by Ann Gimpel
She bit on her lip until she tasted blood. “I have no idea.”
“They can’t say no,” her wolf piped up. “Not if another of us requests aid.”
“Not sure that rule applies to those like us,” she replied.
“It should.” The wolf sounded so fierce and resolute, she could’ve hugged it.
Tairin considered Elliott’s statement about not revealing what she was to Michael. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I’m touched by your offer to guard my secret. But not telling Michael about me violates the Romani creed—and leaves you subject to banishment. I won’t put you in that position.”
Elliott wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. She tucked her head into the hollow between his neck and collarbone, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. He cradled the back of her head in one hand and threaded his fingers beneath her hair.
“I know those things.” His voice rumbled against her ear. “Have you ever revealed yourself to any caravan?”
She shook her head. “No. Not since the one I was born into kicked me out.” She reared back enough to look up at him. “You wanted to know more about me. Now’s as good a time as any. Thirteen was…different two hundred years ago. I was considered an adult—and fair game for any man who wanted to have his way with me. After the Romani banished me for having mixed blood, I went to my father’s people. They shunned me as well. After a couple of near misses where I was almost abducted and raped, I spent the next hundred years as a wolf, traveling with local wolf packs.”
She took a measured breath. “When I finally wanted my human form again, it was nearly impossible to shift back. I got stuck half in one form, half in the other for days. I’d just solidified my hold on my human body when a kind, old Romani fortuneteller came upon me. She nursed me back to health, even helped me learn to talk again. I’d forgotten how.”
“Lucky she found you when she did. If she’d happened on you while you were half wolf, her caravan would have burned you.”
“Yes. I know that.”
“What happened to your parents?” Elliott didn’t loosen his hold on her.
“What do you think?” Bitterness scored her from the inside out. The passage of time hadn’t moved her any closer to accepting her mother’s death or her father’s disappearance. “You know Romani rules. They burned Mother for having had sex with someone they determined was unclean, forbidden. I have no idea what happened to Father.”
“His shifter clan took him back on the condition he never transgressed again and agreed to give up any claim to you—his daughter.” The wolf spoke up.
Shock must have registered on her face because Elliott angled his gaze to capture hers. “What?”
Tairin repeated the wolf’s words, her voice dull with pain and shock, and then added, “My wolf never told me before now.” She smothered the sob that wanted out. “All these years, and my bondmate never told me.”
“Because he loves you and knew the truth would hurt.” Elliott’s voice was soft.
“That’s exactly correct,” the wolf said. “I planned to tell you someday, but the opportunity was never quite right—until now.”
Tairin kicked herself. Her father’s abandonment had hurt—so much she’d never dug through the wolf’s memories for information. What an idiot she was for not having explored her shifter side as thoroughly as she knew her Rom heritage.
“If it’s any comfort,” the wolf went on, “your father suffered for his choice. And he still does. He never took another to wife. You’re his only child.”
“I’m not trying to pry,” Elliott massaged the back of her head, still cradled in his hand, “but I can’t make out what your wolf is saying, and I’d like to be part of the conversation.”
“I can fix that.” Tairin extricated herself from his embrace. “Basically, the wolf said Father never came to terms with his choice, never mated again.”
She moved to a dim corner of the underground room. Light from the new day filtered through the cracked window. “Turn around,” she told Elliott.
“Why?”
“You’ll see.” Tairin could have shielded her nakedness with magic, but this was easier. She waited until he turned away and quickly stripped out of her clothing before opening herself to shifter magic. “Ready?” she asked the wolf.
“Never readier.”
Tairin felt the change take her. Magic prickled from her head to her toes as her torso shortened and fur sprouted. Maybe because of how hard her journey back from a hundred years as a wolf had been, she’d never minded the minor discomforts shifting produced.
“You can turn around now.” She used mind speech because it was the only option available to her.
She watched Elliott’s face as he twisted so he faced her. Expecting horror and revulsion, she readied herself to gather her wolf legs beneath her and bolt down the passageway. She could blend in with the local wolf packs. She’d done it before. Leaving twenty years’ worth of belongings with the caravan would rankle, but it wasn’t the end of the world.
Rather than disgust, Elliott’s features glowed with fascination and wonder. He hunkered into a crouch and held out both hands in clear invitation. She shook off the last of the change magic and padded to him, letting him take her head between his hands and stroke her fur.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Gray with black and tawny markings. And your eyes are the same. A beautiful, deep brown with amber irises.” He ran his hands from her head down her flanks, rubbing gently. “I love how your fur is soft underneath.”
“Thank you.” She aimed her mind voice for him. “Now that we’ve talked this way, you should be able to hear my wolf when I’m in human form.”
“Can we run?” The wolf asked.
Their dual nature didn’t change. Regardless which form she took, the wolf had its own ideas, thoughts, and personality.
“I don’t see why not,” she replied and butted Elliott’s hands with her snout.
“Do you want me to wait here for you?” Elliott asked, which meant he’d heard the wolf’s bid to run and her reply.
“No. Return to the caravan. I’ll be there soon.”
