by Ann Gimpel
Breath hissed through Jamal’s teeth. He hadn’t expected the battle to last long, but it was over far faster than he’d reckoned. Vampires weren’t used to being confronted. That had worked in his group’s favor and helped secure their victory, but the remaining vampires wouldn’t make the same mistake.
“How many of those hell-spawned bastards do you suppose are running loose out there?” he asked.
“More than the four who raced back to where we killed their master and kin.” Meara’s tone held grim underpinnings, and she screwed her face into a frown. “My guess, and it’s just that, is Hitler promised the vampires unlimited blood and sex. That kind of inducement would have drawn many nests, not just the one we destroyed.”
Jamal swallowed back distaste. He hated vampires with their bloodlust and dead-but-not status. Why the hell hadn’t the fuckers died out a few centuries back?
“Because they need very little to survive. And yes, I was in your mind, but that’s the least of our worries…” Meara swung her head around and stared intently out the side window.
“What?” Jamal focused his magic where Meara was looking. Something pricked the edges of his power. Gypsy. Whatever it was had Romani stamped all over it.
“Do you suppose the caravans stopped before they reached the spot I directed them to?” Meara thinned her lips over her teeth.
“Don’t know, but they don’t obey you like our people do.”
She hissed out a snarl, much like a pissed off vulture might have. “Stop the car. If they ran into trouble, we’d do well not to drive right into it.”
“If we’re sensing the same thing, it’s the wrong way. The road continues north, and what I scented is east of us, but not by much.”
“Whatever it is, we need to check it out.”
Jamal looked for a place to pull the Mercedes off the rutted track, but didn’t find anything. In the end, he simply drew the car to a stop. By the time he got out, Meara stood in front of the car.
Elliott and Tairin’s wagon halted right behind them, the horses blowing and stamping.
“What’s happening?” Tairin called from the wagon’s box. Tawny hair cascaded down her back, and her liquid dark eyes crinkled at their corners with concern.
Elliott pulled the wagon’s brake to keep the wheels from rolling. His dark hair was braided to keep it out of the way. He jumped down and held out his arms to help Tairin. Not that she required assistance, but he was taking care of her, and it made Jamal’s heart glad his daughter had found someone who loved her.
Meara stalked to Elliott. “Tell me what you sense.”
He furled both brows and inquired, “What am I supposed to be sensing?”
“Uh-uh.” Meara shook her head. “I don’t want to influence you.”
Elliott shut his eyes. Power flowed from him as he extended his hands and turned in a full circle.
“Well?” Meara prodded.
Elliott opened his blue eyes. “I sense gypsy power, but it’s coming from two directions. Did the caravans split up?”
“Same conclusion I came to,” Tairin said and focused her gaze on Meara. “Do you know why they split forces?”
“Not sure they did,” Meara replied. “They’re not the only Romani in the universe. Besides, there’s no road leading to one of the places I sense Rom power. I’m going to shift and see what I can find out.”
“We could all shift,” Jamal suggested.
“Yes, shift,” his wolf concurred, anxious as always for freedom.
“If we do”—Tairin looked askance at her father—“we need to be stealthy. Nothing like three wolves to totally spook a group of gypsies. Even the ones who know what we are haven’t spent any time with us in shifted form.”
“My wolf likes the idea.” Elliott grinned. “But then he’s been nattering about running free for hours.”
Tairin trotted back toward the wagon, removing clothing as she went. Elliott followed her, and Jamal began shucking clothes and tossing them into the back of his car. Light flashed around Meara, and she took to the air before the phosphorescence around her had faded.
Jamal finished undressing and summoned shift magic. His torso shortened and his limbs moved beneath him. By the time he was stretching out his paws one at a time, Tairin and Elliott had joined him. His daughter’s wolf looked a lot like his, black and gray with tawny markings. Elliott’s wolf was pure black.
