset I actually called and made an appointment to see one of the counselors at the university. School starts in a week, and I don’t want to be so freaked out I lose focus. I need to be able to at least appear calm. Even Jason noticed I’m jumpy. Which means I need to talk to someone.

Shoving my feet in my slippers, I yawn and head into the kitchen. I need food. Jason’s door is open, and it looks like he’s already gone. The fridge yields out of date milk and eggs I’m not too sure about. The grocery store is on the list for today, I decide and close the door. Cereal is out as there is no milk. My stomach lets out a loud grumble, reminding me it waits for no one. One solution—The Coffee Shop.

After a quick shower, I tug on a pair of jeans and my old Maroon 5 t-shirt. No clue who they are, really, except a band, and I only know that because Jason got the shirt for me at one of their concerts. There is no help for my hair, so I grab a scrunchie and do it up in a knot. I’ll detangle the mess later. I’m too hungry to wait the thirty minutes it will take to dry it.

I jot a note for Jason and tape it to my closed door. No way he misses that. It’s warm outside, a gentle breeze blowing. The air in New York was never this fresh, even though Compton wasn’t in the city. This, though, this is crisp, clean air that seems to jump start my senses. It’s clean and pure. Just another reason I am learning to love West Virginia.

The Coffee Shop comes into view a few minutes later, and just like before, the place is packed. I can smell the food from where I’m standing, and my stomach lets out a loud rumble. I’ve never before had it act like this, to demand food. I guess it started the morning after I arrived. It’s like I’m always hungry, whereas before, I could go all day and not eat a thing without noticing. And snacks do nothing to take the edge off. I want
real
food. It’s so weird.

Just as I suspected, there isn’t an open seat anywhere, not even at the counter. Well, I can just order food to go, I guess. The same waitress from last week is behind the counter. What was her name…Beth Anne, I think. She looks up and gives me a friendly wave then turns back to pouring coffee for the customers at the counter.

“Ah,
munya
, back again?”

My head swivels to the left and I see Diner Guy, as I’ve nicknamed him, smiling at me. The odd thing is, it doesn’t reach his eyes. There is the slightest smirk playing with his lips. I have the insane urge to flip him off, but I refrain. Emma taught me better manners than that.

“Good morning, sugar plum.” Beth Anne is in front of me, smile fixed in place.
Her
eyes are as happy as the smile on her face. “You want to order something to go? I wish I had a table for you, but this crowd will be here a while.”

“She can share my table.”

Diner Guy. I open my mouth to say no, but my stomach growls loudly. I snap it shut in embarrassment. Feed the beast, I think. My hunger outweighs my urge to turn and run from the mocking green eyes daring me to sit. Beth Anne looks none too pleased when I slide in the booth, but she takes my order and promises to have it out as soon as she can.

“No more late night runs?” He sips his coffee and gives me his best sardonic smile.

“No more late night walks?” I nurse my water, keeping my expression neutral. Something about him makes me want to hit him. I don’t understand it, but the urge is there.

“We are no properly introduced. I am Luka Rinaldi.”

His English is mostly good, but I don’t point out his small slip up. He didn’t grow up here, and it’s rude to point things out. Manners and all that.

“Alexandria Reed.” My gaze keeps landing on his arms. A tattoo snakes up his arm and hides under the sleeve of his shirt, his muscles flexing with every small movement. Heat begins to seep through me and my stomach flutters, but in a good way.

“You’re from Romania?” I ask, trying to focus on anything but the slight nausea.

“I am Romani.”

“There’s a difference between Romanian and Romani?”

“
Arvah
.”

“What?” What the heck does that mean?

A laugh rumbles out of him. “Sorry.
Arvah
is yes. They are no the same.”

Beth Anne brings me my massive plate of biscuits and gravy with a side of bacon and eggs. I swear, I’m starting to eat as much as Jason, but I’m running every day too. Maybe that’s why I have this humongous appetite.

I murmur a low thank you and dive in. The minute the slightly peppery gravy hits my tongue, I’m in heaven. It’s so good.

“Good?” Luka quirks a brow at me, still sipping on his coffee.

Alarm ripples through me when he eyeballs my bacon. “Mmm…hmm.”

“It smell good.” He leans closer and sniffs.

“Didn’t you eat?” I pull my plate closer to me, earning me a chuckle.

He shakes his head. “No, just coffee.”

Old lessons war with my need to protect what is mine. Emma would beat me if she found out someone was hungry and I didn’t share, but at the same time…it’s my damn food.

“Do you…want…a piece of bacon?” I force the words out.

“Please.”

I knew he was going to say that. Dammit. I use my clean knife to push one of my precious strips of bacon toward him. He devours it in seconds, licking his fingers clean. He looks at my bacon again. I pull my plate closer, and his eyebrows shoot up. Yes, I’m being greedy.
Mine
.

“Easy, girl.” His voice doesn’t relax me at all. It just makes my hackles rise. Only when he flags down our waitress and orders his own breakfast do I relax.

“What is the difference between Romani and Romanian?” I shovel a forkful of egg into my mouth.

“Romanians is of European descent, born in Romania. Romani is Gypsy.” His eyes follow my fork from the plate to my mouth, licking his lips.

