The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity)

by Sheehan, Madeline

  He didn’t like this. So many things could go wrong. But what choice did he have?

  Turning away from the group, Hockey tossed Mira the other end of the rope he’d triple-wrapped and tightly knotted around his waist. He waited until she did the same, and then he double-checked her knot. After adding another layer of coats, gloves, ski masks, and scarves, they shouldered their empty bags and looked at each other.

  “Ready?” she whispered, looking far more determined that he felt.

  Instead of answering her, Hockey turned to Tyler. “Board this up immediately after we leave,” he said, pointing at the door. “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.”

  “Be safe,” Tyler said, already bending down to pick up a slat of wood.

  From his place behind Tyler, Chris snorted. “They’ll be dead before sunset,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

  Rolling his own eyes, Hockey headed out into the hallway first, followed closely by Mira. They stopped and turned, watching as Tyler shut the door behind them.

  “You sure?” he asked Mira.

  She nodded. “Are you sure?”

  Ignoring her question, he brought his hand to his mouth and using his teeth, he pulled off his glove. “I have to show you something,” he said, watching her closely. “And I need you to remain calm.”

  Mira smirked. “If you’re about to show me the weird white fire that comes from your hands, don’t bother. I already know.”

  Astonished, his hand fell limply to his side. “You already know?”

  “I’ve seen you,” she said, shrugging. “You keep the fires going when you think everyone’s sleeping. You melt the ice from the windows and your blankets are always crazy warm when everyone else’s are frozen.”

  He stared at her. “I don’t scare you?”

  To further his amazement, the girl burst out laughing.

  “Scare me? You? Hockey, we’re stranded in an abandoned warehouse with a Marilyn Manson wannabe, a useless bimbo, and creepy-ass David. We’re half frozen to death, nearly out of food, and a blizzard to rival all blizzards has us trapped. Let’s not forget about the hordes of people-eating demon freaks who have taken over the world. And you think you scare me? You? The nicest guy in the whole world? No, Hockey, you don’t scare me. I figured it was a Gypsy thing. I’ve never met a Gypsy before, but I’ve seen movies about them, and they always have magic in the movies.” She shrugged again. “So then, are you ready now?”

  Hockey stared at her a moment longer before allowing his threatening smile to break free. “Yeah,” he said, laughing.

  Grinning, Mira pulled her ski mask down and turned toward the stairs. Glancing back at him, her eyebrows lifted in question. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Why the fuck not?” Tahyra hissed.

  Shandor crossed the few feet between them, taking in her narrowed eyes, her clenched fists, and fang-filled snarl.

  “Are you questioning me, fată?” he demanded and quickly accompanied his words with a feral growl that he didn’t wholeheartedly feel. It was more for a show of control over what was his. And she was his. The entire pack was his.

  “Gods!” she screamed. “What is wrong with you? Why are we hiding out? And why are we eating animals?” She practically spat her last word as if the very feel of it on her tongue had left a rotten taste in her mouth.

  His claws began to lengthen, not out of anger but frustration. Since taking control of her pack, he’d kept them away from places humans might be hiding out, but even that hadn’t stopped them from running into a few loners. His own participation in the feasts that had always followed filled him with guilt every time he allowed himself to think of it. It was one of the downfalls of pack life, living among a group of creatures with only selfish, single-minded needs. The pack mentality combined with the insatiable hunger seemed to overpower any sort of rational thinking.

  So Shandor had begun to keep them hidden, staying in or near heavily wooded areas where wildlife was sure to be, thinking he was keeping them full and satisfied. But not even he, more rational than his entire pack put together, could deny that human flesh was ten times more satisfying than eating animals. Humans simply tasted better, leaving him feeling more fulfilled, more…human. But when that humanity would begin to wane, the hunger was ten times worse.

  His arm shot out and he wrapped his hand around Tahyra’s slim neck, digging his claws purposely deep into her skin. Blood wept from each individual wound and ran thick down her naked body before falling in droplets onto the snow at their feet. Lifting her, he swung her body to his right and straight into the wide trunk of an oak tree.

