The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity)

by Sheehan, Madeline

  But the impossible had happened, and it had happened because of magic.

  This revelation also explained why Shandor’s power had shifted. Having had magic before his transformation, not only was he now a darker version of himself, but so was his power. What he still couldn’t figure out was the whole he-still-had-a-soul thing, why he still felt guilt over his actions and why he could better control himself than any other Skin he’d encountered. None of the Skins he’d come across had retained their souls. Their auras were as black as death itself, proving them soulless, and leaving Shandor to further believe that this could only be the result of dark magic.

  Both humans and animals had souls. While an animal’s soul was simple, a human’s soul was colorful and complex, full of emotions and feelings, desires and dreams. Comparing the two was like comparing a circle to a decagon; the comparison could be made because both actually had a soul.

  Skins had nothing. Nothing but icy, black emptiness.

  So, why had he retained some of what he used to be? Was it the light magic that had once been inside him that had kept him tethered to his humanity?

  Shandor went still on his perch as a cool hand wrapped around his throat, and sharp claws pierced the skin on his neck.

  “Are you alone?” a throaty feminine voice whispered.

  “Yes,” he hissed, pissed off that he’d been spotted, and furious that he hadn’t even realized it.

  When the hand released him, he spun on the branch he’d been perched upon and froze again.

  Crouched in front of him—her eyes red, her bloody fangs bared, her claws ready to rip into him—was a naked female Skin. Her long black hair was ratty and snarled, covered in bits of leaves and caked with mud, and her olive skin was smudged with dried blood and dirt.

  She was by far the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  “Fuck me,” he whispered, looking his fill of her lithe, muscular body.

  She cocked her head to one side, her lips curving in amusement. “So sure of yourself.”

  She laughed, a throat-purring sound, and his body hardened. “Fată, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  “I already know you’re a narcissistic asshole.”

  He grinned. “I’m easy, too.”

  She matched his grin, and his cock surged forward.

  “I can smell your need,” she said with surprise, studying him every bit as intensely as he was studying her. “I can see it, yet you do nothing.”

  Oh, he wanted her. He wanted her very, very badly.

  “Say the word,” Shandor growled, “and I’ll do everything.” Please, please, say the word.

  Her smile turned nasty, taunting him. “I have a male,” she said. “Several, actually.”

  Unfamiliar jealousy hit him like a ton of bricks and he didn’t much like the feeling. Before he could stop himself, his arm shot forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Using his hold on her, he yanked her up against him.

  “Fuck your males,” he said hoarsely, cupping her breast and squeezing the soft flesh.

  She sucked in a harsh breath and growled low. “Release me,” she demanded, “before I rip your heart out through your throat.”

  Damn, he hadn’t wanted to grab her in the first place. Okay, that was a lie. He’d wanted to, and he’d tried to control himself, but something inside of him was refusing to let her go. Even knowing that attacking a fată who didn’t want his attention was wrong, he still couldn’t seem to let her go. Rational thought had begun fading the minute he’d lost control over his sexual impulses. Not only that, the urges were baser; he wanted to control her, to claim, the need coming from deep within him. His body was literally demanding hers.

  Every part of him screamed, berating him to take her, to throw her down and force her into submission whether she wanted it or not. Shandor swallowed it back, trying to fight the urges, trying to fight the monster inside him that wanted to make this female his.

  “I can’t,” he rasped, twitching as his muscles continued to fight against his will. “I can’t stop.”

  Her leg shot out from under her, and her foot connected with his groin. Howling with pain, he released her instantly and she jumped to her feet, then took hold of the tree branch above her. Using both feet, she swung and kicked and with a heavy thud, her bare feet landed square in his chest.

  Shandor hit the earth hard, breaking several bones, including his spine. While he lay there, groaning as he healed, the female swung down from the tree and pounced on him. The other Skins, having heard his fall, had abandoned their meal in favor of him. There were nearly a dozen of them gathered in a circle where he lay, all ready to tear into him.

  “I said,” the female growled, “hands off.”

