by Ann Gimpel
“Ha!” Elliott rolled his eyes. “Hitler only thinks he has the upper hand. Those vampires will do whatever the hell they please.”
“I’ll keep to my bird form for a while,” Meara announced. “If anything happens that you need to know about, I’ll find you. While I’m about it, I’ll warn our kin to be vigilant.”
Elliott turned to Tairin. “Where do you want to go?”
Tairin glanced at Jamal. “Will you be with us?”
“I’d like that.”
The noise of distant wagon wheels announced caravans drawing near. At least it eradicated the problem of his personal belongings. They’d be in the wagon he’d shared with two other unattached men. He could catch up with it once they stopped somewhere. Elliott thought about Michael and Stewart and the other Romani who’d fought the vampires. Presumably, traces of all their scents remained on the battlefield.
Traces that could be tracked.
Yesterday proved shifters and Romani working together were a match for vampires. Maybe shifters alone could take down a vampire, but Elliott doubted an entire caravan of Romani would be a match for one. Concern for his people cut deep.
“If it’s all right with you—” he looked from Tairin to Jamal “—I’d like to be close to wherever Michael’s and Stewart’s caravans settle. That way, we could help if one of the vampires tracks them.”
Tairin nodded slowly. “We can do that.”
“I’m certain there will be shifter dwellings, like the one where Tairin found me, somewhere near the caravans,” Jamal said. “We can hunt for them once we know exactly where they’ll hole up.”
“Shifter dwellings?” Elliott asked.
“Hidden grottos, not unlike yours here,” Meara replied. “Shielded by magic, they’ve existed since close to the beginning of time.”
Michael and Stewart rode into the courtyard, their faces set in grim lines. Lines of colorful wagons pulled into view behind them. Michael brought his horse to a stop next to Elliott and Tairin. “Not staying long,” he said. “If we’re able to make it a few miles out of Munich where we might have a shot at disappearing, I’ll be amazed. The roads are crawling with SS vehicles. They stopped us twice driving our wagons across town.”
“Och aye,” Stewart put in. “Sodding bastards. They were torn. Happy to be rid of Romani scum on the one hand and itching to arrest us on the other.”
“What’d they do?” Elliott asked, alarmed.
“Wrote us warnings. Told us we had to register as undesirables in Dachau,” Michael replied, making a sour face.
“You told them that was your destination?” Meara asked.
Stewart made a grunting noise. “Aye. Should’ve picked a place much farther away, but I wasna thinking.”
“If you had picked a more distant location,” Jamal said, “it might have tipped the balance in favor of arresting both caravans on the spot. What you did worked because they waved you through.”
“Eh. Maybe so,” Stewart replied, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“Look here.” Meara squatted in the dirt and drew a diagram. “Take the overgrown track around the castle. Tairin will need to move her wagon. Right now, it’s blocking things. The trail meanders a bit, but after a few miles, it will bring you to a heavily wooded glen. Three deserted shepherd’s cottages butt up against a steep hillside. There’s water and decent hunting. I found it last night, and no one’s been there for at least the last fifty years.”
Flickers of optimism replaced the despair brimming from Michael’s dark eyes. “Even if we don’t remain there long, it will at least offer a bit of breathing room.”
Meara pushed to her feet and squared her shoulders. “A spot of advice, Romani?”
“What might that be?” Michael met her direct gaze.
“Your wagons are impossible to hide. If you decide to leave the wooded glen, you’ll need to find cars to move your people. It’s the only way you can possibly blend in enough you might escape notice, but even that’s far from certain.”
“I understand,” Michael said. “Our old ways have to die for my people to survive.”
“No space or time for sorrow,” Stewart muttered, following it with, “Tairin, if ye could move your wagon.”
“I’ll take care of it right now.” She sprinted toward the back of the castle’s ruins.
“We’ll be behind you,” Elliott told Michael. “And we’ll settle nearby, at least for now. Apart from the caravan, but close enough to help if the vampires track you.”
“Ye needn’t do that—” Stewart began.
“We want to,” Jamal cut in, breaking his silence.
“Thank you. We’ll talk more, craft our strategy, once the wagons are out of sight and our caravans safer than they are right now,” Michael replied.
Elliott followed Tairin to her wagon to help her move it. She released the brake, and he grabbed the lead horse’s halter and led it in a broad circle off the track. After setting the brake again, Tairin walked to his side with tears glistening in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked once the wagons had rolled past them.
She squared her shoulders. “All my life, I was certain I was damaged goods from a tarnished legacy. In the past few days, I’ve discovered a father who never stopped loving me…” She hesitated and brushed tears that had overflowed off her cheeks. “And you. I found a man I care about and respect and love. One who loves me back, who was able to look past my shifter blood.”
She turned to face him and grasped his hands in hers. “I’m not angry anymore. Not at the Rom for Mother, and not at Father for what he did. The future is precarious, and it doesn’t take your seer ability to see more battles ahead, but I’m grateful for so many things.”
“Both of us are,” her wolf said.
