Gypsy Blood: Love bloody hurts (The Gypsy Blood Series Book 1)

by Helen Allan

  “Henri,” he spits out the word, “you promised me his blood, you promised me his head.”

  Her voice is like ice as she responds.

  “Do not use that tone with me Vahid; I tire of it. I have told you this. Now come away from the bait.”

  She has stepped into the room slightly, and I see her profile. She looks like Tanya would look if she had another ten years on her; blonde, pouty, hard. Henri fucked this for two centuries? I guess there’s no accounting for taste.

  I snigger as he kowtows and turns to leave. But I’m a tad too quick, and he turns and backhands me across the face. My lip splits instantly, and I cry out as my nose runs blood.

  “I will have you gypsy; you will scream and beg me, beg me to kill you, this I promise.”

  I turn my head away from him and face the wall and the queen laughs.

  I’m definitely starting to realise why Zan hates vampires. I’m going to kill this cunt the first chance I get, no doubt about it.

  I raise my hand to wipe the blood onto my sleeve as he leaves and I begin to sniffle. It occurs to me that I may die down here, along with the prince next door, and I start to feel very, very sorry that I won’t see Zan again, and very, very shocked by what just happened.

  I hear the key turn in my door again, and I freeze ‘oh fuck’ but it is just a woman in a waitress outfit, black and white, pretty standard, who runs in and unlocks my chains.

  Dragging me next door, she unlocks the prince’s cell and wordlessly hands me a knife. I know what I have to do, and I don’t hesitate to cut my wrist, I’m not sure how deep is too deep, but I only want to do it once, I’m not big on pain and I know I won’t be brave enough to cut myself twice. I slash quickly and blood immediately begins to shoot out. ‘Did I cut an artery? Shit!’ I turn to the prince, to ensure my blood runs into the bowl they have beneath his own wrist, and I see him for the first time and gasp.

  “Richard?”

  Chapter 11

  I hear a commotion, screams and then trumpets and I hope, I fucking hope, that the plan worked and my blood has killed the queen.

  After what seems like an eternity my cell door is unlocked, and the little waitress comes in smiling.

  “You are free,” she says, helping me up from the cold floor, “the king will see you now.”

  “Great,” I croak. I know I’m suffering from blood loss, I bandaged my arm as tightly as I could, and I’ve kept the limb raised, but I’m pretty sure I’m at death’s door. I also know this past few days in the cell has clearly given me a cold, just as I thought it might. My chest, in particular, was difficult to keep warm in the chill night air of the past six or so hours since my gown had been cut and ripped. I’m estimating the time of course, but it was night when the torturer came to me, and it is still not yet dawn. I lean down and lift up Richard.

  I had dragged him, chained, into my cell after I recognised him, and I had spent the time since with him laying across my lap, telling him to hang on. I’d only ever seen him in a photograph briefly at Zan’s family home in New Zealand. But he has the same wavy, thick hair as Zan, the same eyes, and despite the fact he looks like a skeleton, I would have recognised him anywhere. There was a moment, a few hours back, when I thought he might give up on me, his breathing became very shallow and irregular, he seemed to be falling in and out of consciousness. I knew I had no choice but to be firm. I told him to man up, I told him his wife had given birth to twin boys, and she needed him, and they needed him, and I told him all about them, how they were gorgeous little chubby kids, with the family eyes; round and blue and sincere, and that if I ever had kids, I’d want them to be exactly that. And somehow, it worked. He had opened his eyes and squeezed my hand, ‘thank you,’ he whispered, and although he closed his eyes again, his breathing evened out, and I held on to hope that he would make it.

  Now, pulling him up, I tell the little waitress to take his other arm, and we begin the long walk up the stairs, to the light.

  When we reach the top, I collapse, letting Richard slide to the floor also, and tell the waitress to fetch Henri; I can’t walk another step.

  We don’t have long to wait. He descends upon me like a mother hen, raising me from the ground and kissing both my cheeks and my forehead, before holding me close to his chest.