  She was strong. He’d give her that. But he could kill her. Hell, if he wanted, he could kill them all with one wave of his hand.

  But he was a Romani, a Gypsy, a man who’d grown up in a clan nearing one hundred souls, and never once had he been alone or on his own. Now, after what he’d become, his family would never accept him. They’d kill him, or worse…he would kill them.

  But these Skins…

  He could have a clan again. A family again.

  And if it meant he got to fuck the shit out of this fată as well…

  He glanced around at the circle of angry red eyes, all waiting on her. She was their leader. Even the males looked to her.

  Shandor felt his skin ripple with anticipation of the fight and the reward.

  Wait, what was wrong with him? This wasn’t him. He didn’t hurt women.

  But she wasn’t a woman. And he was no longer a man.

  And if he didn’t want to live alone any longer, he was going to have to take her down. Show his dominance in front of the entire pack.

  He felt the need for power rear up inside him, felt the seductive adrenaline rush that followed it, and he looked her dead in her glowing red eyes. “I heard you,” he said, jumping to his feet.

  Using his inhuman strength and incredible speed, Shandor lunged forward and grabbed her upper arms. Clutching her to him, he spun around in the opposite direction and took off running. He ran as fast as he could until he’d felt he’d put enough distance between them and the rest of her pack. Shoving her face-first against the nearest tree, he kicked her legs apart and…

  Shandor couldn’t stop his magic, couldn’t contain it, and he knew his eyes had turned black. His entire body could feel the darkness rearing up inside him. It spread like wildfire through his blood before bursting from his skin and creating a protective circle of black-streaked flames around them.

  “You don’t get to make that decision anymore, fată,” he growled. “I do.”

  Sinking his fangs into her shoulder, he pushed himself inside her.

  By the time her pack caught up to them, he’d finished and was working through their second round. She’d long since submitted and was now purring like a kitten, her ass in the air, begging him for more.

  The feelings he’d derived from this triumph were nearly indescribable. Euphoria raced through him, better than alcohol or any drug. He felt like a king. No, fuck that, he felt like a god.

  Grabbing hold of the female’s hair, Shandor yanked her head back. “What’s your name?” he demanded.

  “Tahyra,” she replied, her voice a throaty growl.

  “You’re mine, Tahyra,” he told her, then looked to the rest of them, staring at him with wide, astonished eyes.

  “She’s mine,” he repeated. “You’re all mine.”

  Not one of them disagreed. Satisfied, he went back to his whimpering, moaning reward.

  Chapter Seven

  Nico Čonka rolled over and met with the warm, soft body of his wife. He slid his hand up her T-shirt to cup her breast as he pressed his erection into her backside.

  “Wake up, Becki,” he murmured. “I want inside you before Michaela starts screaming.”

  Swatting at him, she mumbled something incoherent and fell back asleep.

&n
bsp; Laughing, he covered her belly with his hand, felt her skin and muscles still loose from giving birth, and then moved lower, down between her thighs.

  “Nico,” she muttered, trying to squirm away from him. “Not now.”

  Goddamn it. Not again.

  “Yeah, now,” he growled, rolling her to her back and maneuvering on top of her.

  He tried to pull her T-shirt up, but she grabbed the material and shoved it back in place.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m gross.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “My body,” she hissed. “I’m fat!”

  Angry, he yanked her T-shirt out of her grip and up over her head. As tossed it across the RV, she tried to cover herself, but he grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head. Becki was a damn beautiful woman, encased in silky bronzed skin with matching chocolate-colored eyes. Long, dark curls framed a sweetheart face composed of delicate, utterly feminine features. Nearly every man in camp appreciated a good, long look at her. She was also the most ridiculous woman he’d ever met.

  “You are such an asshole,” she whispered, her eyelashes wet with tears.

  “No,” he chastised, “you’re an idiot.”

  Bowing his head, Nico took a large, heavy breast between his lips and suckled, tasting the sweet tang of breast milk as it trickled into his mouth. Instead of continuing to fight him, Becki whimpered.