Pride swelled in Jamal as the trio took off, running as a pack. This was what shifters were meant to do. Form family groups and protect one another. Even though he’d chosen his pack over his daughter, his joy in running free hadn’t returned until now.
“You suffered long enough,” his wolf observed.
“I deserved to suffer. My hubris and arrogance were my undoing. I decided the rules didn’t apply to me. The one who truly suffered from my lapse in judgment was Tairin, though.”
“Would you make a different choice if it were offered?”
The wolf’s question caught him by surprise. It was something Jamal had asked himself many a time, but he’d always quashed that line of thought because he couldn’t go back.
“Well?” the wolf prodded.
“Yes. I’d choose my daughter. I let the pack railroad me into doing what they thought was right. The time for that would have been before I joined my life with Aneksi’s. Once that happened, the dye was cast, and I should have stuck with the path unfolding before me. To abandon my daughter, particularly after the Rom burned Aneksi alive, was unconscionable.”
“We didn’t know about Aneksi’s unfortunate end for quite some time,” the wolf reminded him.
“Not for certain, but if I’d let myself look closer, I’d have realized Tairin wouldn’t have sought me out unless she had no other options. She was raised Romani, and she’d never have left the caravan unless she had no other choice.”
“Still, it was many moon cycles after Tairin came to our settlement before our kin told you of her visit.”
Jamal sent his thoughts tumbling backward. The wolf had a better memory than his—or perhaps less tendency to bury what it didn’t wish to dwell on. Months had passed since Tairin’s visit by the time he’d been summoned to appear before the shifter council. When he’d asked why they hadn’t let him know sooner, one of the council elders told him it was to ensure he made the right choice—on the heels of a series of wrong ones.
He could have left. Tracking his daughter would have been simple enough since he could always find her through their wolves.
So why didn’t I?
Squawks from Meara’s vulture broke into his thoughts. He glanced upward and saw her circling to land. Jamal ran lightly to her, along with Tairin and Elliott.
“I found one gypsy only a few hundred yards from here,” Meara announced.
“By himself?” Elliott asked, sounding surprised.
“Herself,” Meara corrected. “And nervous as a cornered hare. Her magic is strong enough, she senses you moving toward her, but she’s half-starved and weary to her bones. She’ll stand and fight, but I sense desperation in her.”
“Wonder why she’s out here by herself?” Tairin mused.
“Probably the same reason we are,” Elliott countered. “Hiding from the Reich.”
“Yes, but we have each other. It’s not natural for a gypsy to be by herself. Particularly not our women.”
“You were.” Jamal eyed his daughter.
“Sure, but I’m half shifter. Makes a difference. And I wouldn’t have been alone if my caravan hadn’t burned Mother. Maybe this woman’s caravan banished her too.”
“Possible,” Jamal agreed.
“Meanwhile,” Tairin went on, “I’m thinking we’d be better served to approach her in our human bodies.”
Jamal’s wolf groaned. “I’ve barely had a chance to stretch my legs. And I haven’t caught so much as a mouse.”
“I heard that.” Tairin nudged her father with her snout. “Glad my wolf’s not the only unruly one.”
Jamal tossed his head and asked Meara. “How much farther to the place you directed the caravans to?”
She canted her head to the side, regarding him through intense, avian eyes. “We have covered perhaps three quarters of the distance. Maybe another mile, certainly less than two.”
“I suggest we return to where we left the car and wagon. We can reclaim our human bodies and our clothes. Once we’re in a more palatable form, we’ll approach the gypsy and offer assistance.” Jamal gazed from one to the other, seeking agreement.
“She may not want our help,” Meara cautioned.
“We can’t just walk away and pretend we never came across her,” Tairin argued. “I chose my wolf form for a hundred years because the people I stumbled across were all monsters. Meara said the woman is desperate. No matter what the rest of you do, I will at least offer aid.”
“I shall await your return here,” Meara said. “I don’t require clothing, but I’m less human than the rest of you, and if I approach the gypsy by myself, I might frighten her so badly she flees. We can’t afford the time to hunt her down. Nor do we want to chase her into the Reich’s arms.”
