Madeline Sheehan - The Soul Mate

I took a long pull of the sweet liquor and savored the slow burn down my throat and the warming sensation in my belly. “Mmmmm. My daddy would have loved this.”

“Your father liked his spirits?” Stefan asked.

“He was a big fan of Absinthe and Ouzo.” I grinned remembering when my daddy gave me my first shot at 16 and I coughed myself into a ball on the floor.

“Man after my own heart.” Xan chimed in.

“I’m assuming Trinity, we have you to thank for three fresh batches of jerky?” Jericho smiled broadly at me, the lines around his eyes crinkling up. I nodded, grimacing. “Thanks to Becki I’ll probably never get the stink out of me.”

Shandor laughed. “Where is that roommate of yours?”

That was a good question. I was also wondering where Becki was. She hadn't been in our trailer when I'd left and she wasn't out here.

“Sleeping”, I mumbled trying to avoid Hockey’s questioning gaze.

“Mmm…hmm.” Shandor drawled shooting Xan an amused glance.

Hockey flipped the brim of his hat up and turned toward Shandor. Shandor was one of few males in camp who had short hair; it had been shaved into a bleached blonde Mohawk when I’d first arrived in camp. Months later, his natural dark brown hair around the hawk had grown in significantly giving him a very cartoonish skunk like appearance. But his good looks made up for his desperate need for a haircut. Dark olive skin with flirtatious caramel eyes and a lean muscular body had the girls taking a second or third glance but his attitude was another story altogether. In my opinion, he wasn’t worth the trouble.

“What?” Shandor put his hands up, palms forward in a submissive pose. “Just asking where she was?”

“Trinity?” Hockey looked at me. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

The question caught me off guard. Hockey, although Becki’s boyfriend and often in my presence, barely speaks to me. Not that I’d ever taken much offense to the lack communication between us since Hockey lacks communication with nearly everyone in camp.

When I didn't answer him, he bit his lip and looked at the ground.

I looked around. We had become the center of attention in this small group. No longer talking, everyone was now staring at me and Hockey, whose half hidden face had become bright red. I took another swig out Jericho’s jug and jumped up, suggesting that we go somewhere else to talk. I chanced a glance back at Gerik. I shouldn’t have. I’m positive he was channeling his Norse ancestors as they went A-Viking.

“Has Becki seemed… off to you lately?” Hockey paced back and forth beside the creek while I soaked my feet in the warm water.

Startled by the strange question, I glanced up at him. “Not that I noticed really, why?”

He waited a minute before answering. “No reason,” He said, kicking a rock into the water.

“Did something happen tonight? Did you guys get into a fight?”

He sat down next to me, his face twisted in confusion. “Tonight?”

Oh. Shoot. So she hadn’t been with him tonight and unless I wanted Becki's problems to become my own I needed to change the subject quickly.

“I… uh… so what do you think is off about her exactly?”

He began to fidget, taking his hat off and on, nervously run his fingers through his hair.

“I feel like she’s hiding something from me, she seems distant and unhappy…” He trailed off, staring at something in the distance. Gerik was standing near the swimming hole. Everything about him told me he was annoyed.

Hockey stood up quickly and cleared his throat. “I’ll talk to you later.”

I wiggled my feet in the warm water and leaned back on my elbows. I was actually glad for the interruption. Whatever Becki had been up to tonight I certainly didn’t want to get in the middle of it.

Hockey walked quickly away giving Gerik a wide breadth.

“What was that all about?” Gerik asked, taking a seat next to me. I shook my head. I wasn’t going to tell Gerik anything about Hockey and Becki’s personal business.

“Is something going on with you two?” He asked.

Used to his jealousy, I looked up at him with what I hoped was a mysterious look on my face and in a low voice with a sinister undertone said, “There are things of which the Gaje cannot speak of to the Romani. For the protection of my people, it is forbidden.”

He narrowed his eyes. "Hockey isn't a Gaje."

I had to laugh at him. “Are you actually jealous of Hockey?”

He didn’t answer.

“Have I ever told you about Phthonos Gerik? The Greek spirit of jealousy?”

He smiled. “No Trinity, you haven’t. Yet.”

He bumped shoulders with me, causing the tiny hairs on my body to stand to attention. The contact made me shiver.

“You’re cold, yeah?” His voice was a throaty whisper that stroked my senses wide awake.

“Come here.” He pulled me over him and settled me in between his legs, tucking me in close against his body, with his arms across me. The instant he'd touched me, fire licked across my skin causing my body to arc upwards on a gasp. He grasped my arms to hold me down and keep me firm against him. Rubbing my arms slowly, up and down, I eventually calmed to his touch.

Using his face, he brushed the hair away from my neck and rolled the soft skin there between his teeth. I tilted my head to give him better access and ground my body backwards into his. The friction caused the heat between us to flare hotter as the need for him burrowed a deep tunnel inside of me.

Then he kissed me.

Oh, Aphrodite.

“Please,” I panted, now fevered with need and desperate for completion. I dug my fingernails into his thighs. “Please Gerik.”

“Anything Trinity. Just tell me what you need…” He spoke to me in a chorus of barely audible growls.

I grabbed his hand and put it where I needed it most.

My world went dark with pleasure as the fierce, desperate ache inside of me was replaced with a small flame of desire that grew bigger and stronger with every touch and sensation until I couldn’t take it anymore. Like a match thrown on gasoline, I simply erupted.

As hot as a summer on the beach of Skala and a soft as the waves of the Aegean Sea, I came apart in Gerik’s arms.

The scents of freshly ground cinnamon and ripened pine needles continued to caress my senses as I lay limp against him. Gerik was Christmas in the summertime.

Gerik was...everything.

The next day I found myself squeezing my eyes closed in fear as Marko Siwak caught Xan around the neck and slammed him down hard on the ground. He then turned, fell to his knees breathing hard as if that final action had taken the last bit of energy he’d had.

Becki’s twin brother, Indiana, roared his enjoyment at the turn of events. There was apparently no love lost between Xan and him.

Fifi Horváth squealed in delight as Xan shot up, grimaced as he spit blood and lunged at Marko, tackling him from behind. The two of them rolled for some time, fists flying. The sound of flesh pounding on flesh was making my insides roil.

I seemed to be part of a small majority. The dozen or so others watching the fight were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Every blow that caused pain, every tackle that took a man down, every trickle of sweat and blood was an aphrodisiac, especially to the Horváth triplets.

Xan, who’d managed to pin Marco down on his belly, had the poor guys arms wrenched behind his back in a very unnatural position.

Grinning nastily, Xan bared his teeth at the crowd. “Nadya!” He shouted.

Jericho and Maisera’s granddaughter, the youngest Popa at twenty-three years old stood up and brushed the grass and mud off her tiered rainbow colored skirt.

“What do you think of your man now mea dulce fata?” Xan taunted.