“Your English is good, Dana. I understand you just fine,” said Meghan.
“Ah, good.” Dana clapped her hands. “We will be greatest friends, you and me. You will see. Come, let us go to get drink and you can tell me you, and I can tell you me.”
Meghan couldn’t resist the enthusiasm from her new friend. They were around the same age with Dana being maybe three years older. She wasn’t sure, but she was sure she was about to find out. Dana seemed like quite an open and chatty book.
“Okay. One drink! Only one. I’m not sure I can handle more than that.”
“Ha! No one drink only one drink in Romania! Would be insult to host.” Dana linked her arm through Meghan’s, and led her up the cobbled street.
From the side alley, Petre Petrescu watched the twosome leave. His eyebrows came together over his dark eyes. Anyone watching would have seen the slight downturn of his lips at the edges, but no one paid him any mind. He slowly opened the door to his car and sat down inside.
To the east, storm clouds gathered, and slowly eased in front of the sun blotting out its rays. The dull gray sky turned dusky; a bad omen. Petrescu glanced up at the impending darkness. “I know you are out there somewhere,” he mumbled to himself. “But I found her first, and this time, she’s mine.”
Lightning flashed across the sky followed by a low, angry rumble of thunder. For a brief moment, Petre was startled, as if he didn’t expect such a dramatic reply. Then he tilted his head back and laughed. “Come and try,” he said. “Come and try.”
The engine roared to life, and he pulled out of the parking lot, driving in the direction he last saw the two women walking. Rain began to fall, striking the stone cobbles with force. Puddles filled in the cracks quickly as people caught in the sudden downpour ran through them dashing for cover.
The sun had nearly set when the two laughing and wet women tumbled into the door of the tavern. Shaking her head, Meghan looked around the interior of the small room. Dana shrugged out of her coat and encouraged Meghan to do the same.
“You will warm up faster this way” said Dana. Meghan’s eyes took in the neat rows of tables along the far wall. Two wooden booths looked out over the front facing window. Red table cloths covered every table and each had a candle set inside a glass globe in the center creating a warm and inviting ambience. The bar stood along the back wall. It was old and pitted from years of use. A rack of glasses and bottles were lined up behind it. All the bottles looked aged, like the kind you might find on a movie set depicting an old European tavern. The lighting was dim, but a fireplace in the corner gave off a soft glow.
“It’s charming,” Meghan said as she folded her coat over her arm.
“My cousin owns it. His wife makes the best soup in town. It will warm you from inside out.” Dana grabbed Meghan’s hand and led her to one of the booths.
The place was nearly full. A few people had trickled in after them and found seats at the bar. Men and women lifted glasses to make toasts, talking and laughing with great animation.
A short woman approached them with a big smile. “Dana, you bring me new customer!” The woman leaned over to give Dana a hug.
“Meghan Hartley, this is Ilana, my cousin’s wife. Ilana, this is new American English teacher at university.” Dana’s smiled matched that of Ilana’s.
“Welcome, Meghan!” Ilana grabbed Meghan up in a big hug also. Apparently, no one was spared the warm family greeting.
“You must be chilled. I bring you both hot soup and bread. I just took from oven before you come in.” Ilana patted Meghan on the shoulder, and walked quickly away with purposeful strides toward a back door that led to the kitchen.
“She’s very nice, your cousin’s wife. Her English is pretty good. I’m surprised!”
“Oh, she lived many years in Germany before coming back here and marrying Stefan. She gave him so hard time. He chase after her for nearly one year before she consent to a marriage!” Dana’s hands gestured, punctuating her story.
“She really had him panting after her then?” said Meghan.
“Yes! It was laughing to see,” hooted Dana.
“Funny. It was funny to see.” Meghan corrected her automatically.
“Yes, yes, that too!”
Ilana interrupted at that moment placing two steaming bowls of soup in front of the women. A tall man standing behind her carried a platter containing a warm loaf of bread, some cheese slices, and grapes.
“This my husband, Stefan.” Ilana put her arm around the tall man’s waist and propelled him forward.
“Salut.” Stefan’s deep voice greeted her. He had long features; a long face, long nose, long, lanky frame. His eyes were big and dark, and fringed with long lashes. They were very pretty eyes for a man, and they twinkled with mischief. Right away, Meghan could see that Stefan was a kind man because kindness radiated from his eyes.