  “Ah my little gypsy, I am so sorry,” he croons, “things went badly, but in the end, it all worked out for the best.” He holds me slightly away from him and suddenly takes in my battered and bleeding appearance. “Mon Dieu! Guards,” he turns from me and signals to some of his goons, “get the limousine, take my friend to the hospital at once.”

  I totter, and he brings me back into his arms, holding me upright. I look over his shoulder and see several well-dressed vampires sporting suitcases being shepherded by guards out of the palace. Henri is already cleaning out the rat’s nest. My eye catches that of the sadistic Vahid, and I stiffen and gasp. Following my glance, Henri raises his eyebrow in surprise.

  “This?” he asks, putting his hand on my sternum and covering the small cut marks on my chest.

  “And more,” I say, tears springing to my eyes.

  “Guards,” Henri shouts, pointing to Vahid.

  Before he can get further orders out, Vahid shoots up to the ceiling in a frightening show of power and strength and uses a huge rock column as leverage to push his legs against and propel himself out the door and into the night. Clearly, they can’t fly, but they can jump like frogs on steroids. He must be old, I think, to be able to do that. I know Tanya can’t even run that fast, let along spring around like a turbocharged evil jack-in-the-box. Seeing his power, his speed, makes me shiver even harder.

  “I will find him,” Henri says, rubbing my back and looking down with curiosity at Richard. “He will pay for what he did. He has Buckley’s chance of living another 24 hours,” he smiles slightly at his joke and nods towards Richard.

  “But what do we have here?”

  “I want the prince,” I sigh, pulling a monogrammed handkerchief from Henri’s top pocket and wiping my eyes. My hands are shaking so hard I look like I have Parkinson’s.

  “But Ma Cherie, we agreed, I would offer clemency to your little Danish prince. I did not agree to save every prince blood on the planet.”

  “I don’t want them all,” I say quietly, “I want Zan given the clemency, and I want to take this one out of here. You can hunt him down the moment he leaves the palace, but I want to take him with me now.”

  Henri clenches his jaw and looks to the ceiling; I can see he is going to refuse.

  “Zan? That bastard who gave you up? The prince,” he snarls the word, “who didn’t even want you as his gypsy? This is the prince you want clemency for?”

  “Yes.”

  “I never agreed to this, Freely.”

  “We never discussed which prince I wanted clemency for, you assumed.”

  “Yes, I assumed the Dane you were assigned to.”

  “He’s a little cunt; you can drain him anytime you want.”

  He smiles despite himself, and I know I am close to winning.

  “But Zan? You know how much I despise that family.”

  “You owe me this,” I snap, hitting him in the chest with the palm of my hand and swaying. Things go blurry for a second, but I keep talking, “I was raped, I was cut, I was kept down there for days and days.”

  “Raped?” his eyes blaze.

  “Digitally,” I amend, and blush. I don’t know why I add this, perhaps to my own mind I’m trying to convince myself it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I know I’m supressing thinking about it, I don’t want to fall apart yet, can’t afford to.

  “Who did this thing to you?”

  “Vahid,” I spit out the name. “And I want him dead. But you let him escape. So the least you can do is let me go Henri, and let me take this prince with me.”

  I see I have shocked him. I guess technically finger rape does fall into the rape category, in his mind too.

  “You
may go,” he nods, signalling to his guards to lift Richard. “Forget the limousine. Take them in the chopper,” he says, seeing the guards hesitate, “the hospital – now!”

  “Thank you, Henri,” I say. Turning and limping towards the guards. I see their bracelets blazing at the proximity of the prince, even though he is half dead and I cast a worried glance back at Henri.

  “My guards are loyal,” he says quietly, “you are both safe.”

  I step back and kiss him quickly on the lips, “good luck as the king, watch your back.”

  He says nothing, but I feel his eyes on me as I leave.

  When I wake, I have the strangest feeling I can hear Zan’s voice.

