The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity)

by Sheehan, Madeline

  “FUCK YOU!” he roared. “I’ve been nothing but grateful! Do you think I would have stuck around for as long as I have if you didn’t save my life? I was paying it forward! And what do I get in return for all my efforts? You throwing yourself at me, trying to get me to fuck you!”

  Tears filled Mira’s eyes, but Hockey didn’t care. He was done caring about these people. They were sick and twisted and selfish and immoral. The storm was over, and Mira was a strong woman. He wasn’t needed, and it was well past time he continued his search for his own people.

  Turning away from her, he continued down the stairs.

  He was done here.

  He was going home.

  Come hell or high water, Hockey was going the fuck home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Fată,” Shandor said, “tell me about your family.”

  Her face covered in blood and gore, Tahyra glanced up from the large wolf she’d caught and killed. Wrinkling up her nose at him, she asked, “Why do you keep asking?”

  He shrugged. “Because you’re mine, and I want to know everything about you.”

  She grinned at him. “Wrong. You’re mine,” she retorted and promptly returned to tearing through a thigh muscle.

  Having already satisfied his hunger, he watched her eat, pleased that she was no longer complaining about the strictly animal diet he had imposed on his pack. Shandor wasn’t nearly as pleased about the progress he’d made in his attempt to humanize them. He’d made a little leeway in forcing them to open up about their lives before…

  A few had talked of their families and friends or jobs they’d had, but most of them either couldn’t remember, or they didn’t care to remember. Although their loyalty to one another seemed to be growing in leaps and bounds, he’d made little progress on their emotional development. They wouldn’t kill one another unless they had to, but they couldn’t care less about humans. The paralyzing hunger continued to override all thought processes until the beast inside was satisfied.

  Tahyra was the worst. She’d thwarted all his attempts at getting inside her head. He’d tried everything to coax her into talking about her past or anything other than hunting and fucking and killing.

  She did seem to enjoy caring for him, though. She hunted for his meals, she cleaned him, she mediated fights within the pack, and she always satisfied his sexual needs to the point of exhaustion. There was nothing he wanted for, nothing except…

  A more human than animal response to how he felt about her. And how he felt about her…

  How did he feel about her?

  It was more than Shandor had ever felt about any other fată before. She was beautiful despite usually being covered in filth and smelling just as bad. Her hair was a rat’s nest. Her hands and feet were usually caked with mud. More often than not, she acted like a pig. The man inside him would have balked at some of her behavior, been thoroughly disgusted with her, but the beast inside him appreciated her and was intensely attracted to her alpha female behavior.

  Tahyra was strong, she was self-sufficient, she gave as good as she got, and she had a wicked sense of humor. She had a fierceness about her, a fire inside her that none of the other females came close to exhibiting. And when it came to him, she had no problem killing. Every new female addition to their pack always attempted sex with him, and Tahyra immediately put them in their place.

  Then there was the softness he sensed. It didn’t come through very often, but when it did, when she fully submitted to him and his needs in the way both man and beast wanted from her, it was a damn beautiful thing.

  But he wanted more, so much more. He wanted to be able to tell her how he felt about her and not receive a mere grin in return.

  “Tahyra,” he growled, “come here.”

  “I’m eating,” she growled back.

  “Now!” he bellowed, startling the rest of the pack. Seeing the disturbance was only the two of them arguing, not an uncommon occurrence, the others went back to their respective doings.

  Tossing aside her meal, Tahyra dropped down on all fours and hissed like a rattlesnake about to attack. With blood dripping from her mouth, her breasts swaying back and forth, she crawled over the remains of the wolf, heading in his direction.

  Jesus, she was beautiful and crazy. She was a feral goddess, an abomination of nature and God, yet she was everything he wanted.

  No, she was more than just what he wanted.

  To think, if he’d never been changed, he would have never met her, never known her. And worse, if he had met her as a man, he would have killed her instantly and not given it a second thought.

  The thought of her gone, the thought of her dead at his hands…

  Shandor stared at her, feeling the man and the beast inside him coming together. She was the one thing they agreed upon. She was their perfect mate, their perfect female. They would protect her at all costs. No man or beast would get close enough to take her. She was theirs, and they were hers.

  “I love you,” he rasped, caught up in his feelings, not even realizing he was verbalizing them. “Fată, I fucking love you.”

  In midcrawl, Tahyra froze, and then just as quickly she leaped into the air and sent her foot straight into his face, effectively breaking his nose and sending him skidding across the ground.

  In a flash, she was on him again and he was sent flying up through the air, his body cracking through several large tree branches before plummeting to the ground, the fall severing his spine.

  In a self-protective maneuver, his body called to his magic, and orange, red, and black flames erupted from his hands to create a circle of fire around him. Over the crackling and hissing of the flames, he could hear Tahyra screaming at the top of her lungs. And he was grinning.

  The second he was fully healed, Shandor was on his feet, sweeping away the flames with a wave of his hand.

  “What is wrong with you?” she screamed. “Why can’t you just be like the rest of us?”

  This time when she lunged, he was ready for her. Wrapping his arms around her, he muscled her to the ground.