  “Feel good, fată?” he asked quietly.

  “Y-yes,” she said shakily.

  Moving down to her stomach, he took a moment to nuzzle against her extra weight before sliding even lower.

  Ah…God.

  He needed her.

  “You’re fucking perfect,” he said hoarsely, looking up her naked body to her beautiful face. “I’m so fucking hard right now. That’s how bad I want my wife, my beautiful fucking wife.”

  With pure emotion gleaming in her eyes, Becki trembled beneath him. Feeling triumphant and grinning from ear to ear, he buried his face between her legs. And when she was nothing but a hot, writhing mess, he reared up over her and pushed inside.

  She gripped his back, crying out. “Oh God…Nico…God…yes.”

  Becki continued to cry out through her orgasm, and knowing their daughter was going to wake up any second now, Nico pounded into her like a jackhammer, following her over just as Michaela began to cry.

  “Crap,” Becki hissed, trying to push him off her.

  “Wait,” he said with a groan.

  “No, Nico,” she demanded. “Get off me.”

  He reluctantly left the warmth of his wife and rolled onto his side. Jumping out of bed, Becki dressed quickly and hurried across their trailer to where their daughter was screaming for her breakfast. Lifting Michaela from the cradle Nico had made her, Becki took a seat on the couch, wrapped them both in a thick woolen blanket, and gave the hungry copil her breast.

  Observing them, watching Becki feed Michaela, Nico’s heart felt full. He was happy, happier than he’d ever been, and he’d owed all that to Becki. Other than the dangers lurking outside their camp, other than losing several dozen clan members since this bullshit had begun last spring, other than his little brother, Nicu, just up and disappearing…yeah, other than all of that, there was just one thing wrong in Nico’s world.

  His clan baró, Tobar Popa, was Michaela’s actual tată. Not Hockey, Becki’s deceased husband, but Tobar, the man she’d been sneaking around with behind Hockey’s back.

  And Tobar, in Nico’s opinion, was a first-rate asshole. A first-rate asshole with a whole lot of sway within the clan.

  Once Nico had married Becki after she’d given birth, Tobar had come clean to the clan, owning up to the fact that Michaela was his, and Becki—damn her—had agreed to let him be a father to Michaela. Now Tobar was abusing that privilege, using the time he was spending with Michaela to worm his way back into Becki’s good graces. Normally, Nico wouldn’t have given Tobar and his bullshit a second thought…if he could know for certain his recalcitrant wife actually loved him.

  She liked him enough. Well, she’d liked him enough to sleep with him before he forced her into marriage. Yes, forced. He’d literally swept her up off her feet and taken her home with him. He hadn’t tied her up, like most Roma do when their wife of choice would fight them. At that point, she’d been too far along in her pregnancy for him to manhandle her, but he had barricaded the door and watched her like a hawk until the allotted three days’ time had passed and he could legally declare her his. Now, she couldn’t leave him.

  Right?

  Wrong. Tobar was baró now, and he was the only clan member who could declare Nico’s marriage to Becki null and void. And more than likely, he would happily find a way around the Romani law that clearly stated only a man could request a divorce. Nico could see it now, Becki getting pissed off about something trivial and running to Tobar, begging him to grant her a divorce.

  Nico was not going to let that happen.

  He was determined to make his wife love him. Although, seeing as how it was a fight just to get her to perform her marital obligations to him, he didn’t foresee this as an easy task by any means.

  Sighing, Nico swung his long legs out of bed and ran his hands through his long brown hair. He knew he was obsessing, but he was trapped in this camp. They were all trapped here and it was because of that, their self-imposed prison, that he feared the worst would happen. Caged humans were no better off than caged animals.

  After dressing, bundling up in his winter outerwear, he paused by the door to glance at his wife and daughter.

  “Te iubesc,” he said quietly, hoping this time she’d say it back.

  Becki’s eyes lifted from the baby to him and she gave him a small smile, the last thing he wanted. “Stay warm,” she murmured, running her fingertips up and down Michaela’s cheek.