  I turn my head painfully to the side and, through the small glass window in my hospital room, I can just see the profile of his face, he is standing in the corridor talking to a nurse. My heart constricts painfully, and I sigh. ‘How long has it been? Six months? Seven? And still your voice is like liquid honey, like a soothing drug, a drug I would kill for, have killed for.’ Part of me wants to cry out, “here, I’m here, please love me, or at least hold me, let me pretend you love me.” But, of course, I have too much pride, too much self-respect and I know I could never be happy pretending when he has made it clear he doesn’t want me. I feel a lump rising in my throat, tears to my eyes, and it is only then I realise someone else is in my room.

  “Do you wish him to know you are here?” Henri asks quietly.

  He is sitting in a chair close to the bed, as per usual impeccably dressed in a dark suit, his long legs crossed.

  I shake my head. “So he’s here for Richard?”

  “Yes, your text to his scary gypsy, when you arrived at the hospital, sent them scurrying. They flew by private jet and were by his side in a matter of hours. But I do wonder why you didn’t let them know you were the one who rescued him.”

  I sigh.

  “No point. He’s alive, that’s all that matters. And speaking of alive.”

  He interrupts before I can go on.

  “Yes, yes, my emissaries sent your prince a new bracelet, it’s stone glows green at the proximity of vampires, all vampires worldwide now know that he is not to be touched – ever. It galls me though. I should very much have liked to have drained him.”

  “Where did you get something like that?

  “It was once given by a king to his lover,” he says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

  I tuck this away into the corner of my mind; I’ll ask him about it another time.

  “You didn’t let him know …”

  “No, he does not know to whom he owes this monumental favour.”

  I relax, relieved Henri has kept his word, although, I knew he would, and relieved that Zan doesn’t know I am responsible. I don’t want him thinking he owes me anything. I guess really I’ve saved him for purely selfish reasons. I want to know he is alive and safe in the world, just as he is in my heart, tucked in tight, hidden and safe. I’m a romantic fool.

  “So how come you are here? Don’t you have kingly things you need to do?” I mutter.

  “Freely you have been in an induced coma for a week. Your blood loss was almost fatal. I have had plenty of time, both before, and after the coup, to shore up my right to the throne. I am,” he spreads out his arms, “all-powerful.”

  “And modest,” I mutter.

  “You really are going to have to learn how to cut yourself without hitting anything vital,” he frowns, nodding to the bandage on my wrist.

  “Really?” I drawl, “I wasn’t planning on making a habit of it. I’m not the ‘cope with heartache by cutting yourself’ type of girl. More the drink till I can’t feel anything and then vomit and cry hysterically.”

  “I can’t imagine you hysterical,” he smirks, “but that could be interesting to see.”

  I smile back. “You worry me sometimes.”

  He laughs and rises to leave.

  “I have moved all your possessions into my palace.”

  “What? Uh, Henri, I can’t stay with you,” I frown, “I have to go home to my Danish little arsehole prince.”

  “In time,” he says enigmatically, leaving so fast I actually wonder if I imagined him being there at all, but of course, I didn’t, he has left a tub of cherry chip ice cream on his chair.

  I lean over carefully and pick it up, but I can’t eat, the tears have started, and I can’t see them stopping anytime soon.

  I am released the next day, Henri sends a limousine to pick me up. His guards insist I be pushed to it in a wheelchair, which is embarrassing, I can walk fine, although I am still a bit weak and I’m on a shit-load of antibiotics for a chest infection, and the cut on my wrist.

  The apartments I am taken to, by his human goons, are like something out of a gaudy wing of Versailles, all gilt, over the top paintings of cherubs on every wall. ‘The queen obviously had fuck-all taste’ I muse as I walk towards the bed where my suitcase sits waiting for me.

  I perch on the bed and look around, and I don’t know what to do with myself. The vamps won’t be awake and roaming around for hours, and I don’t see a TV. My eye catches a desk by the window, and I shake my head in wonder. Henri has my laptop. He has obviously collected all my gear from the Danish hotel. I have no idea how he managed this.

  I walk over to the computer and flick it on, and I know who I am going to call before I even dial. I need Tanya.

  She answers after only a few seconds and smiles widely at the screen.

  “Hey bestie,” she says, flicking her hair back over her shoulders.