“Can I ask your wolf something?” Elliott gazed at her as if she were one of the world’s seven wonders, and she glowed under his affirmation of her twofold nature.
“Of course,” the wolf spoke up.
“Do you know where Tairin’s father is?” Elliott switched to mind speech.
“Yes.”
Shock roiled through her. “Have you known all along?”
“Yes. You never asked.”
“That might be a good place to begin convincing your shifter kin to help,” Elliott said.
She nuzzled his outstretched hands, licking them and whining softly. So many things had never occurred to her.
Yeah, I was too busy being lost in feeling sorry for myself—if I thought of Father at all, which I tried not to.
“Will you tell us where he is?” Elliott pressed.
Images flashed through Tairin’s mind. It was how the wolf communicated about places. Her previous caravan before Michael’s, and locations it had stopped, formed a collage. She opened her magic so Elliott could see too.
He scrunched his forehead into a thoughtful expression. “Austria. Somewhere in the forests and mountains between Innsbruck and Salzburg. Accessing that region won’t be easy, given the Reich’s reach.”
It certainly wouldn’t. Tairin didn’t have anything to add to his assessment, so she remained silent.
“Let’s run,” the wolf urged.
Tairin shook herself from snout to tail tip. After a final nuzzle, this time to Elliott’s neck, she ceded their shared body to her wolf, and they slithered into the passageway. The disintegrating stairs were easy with her claws extended for purchase. The magic shrouding Flame apparently masked their presence because the stallion didn’t so much as whinny when they flashed past, heading for thick woods above the town.
“If you know
where Father is,” Tairin began, “does that mean you know where other shifters are as well?”
“Yes. Our kind are all around us, but Elliott’s suggestion about tapping into our blood kin first is solid. Your father is less likely to turn his back on you, and he can convince others to come to our aid.”
“I thought you said shifters weren’t supposed to refuse life-and-death requests from other shifters.” Now that she knew what a staunch resource the wolf was, she was determined to mine for information.
“Supposed to and doing are two different things. I want to enjoy my freedom, not worry it to death with talk.”
Tairin would’ve grinned if she’d been human. As it was, she let the wolf’s jaws loll into a lupine version of a smile. Not wanting to dilute her bondmate’s joy in the wind against their fur and the adrenaline rush as their muscles pumped, she cleared her mind. Later, when she was human again, would be time enough to worry and plan.
Chapter 6
Elliott straightened from his crouch. Wonder at Tairin’s transformation from woman to a timber wolf with long, straight legs, lush fur, and a clean, animal scent filled him. The musky, outdoor world odor that clung to her as a woman was mirrored in her wolf, and he inhaled hungrily wanting to fill his lungs before the enticing smell dissipated.
He’d had no idea how seeing her shift would affect him. Hell, he hadn’t known what she was about to do until she asked him to turn aside. After the rustle of her clothing hitting the floor, he’d felt unfamiliar magic pour from her, knowing it had to be from her shifter heritage. Longing filled him. He wanted Tairin by his side forever. Romani and their rules be damned. Tairin’s mother and father had fallen in love and produced a child. Apparently, the father was very much alive, and her mother might well have lived out a normal lifespan—if her own people hadn’t murdered her.
He’d spend the time Tairin and her wolf were running free to find out what he could from the lore books. Dusty tomes, they were stacked in boxes in the back of Michael’s wagon. Elliott hadn’t looked at them in a long while and hoped his mastery of Coptic wasn’t as rusty as he feared. The Romani had originated in India long ago, but it wasn’t until they’d migrated to Egypt that they’d exchanged oral tradition for memorializing their rules, customs, and information in written form.
Elliott rolled his eyes. Everything came full circle, and Rom magic had reverted to oral tradition rather than an organized course of study with the dawn of the twentieth century. Except it wasn’t working very well since their native abilities were fading with each passing decade.
If the Rom ever saw the far side of the current mess with Germany, they’d need to address that problem. If not, nothing would matter because they’d fade into nothing beyond memories.
After a last look around the cozy underground room, Elliott ducked through the doorway and chugged down the passageway toward where he’d secured his horse with magic. Daylight meant he couldn’t sneak into the caravan unnoticed. Michael would want to know where he’d been—and if the demon had been contained.
Elliott choked back a snort. Chances of the demon even responding to one of his spells were less than zero, but maybe there might be a way to mute its power and lessen the odds of it stumbling across the vampire nest. He released the warding around Flame, and the stallion nickered a greeting as Elliott vaulted atop his back and started for the caravan.
There was no love lost between horses and wolves. Could Flame sense Tairin’s bondmate? If he could, why didn’t it bother him? Some Rom had an affinity for communicating with animals, but Elliott had never been one of them. As he rode, he thought about the varying manifestations of power among his people. Their magic had definitely dwindled since they’d dispersed from their Middle Eastern origins. Hell, it had faded during his lifetime by dint of underuse. How could it be otherwise? It was difficult to immerse themselves in magic in a world that no longer believed in supernatural beings or events.