  Feeling defeated, Nico left his trailer and headed into the center of their camp to seek out breakfast. Shoving his hands into his pockets and keeping his head down against the cold winds, he trudged through the nearly knee-deep snow. “Winter needs to fucking end already,” he muttered. His clan had traveled a lot, and throughout their travels had seen some pretty hellish winters, but this one took the cake. It was if it wasn’t enough that civilization had been all but erased and the constant threat of dying at the hands of fanged lunatics loomed around every corner. No, the weather had to go crazy on them as well.

  Nearing the food tent, Nico found Xan seated beside the camp’s large communal fire pit, smoking a cigarette and brooding as usual. With his shoulders hunched, frate’s long black dreads hung heavy around his face. How in the hell was he not freezing to death?

  “Wat up?” Nico said, punching his friend in the arm as he passed by.

  “Your kid,” Xan shot back irritably. “And because of her, the entire fucking camp is up.”

  Shaking his head, Nico ducked inside the food tent. He should be grateful for what he had—whether Becki loved him or not. Xan had lost everything that ever meant anything to him. Who knew what had become of Trinity after Marko had decided to add “become the biggest dick that ever was” to his resumé. More than likely she was dead, and Xan was alone, miserable, wishing he could turn back the clock and rewrite history. Xan had never said the words, but Nico knew him well enough, could see the longing in the man’s eyes. The longing and the guilt.

  Speaking of guilt, he was feeling pretty damn guilty himself all of a sudden. Xan no longer had the woman he loved but Nico did. And in this hellish new world they were all trying to survive in, he should be grateful for that, not wallowing in what might happen or wishing for more.

  Chapter Eight

  Carrie was having the best dream ever. She was floating on a cloud, surrounded by hot, silky water that warmed her cold, chapped skin and soothed her aching muscles.

  How long had it been since she’d had a hot bath? It felt like years.

  Maybe she was dead? Maybe this was heaven, and heaven c
ame with hot baths and…

  Ugh. She felt sick. Her stomach was still empty. This couldn’t be heaven.

  Blinking, Carrie opened her eyes and stared down her body, her naked body, and into the dirty water she was currently soaking in. The dirty, yet very hot water!

  Startled, she sat up quickly, sloshing water over the edge of the bathtub.

  “Hey, calm down,” a deep booming voice said.

  Totally freaked out, she shrieked as she skittered backward in the bathtub.

  “Fată, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m the one who just saved your stupid ass from hypothermia.”

  Carrie blinked up at the voice and found a large bearded man seated on the bathroom counter, watching her. What? Where was she? And who the heck was he?

  “I’m naked,” she mumbled, trying to cover herself. Feeling confused, she tried to sort through her muddled thoughts. She’d been hungry; she remembered that much. She was still hungry. Hungry and aching and exhausted.

  “Yeah, well, your clothes were soaked straight through so I hung them up. Thought you might like some dry ones.”

  “I’m naked,” she repeated, this time with more force, hoping the man would take a hint and leave her alone.

  His heavy brow lifted, and the look on his face suggested he didn’t understand why she thought her nudity was a problem. Even though she wasn’t a fan of strange men seeing her naked, it wasn’t her biggest, most immediate problem. She felt sick, the awful feeling growing worse with each passing second.

  “I’m naked,” she murmured, feeling slightly dizzy. Her vision blurred and against her will, her body slumped down in the bathtub.

  She heard cursing, then felt hands on her, lifting her, and arms wrapping around her. The cold air hit Carrie’s heated body like a smack in the face, and her eyes flew open as her skin shriveled under the onslaught. Then, just as suddenly, she was warm again, encased in something soft, and soon, she felt herself drifting off to sleep.

  Curled up on a small sofa in front of a blazing fire in the man’s trailer, Carrie threw up the first two bowls of broth the man gave her. Just as she thought she was going to lose the third, her stomach finally began to settle and her dizziness subsided. Her strength, however, was far from renewed. She continued sleeping on and off, and each time she awoke, the man was always there with more soup and water.