  “You will do as I say,” he growled, baring his fangs.

  “You’re forgetting,” she hissed, “that this pack was mine before it was yours.”

  “I’m not forgetting a damn thing,” he shot back, digging his claws deeper, watching as the tips of his fingers disappeared inside Tahyra’s neck. She gasped and choked as blood gurgled up through her throat and exploded from her mouth.

  Locking his jaw, Shandor fought the urge to lick her from head to toe. “If you continue to argue with me, fată, I will pick another female to fuck.”

  “You…could…try,” she rasped, her garbled words barely audible.

  Frustrated, he released her and she fell to the ground in a heap, clutching her throat. He wasn’t getting through to her, and other than actually fucking another female, something he had no desire to do, he was out of ideas.

  Since the day he’d taken control of the pack, he hadn’t been with another female aside from Tahyra. But on that first day, in his feral haze of bestial-fueled power, he’d taken each female, some more than once. After that, Tahyra had threatened any female that had come near him, and he hadn’t cared. Surprisingly, the fată was more than enough to satisfy him. Where, as a human, he’d once been easily bored with any woman, he had yet to tire of this one.

  Even stranger, he felt sort of loyal to her.

  But now he needed to make a fucking point, and if taking another female in front of her—showing her that it wasn’t him that belonged to her but instead was the other way around—was the lone way to knock her off that queen-of-the-universe pedestal she was standing on, then so be it.

  Shandor glanced to where the rest of the pack had gathered.

  “Marisa,” he growled, pointing at a heavyset female. “And Courtney.”

  Both females sprang to attention and leaped to their feet, but neither of them reached him. Tahyra charged past him, a bloody, snarling ball of fury that met Courtney head-on. Shandor watched Courtney’s body fly through the air, disappearing from sight. Before Courtney’s body hit the ground, Tahyra had already twisted Marisa’s head clear off.

  With a savage grin on her beautiful face, Tahyra held up the head in her grip and started to laugh.

  “If you try that again,” she threatened, “I will kill them all.

  It should have angered him, another blatant show of disobedience, but it didn’t.

  It didn’t because…

  Her red eyes were flickering. Red to brown, red to brown…

  This wasn’t anger. It wasn’t dominance or aggression, nor was it a situation of kill or be killed.

  This was jealousy, and jealousy was a very human emotion. If Tahyra was capable of a human emotion, it meant…

  Tahyra still had her soul. It was buried deep within her, cocooned and hidden in dark magic, but it was there.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal, fată,” he said and leaped.

  Moving lightning fast, he barreled into her middle, knocking her down into the snow. Tahyra let out a low purring growl filled with lascivious intent. Beneath him, she rolled her body and lifted her backside in offering.

  Shandor felt the beast rising. He could feel it clawing and scratching its way back to the surface.

  He had to keep it together.

  He had to…

  First, he had to stop fucking her like a goddamn dog.

  F
lipping her over, he spread her legs and pushed inside of her.

  “You’re beautiful, Tayhra,” he growled softly. “The face of a goddess, with the body of a whore. Fată, you’re a goddamn work of art.”

  Red eyes blinked up at him—once, twice, three times.

  “You’re the sort of beautiful a man doesn’t just want to fuck. You’re the kind a man wants to watch fall apart beneath him, so he knows that it was him who broke her.”

  A small exhale of air escaped Tahyra’s parted lips, diverting his attention. When he looked back up into her eyes, he found that they were brown. He watched, shocked and elated, as a single tear fell from the corner of her eye, slid down the side of her face, and disappeared beneath his hand.

  Shandor didn’t need to rein in the beast after that.

  He made love to her as a man.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hockey placed his glowing palm against the frosted windowsill and watched as the ice quickly melted beneath it. It was a fruitless action. Nightfall was nearly upon them, the storm outside was still raging, nothing but white as far as the eye could see, and it was only getting worse.