  “What’s the matter, fată?” he yelled. “Why can’t I tell you how I feel about you? Why can’t I tell you that I love you?”

  “Shut up!” she screeched.

  Tahyra flailed wildly, thrashing in his arms, trying to head-butt him, trying to bite him, trying to inflict pain on him in any way. Wrapping his hand around her neck, he slammed her head into the ground, hard, but not hard enough to crack her skull, and straddled her.

  “You had a family once,” he growled, baring his fangs at her, allowing his eyes to go red. “They loved you, fată, didn’t they? And you loved them, too, didn’t you?”

  “Shut up,” she whispered hoarsely, turning away from him.

  “No!” he roared. Still gripping her neck, he lifted her, bringing them nose to nose. “Fucking accept it, Tahyra. Fucking accept that I love you!”

  Her black aura wavered, and to Shandor’s shock, a sheen of purple began to peek along the edges. Excitement bubbled up from his gut. It was working. It was goddamn working.

  “Who were you?” he yelled. “Tell me who you were! I want to know everything! You, your family, what you wanted out of life! I want to know everything!”

  Purple replaced the black, and a deep pink began to appear. Then yellow and light blue and before he knew it, she was a veritable rainbow of colors.

  “TELL ME WHO YOU FUCKING ARE!”

  The dam burst inside her. He watched it happen, and the scream that followed was hardly a scream at all. It was more of a howl—an ear-piercing, gut-wrenching, heartbreaking, shrieking wail—filled with so much pain and sorrow, both physical and emotional, that Shandor knew her soul had broken through the dark magic, flooding her with memories and feelings, and worst of all…

  Guilt.

  “I tried to save her!” she said, gasping. “I tried to save my sister! But I couldn’t.”

  His heart pounding with joy, he crushed her to him. “It wasn’t your
fault,” he soothed, holding her close, cradled in his lap. “None of this was your fault.”

  “I wasn’t fast enough,” she sobbed, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “I wasn’t fast enough. I couldn’t reach her. I couldn’t save my sister.”

  “Not your fault,” he murmured, rocking her. “Not your fault, fată.”

  Tahyra continued to cry, finally able to mourn the loss of her family, of her world, and while he comforted her, he secretly rejoiced in this new revelation.

  There was still hope…for all of them. Magic had caused the transformation, had hidden their souls, locked them away, but they were still there. Deep down inside, they were still human.

  With time and a lot of effort, he might be able to get through to his entire pack but…

  That wouldn’t be nearly enough.

  What he needed to do was break the curse, and breaking the curse meant he needed to find Mullo—and kill him.

  Yeah, he needed to find a thousand-year-old vampire, who not only wielded all five elements but could be anywhere in the world, and kill him.

  Well, he never claimed it would be easy.

  “Shandor?” Hooking a hand behind his neck, Tahyra pulled his head down and nuzzled his cheek with her own. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  Still holding her, he rolled himself onto his back and allowed her to take what she wanted. Tahyra was everywhere now—pushing, rubbing, burrowing into him, and covering him in her scent, her blood, her body. She was marking him the way she always had, but it was different somehow, less possessive and more…

  Loving.

  The way a woman should love a man.

  For the first time since he’d woken up…different…Shandor felt almost human again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Are you proud of yourself, frate?”

  Inside the otherwise empty food tent, Nico glanced up from his venison stew and watched as Tobar let the heavy tent flap fall behind him. Crossing the space between them quickly, Tobar slid onto the picnic bench across from him.

  It had been weeks since he’d betrayed Becki with Magdolna. The entire clan knew, he hadn’t hidden it, and now no one was speaking to him.

  It would be his luck that Tobar was the one to break the shunning silence.

  He was one lucky asshole, that was for sure. He had been lucky enough to fall for a woman who would never love him back, lucky enough to want to father the copil of another man, a man who just so happened to be his clan’s baró, and lucky to be stupid enough to fuck another fată because he’d been angry and hurting and hadn’t known how else to deal with his feelings.

  Yeah, he was real damn lucky.

  The quick, heated bout of sex hadn’t even been worth it. Nico had felt even worse when it was over. From the moment he’d zipped up his jeans, he’d been unable to look at Magdolna, and had run from her, from her trailer, but his guilt had arrived late. The damage had been done. He’d not only been seen carrying Mags into her trailer but also running out, looking disheveled.

  Everyone knew.

  He could have dealt with the clan’s accusations, his mamă’s disapproval, but what he couldn’t deal with was what he saw in Becki’s eyes.

  She would never forgive him.

  He was just another man she could add to her long list of men who’d hurt and disappointed her. In fact, he wasn’t even a man at all. He was a coward. He’d taken the coward’s way out, burying his broken heart between the thighs of another woman.

  But Nico wasn’t going to just slink off and disappear. He was Becki’s husband, she was his wife, and he’d made promises to her, ones he intended to keep. He would give her time, they both just needed some time, but sooner or later he was going to return to his trailer and take back what was his.

  He foresaw quite a bit of groveling in his future. Especially if he ever wanted to have sex again.

  “Do I look proud of myself?” he growled at Tobar.