“He not speak any English, Meghan,” stated Ilana. She took the platter of bread and cheese from his hands and put it on the table.
“That’s okay. I speak Romanian as well,” she said, switching to their native tongue. Meghan noticed a boy, a smaller version of Stefan, around the age of ten coming up behind the couple with a flask and two glasses.
“Este c? Fiul tu? (Is that your son?)” asked Meghan with a smile.
“Yes! Yes, this is Alexandru. You speak Romanian! She speaks Romanian!” said Stefan with great excitement to Ilana and Dana.
Dana gave her cousin a look that said “of course she does” as if it were a given. “Idiot! Meghan is educated woman, not typical American tourist.” Dana and her cousin began speaking rapidly in their native language with her gesticulating at him, and he obviously baiting her so she would get more frazzled. Anyone could tell these two had been around each other since birth. Stefan seemed to laugh with his eyes more and more, and Dana became more annoyed with him. Finally, she realized he was teasing her and burst out laughing.
“Fool! Why do I always fall for your foolishness?” She lifted her spoon while Ilana took both glasses and began to fill them with red wine.
“Because he is the devil himself and tempts you to anger with his wickedness!” Ilana elbowed Stefan while she spoke.
“Ouch, woman!” He feigned injury for a moment before wrapping both arms around his wife’s waist. “I will expect apologies for your abuse later, my tiny doll.” This last was spoken almost too low for Meghan to hear. Ilana heard it, however, and blushed knowing exactly what Stefan meant.
Dana and Meghan exchanged knowing grins before tucking into the savory beef and vegetable soup. It was as delicious as her new friend had said it would be.
“Is good, yes?’ asked Ilana, already knowing the answer by the ecstatic look on Meghan’s face. “I leave you two to enjoy meal. I come check on you in short time.”
“Ya, Ilana. Go and give Stefan a stern lecture about annoying me,” said Dana between mouthfuls of soup.
Ilana left the women to their meal. It was all incredibly delicious, down-home goodness. Meghan sampled a crusty piece of the still warm bread. She added a slice of cheese to it and took big bites. She began to feel much better. Nearly forty-five minutes later, she was full, and felt warm and fuzzy from the good meal and even better wine. As Dana had said, she did not stop at one glass. It was too flavorful. It would have been like trying to stop at one potato chip after fasting. In this moment, all was right in the world. She sighed, content.
Their candle sputtered and danced on a cold breeze as the door to the tavern swung inward. Meghan turned her head to see the source of the chill creeping over her skin and locked eyes with the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
The door closed leaving the entryway in silhouette, but she could still see the outline of a chiseled face surveying the room. She couldn’t see his eyes anymore, but had an odd sense he was staring at her. Her face warmed.
The momentary hush that fell over the establishment began to pick up pace again as people turned back to their companions to continue c
onversations. The man walked out of the shadow and into the glow given off by the fire. He wore a long, dark leather trench coat. Meghan couldn’t tell if it was dark brown or black in the lighting. It looked expensive though. Below the hem of the coat she saw dark slacks and expensive-looking leather shoes. Her eyes came back up again to his face, noticing the shine of his dark hair. It looked almost black in the dim interior, but the firelight picked up on the rich caramel strands. He wore it long and tied back in a leather thong. She could tell it was wavy and felt her fingers flex with a desire to run her hands through his thick mane.
The man walked over to a corner table and sat with his back against the wall. He shrugged out of the trench coat letting it fall over the back of the seat. His eyes surveyed the room and all within it as he made himself comfortable. Meghan turned back to her friend, but could still spy him from the corner of her eye. She knew the moment his gaze lit upon her because it felt like a physical touch.
Dana continued to talk, but she, too, had noticed the man. Reaching for the silver cross that rested around her neck, she said a silent prayer. In Romania, there were stories of the “dark ones”. She’d grown up on them. Never once, though, had she believed her grandmother when she spun her tales to a young girl at bedtime. They were just stories, after all. Her grandmother was a direct descendant of a gypsy clan that came from the mountains in Moldava. She told young Dana that gypsy blood flowed through her, even if it was watered down by the weaker Hungarian blood of her father -- Grandmother never approved of her daughter’s choice of husband. “You will know the truth of my stories one day, little one,” she had said. “When you come into the presence of one of the dark ones, you will feel it deep inside, like feeling on fire from within.” Her warning seemed so dire, Dana had giggled. ‘Silence!” said Grandmamma. “When you feel this fire, run! Your life will depend on it.”