  Turning, he looked around the city row house he and Mira had broken into. They had been there for…weeks? Maybe; he wasn’t sure. During their fruitless search for food, unable to see where they were going, Mira had collapsed. Since she was half-frozen and near exhaustion, Hockey had picked her up and began backtracking to the warehouse. It took him only minutes to realize they were lost and instead of continuing to walk in circles, he’d found the nearest shelter.

  He was still thanking God the place he’d chosen had a working fireplace and enough salvageable canned goods to last them a month, more if they ate sparingly. Worse, he didn’t have any idea how the four helpless people they’d left behind were faring.

  It was times like this Hockey wished he had a jug of Jericho’s țuică to drown his sorrows in.

  Sighing, he started back through the foyer and headed down the long empty hallway toward the one room inside this house they’d been able to heat properly.

  Inside the study, the temperature change from the rest of the home was drastic. His skin began to loosen and he could no longer see his breath.

  Look what I did,” Mira said proudly. Moving aside, she revealed a large rectangular plastic container the size of a clothing trunk that she’d overfilled with snow. “Ta da!” she said. “Now, you just need to heat it.”

  Jesus, he’d gone so long without a bath. Other than a quick wipe down every so often, always so consumed with thoughts of how to survive, he’d forgotten entirely about bathing.

  Excited, he headed for the container and thrust his hands deep into the snow.

  “Don’t boil it,” Mira warned. “You don’t want to melt the container.”

  Hockey burst out laughing. He knew how to contain his magic to one entity without disturbing the other, and within seconds he’d melted the snow, leaving the container unscathed.

  “Magic water,” he announced happily, removing his hands.

  “Do you want to go first?” Mira was bouncing, practically vibrating with excitement.

  “You first,” he said, laughing.

  Squealing, Mira hurriedly began unbuttoning her flannel shirt. Hockey spun around and headed for the fireplace. He wasn’t a stranger to nudity. Quite the opposite, most of his life he’d bathed in creeks and lakes alongside his clan members, both male and female. But this was different. At least, it felt different…as if looking upon another woman was a betrayal to Becki. Especially when said woman slept beside him every night, her arms wrapped around his middle, his hands on her back, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

  Grabbing a nearby chair, he turned it on its side and slammed his booted foot down. He repeated this several times until the wood had cracked, weakening enough for him to break the structure apart.

  After tossing several pieces of wood into the fire, he wondered what to do next that didn’t involve turning around and taking a good, long look at the beautiful woman he knew was naked behind him. Mira was attractive. In fact, she was downright adorable. He admired her spunky personality and her determination and her seemingly innate ability to continue surviving and…

  Jesus. He needed a distraction. But what distraction was there to be had when you were barricaded inside a house? Other than sex?

  “Hockey?”

  He didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”

  “I need something to dry off with.”

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, he silently cursed. Of course she did.

  Still refusing to look at her, he walked quickly across the room and snatched one of the thinner blankets off their bed. Keeping his eyes downcast, he held out the blanket to her.

  “You can look at me,” she whispered.

  Ah…God. For his sanity’s sake, no, he couldn’t. After clearing his throat, he said no hoarsely.

  “Hockey,” she breathed. “I want you to.”

  He blamed his mother. He blamed his decision to wait until marriage. He blamed Becki and the botched raid and himself.

  As he turned around, he blamed everyone and everything, but mostly he blamed the lack of distraction inside this damn house they were stuck in.

  Mira’s dark hair had grown out significantly since he’d first met her. It was past her shoulders now, the wet ends stopped just above her…breasts.

  Perfect…full…flawless…handfuls of breast.

  His gaze dropped lower and he swallowed hard.

  Most of the women in his clan didn’t shave their bodies, very few had taken to the modern Gaje tradition. Hockey didn’t prefer one way or the other, or at least he hadn’t until right now. Becki had been one of the few women in their clan who had shaved off her body hair, but Mira, not having had much of a choice, had let everything grow out.