As he understood things, the Rom had once been a deeply magical people, fascinated by their power, which they saw as a gift from Isis, mother goddess of the Earth. But magic and modern religions didn’t coexist well. Many Romani had been persecuted for practicing their craft, and it had been enough of a wakeup call to warn the rest of them to keep their magical rituals well hidden.
He ground his teeth together. Whenever something couldn’t be practiced in the light of day, it was bound to weaken—and eventually fail. Sorrow for his people filled him. Had they come this far to end up nothing more than penny-ante, marginalized performers, telling fortunes and sharpening knives for a pittance while the mainstream passed them by?
He rode Flame to the area behind the wagons where the other horses were hobbled and got him a bucket of feed and another of water. The horse whinnied his gratitude and set about chomping hay mixed with dried grass the women had cut with scythes.
Many of the horses were missing. Had the elders come to a decision and returned to their home caravans?
The boy assigned to caring for the horses waved cheerily and went back to cleaning hooves and mucking horseshit. Elliott waved back and said, “If Flame finishes his feed, you can give him a little more.”
“Got it.”
“Did the elder council complete their business?”
The boy, who wasn’t much past ten, shoved greasy strands of long red hair out of his eyes as he straightened to glance at Elliott. “Who knows? They left, right enough, but were close-mouthed about where they were headed or what they were doing.”
“Thanks.” Elliott clapped the boy on his shoulder and walked toward Michael’s wagon.
The caravan was long past awake, and men and women traded greetings with him as he threaded his way through the circle of wagons. They’d have to relocate soon—before local authorities showed up again. He mounted the steps to Michael’s brightly painted wooden door and knocked, waiting for the man’s rough voice to invite him inside. When it didn’t come, he pushed the door open relieved he could root through Michael’s boxes of books without the older man looking over his shoulder.
Elliott thought back to the group of horses. The set of bay geldings Michael used to both ride and pull his wagon had both been there. Did that mean Michael had doubled up with another elder, or that he was still somewhere in camp? Something was afoot. Elliott felt leftover energy hovering in the familiar wagon and considered getting back on Flame and using magic to track the men who’d left—assuming they’d all gone the same place, which was far from certain.
No reason I can’t do that if no one is back before I finish with the books.
Decided on a path, he invoked the spell to unlock the chest where Michael stored the caravan’s supply of lore books and settled on the dusty floor next to it. The books weren’t indexed, and his Coptic was worse than rusty from disuse. By the time he located which volume held information about shifters, an hour had slid by.
Elliott sifted through two sections that looked promising. It was slow going, and he ended up skipping over words he couldn’t puzzle out from context. The missing words didn’t matter, though. As the meaning from the passages scribed on stained parchment sank in, his chest tightened in amazement. Mixing magical lines produced stronger magic than either strain possessed. Long ago, a half-breed created from Romani and witch blood had joined with another half-breed, who had shifter abilities. The result had been a child so powerful—and so inherently wicked—he’d wiped out hundreds of Romani before they’d set a successful trap and killed him, taking care to burn his remains so nothing could resurrect itself to haunt them.
Rocking back on his buttocks, Elliott reached for a wineskin hanging from a nearby hook and drank deeply. At least that explained why Tairin was so powerful. Maybe it took the addition of witchy genes to create evil progeny, but more likely the child described in the lore had been overcome by the mix of magics in his blood. With no mentors to train him, perhaps he’d gone mad.
Elliott set the book aside, and rooted through the others, searching f
or the one addressing vampires. He’d skimmed that section years ago and had surely missed critical information because he’d lacked application for the knowledge. This time, the volume he sought revealed itself quickly. Magical tomes were sometimes cooperative like that, particularly when they were concerned about their own survival.
His grasp of Coptic gradually returning, he read carefully. There were still words he didn’t recognize, but fewer than there’d been in the previous volume. Where the information about Tairin had been heartening, the section addressing vampires made him feel worse, the more he read.
Creatures born of night, they resulted from a blood pact between the devil and Sekhmet, Egyptian goddess of death and slaughter. Though they could have sex—and did with great frequency—new vampires were created by draining humans to the point of death, then letting them feed from the vampire who’d taken their blood. That vampire became their sire, and they owed allegiance to him forever. It was how master vampires formed nests that sometimes numbered in the hundreds.
Lesser variants of the draining-feeding continuum produced humans with unnatural, dark power who weren’t exactly vampires in that they didn’t feed on blood, but nor were they human anymore, either. This was likely what he and Tairin had witnessed. While vampire power was enhanced by darkness, they were perfectly capable of functioning in broad daylight too, a fact that surprised him. He flipped pages, skimming for more valuable tidbits.
Vampire perversions and societal structure didn’t interest him, so he paged forward, crinkling the parchment is his haste to discover how to kill them. The answer he sought was simple enough. Beheading would do it. So would a silver stake through their hearts. Whoever had penned this segment cautioned that vampires held supernatural strength and speed, so getting close enough to employ either method required stealth. According to him, the creatures were wily, but vain, and flattery could sometimes get a person within range. Of course, it also put you within striking distance of their deadly fangs.