“Or another vampire nest,” Elliott added sourly.
“Have you sensed one?” Tairin twisted her head so she met Elliott’s gaze head on.
“No, but I’m fairly certain there have to be more than the four vampires we saw tearing down the roadway with Hitler’s motorcade. If I’m right, it argues for another nest.”
“Same conclusion Meara and I came to,” Jamal said.
“Move, people.” Meara punctuated her words with a squawk.
“Thank you,” Tairin said.
“For what?” Meara angled her head to the other side.
“Being compassionate. It’s rare enough these days, but when we quit caring, we may as well sign on with the Nazi party.”
Jamal licked her snout. “I’m pleased by who you’ve become. Honored you share my blood.” He wanted to say more, but emotion choked off the words so he spun and took off, racing for the Mercedes and his clothes.
The other wolves paced him, pack energy strong and vibrant.
“Happy,” his wolf said as it covered the short distance back to the car. “We survived two centuries of misery. I’m grateful our time of penance is over.”
Jamal winced inwardly. “I never meant to make you mourn along with me.”
“I didn’t say that to give you yet one more thing to feel guilty about. We’re bondmates. I knew what I signed up for. We share everything. Bad times and good. Even though danger surrounds us, my heart is light.”
“I love you for sticking by me. You could have left any time.”
“What kind of wolf would that have made me? Open your heart, bondmate. Let joy in. You’ve been pushing it away with both hands ever since the council told you about Tairin.”
It was good advice—if he could put it into practice. His wolf was both wise and loyal.
“Indeed.” Whuffling laughter rippled past the wolf’s jaws. “I am all that and more. Hurry now. Let’s find out who that gypsy is. Probably some old fortuneteller who got tossed out of her caravan for one too many shenanigans.”
Jamal reached the car and called the magic to bring his human form back into ascendancy. He pulled on slacks, socks, shoes, shirt, and jacket. By the time he was ready to retrace his steps, Tairin and Elliott had joined him.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Never readier.” Tairin favored him with a smile and loped toward where they’d left Meara.
Chapter 3
Ilona sensed power converging on her. The air was electric with it, charged with magical potential. Three days had elapsed since she’d escaped Dachau. She’d remained on back roads and hadn’t made much progress, although she felt certain Munich was fairly close.
Hunting to eat meant she was still hungry, but not as starved as she’d been in the prison camp. She hadn’t felt safe enough to risk building fires, so she’d eaten everything she caught raw. At first, it disgusted her, but she’d gotten past that quickly. At least she’d had plenty of fresh, clean water. She’d even taken another bath earlier today.
Skirting the small farms in the area proved easy enough, and she’d managed to avoid the few people she’d seen by hiding behind trees and large bushes. Things had gone smoothly. Until now.
What the hell was heading toward her? Not vampires. Certainly not Romani. What was left in the magical realm? Druids. Fae. Shifters. In truth, the only magical creatures she’d come across in her twenty-seven years were other Romani, a handful of shifters, but only from a distance—and the vampire outside Dachau’s walls.
Valentin had barely been literate. He’d employed several men—mostly blood kin of his—to read and interpret the Romani lore books that had been handed down from generation to generation in his caravan. Aside from whispered tales around their fires at night, she had no true knowledge about other people who carried magical ability.
Ilona gathered power and rose to her feet, facing the direction the threat came from. Many moved toward her. More than she could possibly dispatch, but she’d go down fighting. She hadn’t snuck out of Dachau to lie down and give up now.
Did they know she was here? Or was their path toward her chosen at random?
Ha! Not very likely.
Magic jumped to her summons and spilled through her. She narrowed her eyes to slits and waited for whatever approached to show itself. Didn’t matter much what it was, so she stopped wasting mental energy on conjecture. She’d find out soon enough.
They were coming closer. Closer still, but then something happened and the wall of power stopped for long, heartrending moments before moving in the opposite direction.