  I look at her, I mean really look at her, and burst into tears. You’d think I would have pulled myself together by now. But for some reason, seeing her allows the dam walls to explode and burst, and I let it all out, everything, I tell her everything that I’ve been doing since we parted company 18 months ago, where I’ve been, my heartbreak, my confusion, and lastly, what happened in the dungeons. And she is the best friend she always was; she is there for me.

  “Come on home to Texas,” she says, finally, “Freely, just come back.”

  “Aren’t you upset about me protecting the prince?” I sniffle, blowing my nose on the inside of my shirt, a disgusting habit I know, but one I still do occasionally.

  “Nope,” she says chirpily, her Texas twang over the top, “I’ve solved that little problem all on my onesome, I’m off the hook. Come back.”

  “Tanya,” I say, slowly and firmly, “what have you done?”

  “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about,” she says, laughing. “Are you coming home or not?”

  “Not,” I sigh. “I’ve made a commitment to a little prince, I’ve got to see it through, at least until I finish my degree. I’m thinking of cutting this gypsy crap and coming back to work on a paper in Texas, pick up my life again, but I may as well study while all my expenses are being paid. And, I’m not exactly slumming it,” I lean back and show her the room behind me.

  “Holy fuck,” she breathes, “where do I sign?”

  I laugh. “You stay put, keep my plants alive, wash my bloody onesie, I’ll be back inside of six months.”

  She signs off, and I sit for a moment, staring at the blank screen, before switching it off and going to lay down. I’m happy, really happy for the first time in ages, I have a plan, and I can work to that. I close my eyes and try to get some sleep, but dark images flash up before my eyes, of the dungeon, the drip, drip, drip of the musty water sliding down the walls, Vahid’s painful degradation, and his promise.

  I lay like that for a long time, and I don’t know what has happened, I don’t know why it has taken this long to hit me, but I’m paralysed with fear.

  As night falls, Henri comes.

  He is wearing a white wool jumper and dark grey pants. It is the first time I have seen him without a suit. Walking over to the bed, he looks down at me, and I don’t know what he sees, but pain crosses his face.

  Without asking, he lays down on the bed beside me and rol
ls me over so that my back is to him, stretching his body the length of mine, he spoons me, wrapping his arms protectively around me, he holds me tight.

  “Am I safe?” I whisper, my body trembling.

  “I will not leave you, Ma Cherie,” he murmurs.

  I shiver and close my eyes, and finally sleep.

  Chapter 12

  My Danish prince is definitely on drugs.

  I have watched his urbane veneer slip over the past month. He has turned from someone I would like to smack, to someone I would very much like to push in front of a train.

  I suspected as much before I was kidnapped by Henri, but now I know if for sure. I’ve been back a month now; I left the morning after I spent the night next to the king. He was gone when I woke, and I used that time to scarper. No one tried to stop me. I asked the guards to ensure my belongings were sent to Denmark and I boarded the first plane I could.

  Normally I would catch a train for this kind of journey, I liked trains, and I liked seeing Europe. But I was still scared, Vahid was out there somewhere. And anyway, trains make me horny. I’ve always wanted to have sex on one. I imagine the steady thumpa thumpa thum of the undercarriage going over the line would be quite interesting in terms of sensation if you were joined at the time with someone you loved. Of course, the likelihood of that ever happening is, I am quite sure, slim to zilch. My heart was firmly under control, Zan had buggered it for good, and I mostly don’t even bother looking at men now. Tanya would say I need a fucking good smack upside of the head, or to get laid quick-smart and move on, and she’s probably right.

  I’d spoken to her a few times since I’d come back to the little prince. Our friendship had picked up where we left off, and I’d resumed my studies. But, the fly in the ointment was the cocaine habit the little fucker I’m supposed to be teamed with has decided to develop.

  I’d called Gypsy Headquarters and reported it; they were their usual helpful bunch of sluts. I was eventually put through to Asumpta, the head of the gypsy training camp.

  “He is your responsibility; you are his gypsy, you must protect him from all danger.”