Elliott gathered her against him, holding her. “I have the best woman in the world. One who risked her life to save mine.” He stroked her hair. “Whatever tomorrow brings, we'll be stronger facing it because we’re together.”
“Don’t forget about me,” Elliott’s wolf spoke up.
Elliott laughed, and Tairin joined in. “I don’t think forgetting about you is possible,” Elliott said.
“Shift,” his wolf suggested. “Get to know me when death isn’t sitting on our shoulders like a gargoyle.”
Jamal joined them. “We must be better hidden than we are,” he told Elliott’s wolf. “Once it’s safe, all three of us will shift and run as a pack.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Elliott’s wolf said, adding a whuffly growl after its words.
Elliott didn’t doubt it for a moment. He let go of Tairin. “So long as we have the wagon, I’m going to collect the few things I have in the grotto and take them with us.”
“I’ll magic it up to obliterate your scent,” Jamal said.
“While you two are about that, I’ll get Flame,” Tairin offered. “Do you want to ride him or hitch him to the wagon?”
“Hitch him,” Elliott said. “That way, I’ll get to sit next to you on the box.”
Tairin flashed him a smile that was full of promise and ran lightly toward where Flame was tethered.
“Are you bringing your Mercedes?” Elliott asked Jamal as they made their way down the tunnel to the grotto.
“Of course. I can’t leave it here. Besides, we may need it.”
On that sober note, Elliott piled his meager belongings into the carved chest and dragged it into the tunnel and toward the opening. It would probably take two of them to heft it up the steps.
Behind him, magic flashed blue-white.
Endings.
He hadn’t expected to remain in the grottos forever, but it had been his magical home for long enough, he’d grown fond of it, returning there each time the caravan went through Munich.
Tairin joined him. “Beginnings too,” she observed and helped him hoist the chest up the stairs.
“You were in my head.” He joined her in the courtyard and dragged the chest toward her wagon.
<
br /> “Of course. We’re one now.”
Despite everything, happiness speared him. He set the chest down and hugged her tight. “Yes,” he agreed. “One. Now and forever.”
Jamal joined them. “Need help with that chest? We should be gone from here before the feel of my magic draws anyone. The neutralizing spell I cast will take time to eradicate all our scents.”
“Nope. No help needed.” Tairin wriggled free from Elliott’s embrace. “We’ve got it.” She picked up one side of the chest.
Elliott grabbed the other. Together they covered the few feet to the team and wagon and hoisted the trunk through the open side door, latching it securely.
The roar of Jamal’s engine filled Elliott’s ears, and the car rolled past them. Jamal leaned out the window. “Figured I needed to go first in case I break an axle. Meara said this track was rough.”
“Get a wagon,” Tairin yelled after him and dissolved into laughter as she clambered onto the wagon’s seat.
Elliott joined her. Snapping up the reins, he guided the horses into unknown territory with the woman who meant more than life itself leaning into him. “It feels wrong with everything that’s facing us, but I’m happy.”
“Me too. Don’t begrudge us moments of joy.” Her expression turned serious. “One thing I learned after first the Rom, and then the shifters, made it clear I wasn’t wanted was that you have to latch onto pockets of happiness where you find them.”
He transferred the reins to one hand and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Remind me of that from time to time, please.”
“I will. Promise.”
Drawing the team to a halt, he gathered Tairin into his arms and kissed her.
This is the end of Tarnished Legacy. The next book in the Soul Dance, series, Tarnished Prophecy, will pick up where this one ended. It’s Jamal and Ilona’s tale. Read on for a sample.
About the Author
Ann Gimpel is a USA Today bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines, magazines, and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance to science fiction. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients. Now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality. When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s published more than 45 books to date, with several more planned for 2017 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren, and wolf hybrids round out her family.
Keep up with her at www.anngimpel.com or http://anngimpel.blogspot.com
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Tarnished Prophecy: Book Description
Germany 1940
Magic runs strong in Ilona, a gypsy seer. Powerful ability isn’t valued in Romani women, so she focuses her fortunetelling on inconsequential details. Nothing that could come back to haunt her caravan if a prediction went bad. Rounded up and dumped in Dachau prison camp, she has plenty of time to rue her decision to downplay her ability. If she’d taken the time to scry her own future, she’d still be free.
A wolf shifter, Jamal made the mistake of falling for a Romani woman centuries ago. His arrogance caused both death and heartache, and he’s been alone ever since. Meanwhile, the recent threat of vampires joining the Third Reich provided ample reason for shifters and Rom to lay ancient enmity aside and work together, but their détente is fragile.
Jamal and a group of shifters come across Ilona after her escape from Dachau. Vulnerable, terrified, she’s fully prepared to fight. Her courage and mettle touch places in him that he’d thought were dead, but she’s Romani. His last relationship ended so badly, the last thing he needs is to fall for another gypsy woman. He wrestles his tumbling emotions into submission, but when she trains her enigmatic, gray gaze on him, his resolve fritters away like so much fairy dust.