  Smirking, Tobar shrugged. “I couldn’t care less,” he said. “The only reason I’m acknowledging your pathetic existence is because Becki came to me, requesting a divorce, and I’m granting it.”

  Every nerve in Nico’s body shot to attention, and his back went ramrod straight. “On what grounds?” he demanded.

  Tobar shrugged again. “For starters, you betrayed your marriage vows.”

  Nico’s fists came crashing down on top of the table. “Fuck you!” he yelled. “You’re actually going to sit there and look me in the eye and tell me you’re going to let her divorce me because I cheated? Jericho would have laughed that sort of request right out of camp! We both know I’m not the first Gypsy to betray his wife, not by a long shot! Romanis aren’t equal opportunists! Women don’t have any fucking rights, and she’s my fucking woman!”

  Tobar’s dark eyes remained cold and uncaring. “My tată mare is gone,” he bit out. “This is my clan now.”

  Nico shook his head wildly. “You can’t. You have no grounds to grant a divorce unless the husband requests it, and I’m not requesting a damn thing.”

  “Secondly,” Tobar continued, ignoring him, “we have no proof that Hockey is dead. Neither Xan nor Marko saw him die. And if he is still alive, that makes your marriage—”

  “You’re fishing!” Nico yelled, jumping to his feet. Gripping the edge of the table, he leaned forward. “Hockey is dead, and you know it! Be a fucking man, frate, and say the real reason you’re going to grant my wife a divorce!”

  Tobar looked up at him. “You have no right to question my authority. I’m your baró, the leader of this clan, and you—”

  “Fuck you!” Nico yelled. “And your authority! You want her, Tobar! Admit it! You’ve wanted her from the beginning!”

  Tobar shot to his feet with such force, the bench beneath him toppled over. “I should thank you,” he bit out. “For sending Becki straight to me. I hope Magdolna was worth it.” Turning away, Tobar headed for the tent entrance.

  “You will not touch my wife!” Nico yelled.

  Pausing, Tobar glanced over his shoulder and smirked. “I’m your baró,” he said. “I’ll touch whatever the fuck I want. Who’s going to stop me? You?” Tobar laughed coldly.

  Beneath his skin, Nico’s muscles rippled with rage. “You will not touch my wife!” he roared.

  Rolling his eyes, Tobar turned away, dismissing him, and Nico—not thinking, just reacting to rage building inside him—grabbed the end of the picnic table, flipped it up, and sent it flying across the tent. Reaching for the blade on his belt, he went running.

  Tobar never saw it coming. He didn’t even have time to fight Nico with magic. Before he’d turned fully around, Nico was already on top of him, sinking his knife into the side of his neck. The long hunting blade went clean through to the other side.

  Nico grabbed Tobar as his stumbled, his knees giving out.

  Still shaking with anger, seething, fueled by adrenaline, Nico released him to the ground. “You will not touch my wife,” he repeated. “You will not touch my wife.”

  Tobar’s eyes, wide and white, brimming with unspent magic, rolled back in his head.

  Grabbing hold of his blade, Nico forcefully yanked it from Tobar’s neck.

  Now what?

  Jesus, now what?

  He’d just killed his baró.

  His baró.

  Dead. At his hands.

  The punishment for the murder of a fellow clan member was death.

  Death…

  Death…

  Death.

  “No,” he growled. Death was every bit as unacceptable as losing Becki to Tobar. Either way, he still lost her.

  Bursting out of the food tent and into the darkness, Nico made his way quickly through the sleeping camp.

  Due to the camp being in a constant state of high alert, his trailer was still hitched to his truck. Nico gave the trailer a once-over, checking the locks, closing the windows, then he climbed into his truck and, within seconds, was speeding out of camp, through the wards and
into the night.

  He would not lose his wife. He would not lose his family.

  No one would take what he loved from him, not as long as he was able to fight for it.

  And out here, in the eerie darkness of a world gone mad, Nico might very well not have much time left to fight for it, but whatever little time he did have left, he would spend it fighting.

  Chapter Twenty

  Marko walked another few feet before he realized Carrie was no longer beside him. He turned, feeling a sudden panic that instantly evaporated the moment he saw her.

  “You need to use our connection,” she chastised. “You would have known I was fine.”

  “You didn’t give me time,” he muttered.

  He felt her amusement flitter through him, calming him, making him smile.

  Carrie was so different from Nadya, and it wasn’t just because of her youth. She was light, whereas Nadya was dark. She was hopeful, and Nadya was bitter. She was sweet and kind and way too talkative, which was mostly annoying, but sometimes he had to admit he sort of enjoyed it. Then there was the sex. He thought he’d had great sex with Nadya, but he’d been wrong. Very, very wrong.

  Maybe it was the soul they shared, or maybe it was Carrie. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

  Yeah, it was a damn mess, and it was phenomenal. But it was more than that. It was her.

  The soul might have made him love her, but Marko could tell the difference between what the soul felt as opposed to what he, himself, and his own soul felt. And what he felt was…

  He liked her.

  It was an odd thing—loving someone so fiercely he would die to protect her, and at the same time knowing he wasn’t in love yet, but he was on his way there.