  And he liked it. It was natural and feminine and he liked it.

  “Touch me,” Mira whispered, reaching for him. Her small hand encircled his wrist and tugged him forward. Feeling somewhat drunk, he complied, stumbling forward until was only inches away from her and close enough to—

  Cursing, he snatched his arm back, and spun away from her.

  “I’m married!” he shouted as he crossed the room.

  “To a woman who’s probably dead!” Mira shrieked. “I’m not dead, Hockey! I’m right here, I’ve been here for months!”

  He stopped walking and closed his eyes. Mira was right. Becki could be dead. God knew he worried about it all the time, but until he knew for certain, until…

  He was rock hard and felt like crying. It was an awful, confusing feeling that made him feel like a horrible husband.

  “I like you,” Mira pleaded. “I think you’re strong and brave and hot as hell. Hockey, I like you.”

  “I took a vow,” he said tightly. “A vow I take very seriously.”

  A pregnant silence filled the room and Hockey’s thoughts spun. He could be with her; he could turn around, drag Mira to bed, and give in to what they both wanted. He could give in and blame the world for his sins, blame the madness, the isolation, the constant battle for survival. But then, what happened afterward? What if he did find Becki again? Would he be able to face her, knowing what he had done?

  Mira appeared in front of him, breaking him free of his thoughts.

  Wrapped in the blanket he’d brought her, she held out her hand. “Here,” she said sullenly.

  Avoiding eye contact, Hockey took the small bar of soap and mumbled his thanks. Mira stood there a moment longer before turning away. He waited until he could longer hear the slap of her feet against the wooden floor before chancing a look in her direction.

  Finding her curled up on her side of the bed, he breathed out a sigh of relief. Sending up a prayer of thanks for small favors, he started for the container.

  The water was soapy and dirty now, and he didn’t have nearly enough room as Mira had. But as far as baths went, when you hadn’t had one in God only knew how long, it was
bliss.

  When he was done, naked and wet, he headed to the fireplace and let the heat from the flames dry his skin. Gripping the mantel, he lowered his head onto the cool stone and closed his eyes. It felt good, the stark contrast of temperatures, hot on his chest and legs, and cool against his back. Then he turned around to let his back receive the same attention his front had, and found Mira sitting up in bed, watching him.

  Hockey knew he was much thinner than usual but he was still heavily sculpted with muscle, and judging by the greedy expression on Mira’s face, she liked what she saw.

  She wanted what she saw.

  He felt his body responding, hardening, as they stared at each other, and then Mira let the blanket fall from her body. Cupping one of her breasts, she slid her other hand down between her thighs and moaned softly.

  He closed his eyes. No. No, no, no…

  But all he could envision was Mira’s naked body, and all he could hear was the noises she was making. He found himself imagining how it would feel to sink inside her, how she would taste and smell.

  He’d never seen a woman touch herself before, but he’d fantasized about it. He’d even tried to coax Becki into it a few times, but she’d always refused. Knowing her sexual history, her refusal had surprised him but he’d ignored the ugly suspicions.

  “Hockey,” Mira whispered, “please come to bed.”

  When he made a move to do so, Mira collapsed onto her back, crying out in frustration. It was something about her cry, so full of desperation and longing, that crumbled his resolve, solidifying his decision and spurring him into action.

  Crossing the room, he dropped down to his knees between Mira’s spread legs. Leaning forward, he palmed the mattress, using one hand to keep his body upright while he used the other to take hold of himself.

  “Yes,” Mira whispered frantically. Reaching up, she grabbed a fistful of Hockey’s hair, pulling his head down while she arched her back, bringing him face-to-face with her breasts. His heart began to pound erratically, sweat beaded on his brow, and he began stroking himself faster.

  “Inside me,” Mira cried out, pushing her hips upward, rubbing herself intimately against him.