“Gypsy?” I narrow my eyes when he stares at my plate of food. Uh-uh. His food is on the way.

“Nomads.” He looks me directly in the eyes, and they aren’t mocking anymore. They look sleepy. “We travel the world, living nowhere and everywhere.”

An idea occurs. I just watched a movie two days ago. “Like
Drag Me To Hell
Gypsies?”

He laughs in the middle of taking another sip of coffee and snorts it through his nose. I throw a napkin at him. When he’s recovered, he says, “That movie is full of stereo pickings.”

“You mean stereotypes?” I ask mildly.

He shrugs. “Stereo-whatever. Is no true. We do not go around putting the hex on the people.”

“That’s good to know.” His fingers inch toward my plate. If he so much as thinks about stealing a piece of bacon, I will stab him with my fork.

“We do curse people.” His hand flirts with the idea of stealing my food. “Just not for…” He frowns, searching for the words. “Because to be cursed, you must do very bad or evil things.”

“You believe in curses, do you?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. The man really believes in that nonsense?

“
Munya
, there is much you do no understand about the world.” His eyes grow darker, colder, and I shiver. “Much you do no realize about yourself yet.”

Now what does
that
mean?

Beth Anne slides his food in front of him and my muscles relax. Now he’ll leave mine alone.

“So why did you transfer here?”

“Why not?”

“That’s not an answer.” I shift in my seat, taking a long drink of my orange juice.

“Why you go to school here?”

My eyes narrow. Why is he so evasive? “I was born here.”

“But is that why you are here?” His eyes dare me to lie to him.

“I asked first.”

He gives me a predatory grin. “Come, tell me,
munya
.”

“When you tell me why, out of all the schools you could have picked from, you came to West Virginia, then I’ll tell you why I did.” Something tells me the answer to this question is very important. My survival instincts are screaming at me, but I ignore them.

“Bargain sealed.”

“You mean, deal.” He frowns at me and I explain, “When we agree to something here in the States, we say it’s a deal, or simply deal.”

“Americans like to complicate things, yes?”

“Yup.”

That earns me an honest-to-God grin, and I nearly lose my breath. His face relaxes and becomes even more beautiful, if that’s possible.

“Back to this Gypsy thing…”

“Is no a thing.” The look in his eyes makes me shrink back. They are so angry. “We are a people, same as you.”

“Yes, of course,” I murmur. “I meant no offense.” It seems to be a touchy subject for him.

He lets out a slow breath. “Apologies,
munya
. The Romani have been…ridiculed for ages, our heritage becoming joke.”

I know enough from history to know the Gypsy people had been ridiculed, persecuted, and made to be less of a people. It derived from their moving from place to place, inspiring fear and suspicion. When humanity doesn’t understand something, that uncertainty turns to fear and then to hate. Just because they are different doesn’t mean they deserve to be treated as outcasts.

“So do they all wear bright colors?” I glance up to judge his reaction to this question. All I’d seen him in was darker colors.

“You truly wish to understand?” He looks at me curiously, his expression mystified.

“Yes, I truly wish to know about the Romani.”

“Why?” Suspicion radiates from him.

“Why not?” I throw his words back at him.

“You are a strange creature,” he says at last.

“Yeah, I’m pretty weird.” I flash him my best grin, and he shakes his head. He can’t hide the laughter filling his eyes, though.

“Bright colors. Yes, we love colors. They are like emotions. We free people, happy in our life, and the bright colors we surround ourselves with show that.”

“Then why do you wear so much black?”

His face closes off again, and I want to kick myself. I had him talking.

“My father and my sister die. Nothing I could do, and I feel the pain, so I wear the dark.”

“I’m so sorry.” No one should lose those they love.

The strangest expression mars his face, like he’s in pain, but at the same time, he’s determined to rip off the Band-Aid.

“Your mother?”

“She and my brother in Romania still. I am here to help them.”

“Help them?” Maybe getting a good education could better their lives or something, but I don’t think that’s the case.

“There is things I must do to keep them safe.”

If there was ever a cryptic remark, that’s one.

Before I can question him further, his head turns and he frowns. “Did you walk,
munya
?”

“Yeah, the apartment isn’t far from here, and walking is good for me.”

“Today is no good for walking.” He pulls out his wallet and then lays a twenty on the table. “Come, I take you home.”

“I don’t know…”

“I no bite,
munya
, and you are safe with me for now.”

For now? Meaning I won’t always be safe with him?

Don’t go with him.
The voice is back in full volume.
Run. Run now
.

Not real, not real, not real,
I repeat to myself.

“Come, Alexandria.” Impatience is clear in his voice.

I glance up, and he’s staring down at me, his eyes cold and hard. Arrogant ass. “I think I’ll walk back, thank you.”

A sly smile sneaks across his lips. “Scared of me?”

“Of course not,” I scoff, and oddly, I’m not. Everything in me says I should be, but I’m simply not afraid of this man.

“Then why no let me take you home?”

“Because I want to walk home.” I let my own irritation flare in my voice.

“But I do no want you to walk home,” he counters, his green eyes warming up with a hint of laughter. “Come, I
will
see you home.”