Jubilation flowed from her firmly planted feet over the top of her head in a wave of heat. They didn’t know about her. Couldn’t, or they’d have kept on coming. She blew out a tight breath, followed by another. Beyond any reasonable expectation, her luck was holding. Goddess knew why, but it wasn’t wise to question these things.
She sank back into a crouch to give her trembling legs a break. The clearing where she squatted had several plusses. Clean water and a rocky cave to shelter her from rain. Game had been plentiful so far, and a nearby farm had two cows. So far, she’d been too frightened of discovery to sneak over to the cows to steal some milk, but one of these nights, she would. Whoever owned them didn’t milk them often enough, their lowing testament to uncomfortably distended udders.
She might be close to Munich, but she wasn’t in a rush to subject herself to any city with Nazis driving through its streets. Churches offered sanctuary, but not to those like her. The Catholics were almost as anti-gypsy as the Nazis. While rumor had it they were helping the Jews, that aid hadn’t yet extended itself to those like her.
She’d had time to think about where Aron might have gone. If he’d escaped, he’d probably headed for Valentin’s caravan. They’d been in Augsburg, but it was anyone’s guess where they were now. For all she knew, Valentin might be trying to escape Germany. It wasn’t the brightest plan since it would involve crossing a border where the caravan would be stopped, searched, and like as not sent straight to a work camp.
But then, Valentin wasn’t a mental giant. Most of his energy went into hiding his homosexual dalliances. The ones he was certain no one knew about.
Ilona curled her lips into a sneer. Of all the caravans to be born into, his was the worst. She’d met most of the other caravan leaders in the region, and they’d seemed like reasonable men…
She raked her hands through her unbound hair and tied it into a sloppy queue low on her neck. Her mind was wandering because she was so relieved not to have to deal with the confrontation that had seemed inevitable a little bit ago. Her instincts told her to avoid Munich. They hadn’t steered her wrong yet, and she’d do well to listen to them. She’d been in this clearing since yesterday and had yet to run into anyone. Maybe she could remain here. Winter would be hard, but it would end eventually.
Her stolen clothing was warm and well made. New boots could wait.
The specter of being alone—maybe for years—dragged at her, but being by herself beat being dead by a good, big bunch. The war had to end someday. If it ended with Nazis running the show, she’d deal with it then. Meanwhile, her life had devolved to its simplest terms.
Shelter.
Warmth.
Food.
She was a decent thief. She could make the occasional run into Munich to add to her supplies, so long as they didn’t close off the city and post guards. She might even spend an occasional night with the cows in their cozy barn. From what she could tell, the farmer never visited them once the sun went down.
Ilona pushed upright and stretched, rotating her arms above her head. She’d take things as they came, and now was time to hunt so she’d have something for supper. Greens grew thick and plentiful by the creek, along with anise and wild onions. If she got lucky and snared a rabbit, she could approximate a stew, albeit a cold, uncooked one.
She made a mental note that she needed a cookpot if she ever got brave enough to enter Munich. Those were easy to steal, easy to find discarded in rubbish bins too. She’d just paid out magical threads to draw game her way when the sense of power heading toward her returned.
Ilona froze. Was it the same people as before? Had they sensed her and gone back for reinforcements?
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she hissed. “If they’re as strong as I think, they know I’m by myself.”
She redirected her power, seeking, probing. Four people were coming toward her, their magic subtlety different than it had been last time. Was this a different group? What were the odds of that?
I have no idea. I haven’t been here long enough to know who passes this way.
Ilona balanced power between her hands, watching it arc blue-white in the afternoon air. Whoever approached now didn’t feel as threatening as they had before, which argued they were something different. Unlike the first batch of power, this one kept coming on a trajectory aimed right at her.
They knew where she was. Had sensed her with their brand of magic. She swallowed around a dry throat, determined not to show them how frightened she was. She angled her gaze at the small cave. Even if she attempted to hide, their magic was strong enough to ferret her out.