Tarnished Prophecy, Chapter 1
Ilona Lovas pressed into the shadowed place her bunk attached to the wall, wishing night would last forever. At least at night, she could lie down and no one bothered her. Stacked in three layers on both sides of a drafty barrack building, the beds consisted of wooden slats. Nothing to cushion them and no blankets unless you were one of the lucky ones who hadn’t been stripped of every single possession on your way into Dachau. She’d been told she was on her way to a work camp, but it was really a prison.
The fine, old medieval village of Dachau sprawled around the camp. There had to be gypsies left who hadn’t been imprisoned, but efforts at telepathic communication failed to raise anyone at all. Ilona thinned her lips into a harsh line. Everyone was running scared. If any Romani remained, they were keeping a very low profile. Help wouldn’t come from any but her own efforts. Tears threatened—hot and bitter—but she blinked them back. No energy to do anything that wasn’t essential, and crying was an indulgence.
Barely three weeks had passed since she’d been plucked from the streets of Augsburg for the high crime of being a gypsy. All she’d been doing was shopping in the open-air market. For once, she hadn’t even stolen so much as a sweetmeat. Three weeks, but it may as well have been three years. Life in Valentin’s caravan had been difficult, but it was paradise compared with where she was now. At first, she’d nurtured the hope Valentin would show up to claim her. It would be easy enough to figure out where she was, but for all his bluff and bravado, he was a coward underneath. Besides, even if he’d risked himself, like as not he’d have ended up an inmate.
No one who wasn’t Aryan had any rights in Hitler’s Germany. Maybe someday the war would be over and…
Who am I kidding? At this rate, I’ll be dead before three months are out. Waiting out a multi-year war isn’t even a remote possibility.
Her stomach cramped from hunger and she wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to think about something other than food. She’d attempted to wrangle an assignment in the kitchen where she could steal more to eat, but so far the Nazi officers marched her—and every other woman in this building—through the streets of Dachau each morning to a garment factory where they sewed Nazi uniforms twelve to fourteen hours a day.
No food. No water. Not even a bathroom break. Some of the women soiled themselves and were forced to sit in their own filth as tears of humiliation mingled with the thread and fabric.
Fury washed through her, and she curled her hands into fists. No one should be treated this way. None of them were guilty of anything—except being gypsies or Jews or immigrants or malformed or mentally deficient.
Her little brother, Aron, had been with her the day she’d been taken prisoner. They’d been separated at Dachau’s gates where she’d been forced to stand with other women, and he’d been prodded into a group of teenaged boys. He’d slipped away from them, though, and made a run for it with three guards hot on his heels. Heedless of punishment, she’d sent magic zinging after him to add speed to his feet, but something dark and malevolent stepped between them, halting the flow of her power.
A strikingly beautiful man robed in scarlet with waist-length dark hair and eyes the shade of a turbulent ocean stared at her as he probed her mind. A predatory smile revealed elongated fangs.
Breath whooshed from her, and her throat thickened in horror.
A vampire. It had to be a vampire. Nothing else could feel so profane.
Who would’ve thought they even still existed? She’d read about them, but from all accounts, they’d never moved out of Egypt where they’d been a true scourge in ancient times.
The vampire was still focused intently on her. Waves of sexual heat poured from him, snaring her in their net. The lust felt perverse, wrong, but she was rooted in place. She didn’t have enough magic at her disposal to both keep him out of her mind and move away from his leering gaze. Even placing herself behind the other women wasn’t possible. She tugged at a foot, but it refused to bu
dge.
Damn but he was strong. Far stronger than any Romani. Stronger than the occasional shifter she’d run across as well.
The Nazis who’d taken off after Aron trotted to the vampire, pointing in the direction they’d just come from. Her brother—always a fast runner—had clearly given them the slip, but his chances against a vampire wouldn’t be good. At least the SS officers had refocused the creature’s attention away from her. She felt dirty, like she’d taken a bath in smut, but her body was hers to command again.
She had to warn Aron, so she risked telepathy, doing her damnedest to shield it from the vampire still deep in conversation with the Nazis.
“Aron! They just sicced a vampire on you. Go to ground. Wind power around you. Remain there until tonight.”
Her brother didn’t answer, which probably meant his full magical ability was focused on flight. The vampire didn’t even look up. Ilona inhaled raggedly. Good. Maybe the fell creature hadn’t noticed.
A club landed on the backs of her legs, and she yelped.
“Gypsy bitch!” a guard snarled. “Get moving. Next time, the club lands on your head.”
She’d staggered into the camp, her calves on fire, and her stint in Hell had officially begun. At least so far she hadn’t been forced to entertain the German officers, but it was only a matter of time. They grabbed women at random each night. When the women returned at dawn, their faces held a resigned, drawn look and they shook their heads sadly, refusing to talk about how they’d been used.
Soon, her half-starved state would erode her magic. When that happened, her ability to make herself invisible to the Nazis trolling through the women’s barracks each night wouldn’t be there anymore. It was probably the only reason she’d escaped their net so far.
Yeah. When that happens, I’ll be fair game for any ass with a hard on.