It had been nearly twenty years ago since Dana last heard that vehement warning spoken in the night by the light of a candle, and she had chalked it up to good theater. Gypsies were known for being dramatic. Now, as a fire built within her bosom, she knew the truth of those words. The man who walked in and sat down, the man with a face like an angel, was one of the dark ones. Everything inside her screamed “Run!” She felt both silly and terrified at the same time.
Dana noticed that Meghan had locked eyes with the man, and that the man was staring at her friend at this moment. She also knew the moment his eyes slid to her. The fire inside her turned suddenly cold. She heard a deep voice in her head sneer -- “Gypsy”. Dana startled, and turned her now frightened eyes in his direction. For one second their gazes locked. In that brief moment, he smiled at her, and she knew she must do as her grandmamma had bid her to do all those years ago. Run!
“Meghan, we should go now. I have early class.” Meghan jerked her head around at Dana’s words. Her tone had changed from happy and jovial to clipped and stern. She wondered momentarily if she had accidentally missed something her friend had said while she was checking out the hunky man and inadvertently offended her.
“Sorry, did I miss something?” she asked.
“No. It is later than I first realized. Really, we must go now!” Dana tried to keep her words light so
as not to alarm Meghan that anything was wrong, but something in her dark eyes told a different story.
She rose up out of the booth, grabbing her coat and sliding her arms into it. Then Dana helped a slower Meghan slip into her own coat. Ilana approached after noticing the two women preparing to leave.
“Leaving so soon, cousin?” she smiled, unaware of Dana’s urgency.
“Ya, Ilana. How much do I owe you for dinner?” Dana asked while reaching inside her purse for her wallet.
Meghan, too, had reached inside her own purse to retrieve money for her half of the bill.
Ilana patted both women’s hands. “No, not necessary. You are family. No pay usually, but as it happens…”
“I have bought your dinner for you. I hope you don’t mind.” Meghan turned at the sound of this new deep and vibrant voice. The man, the one with an angel’s face smiled down at her with such rugged beauty she almost forgot to breathe.
“Tha..thank you” Meghan stumbled over her thanks feeling a little embarrassed.
“My pleasure,” he said, taking Meghan’s hand and bestowing the lightest touch of his lips on the back of her knuckles. She felt the strangest sensation of electricity tingling where those lips had touched her skin.
“It’s not every day I encounter so much loveliness. Perhaps I could persuade you ladies to stay and have one drink with me before you leave?” His eyes gleamed at Meghan who blushed behind her smile. Then, he slid his penetrating, dark gaze over at Dana, staring down into her terrified eyes. “What say you?” Gypsy.
That last word was never spoken aloud, but Dana heard it as clear as a bell tolling a death knell. At her quick side glance to her companion, Dana knew she had not moved fast enough. Meghan was staring at this dark creature as if he were the most charming, most handsome man on the planet. Dana knew she had failed her grandmother by not believing her all those winters past. This man was, indeed, one of the dark ones, and he wanted Meghan, just as sure as the sun rose and set. He also knew that Dana knew what he was. He knew what she was as well; a gypsy descendant. It might be too late, but she would not let him have her friend. The gypsy people were loyal, if nothing else.
“So sorry, but we must go. Thank you for dinner.” Before Meghan could say a word, Dana grabbed her hand and pulled her to the door.
“Dana!” said Meghan, sending an apologetic look over her shoulder at the beautiful man.
He smiled slowly, and bowed his head in her direction never losing eye contact. Before she was pulled completely out of the door, he winked at her and her heart fluttered wildly in her chest.
“Another time,” he said. Meghan shrugged before the tavern door closed cutting him off from her sight.
Dana marched quickly back toward campus where she was determined to deposit Meghan safely in her room. She knew now she would need to go see her grandmother tonight. There was no time to waste. As the wind howled, and stray drops of rain smacked the cobbles of the street, she could hear the faint laughter of the dark one inside her head.
Chapter Three
MARK STOOD WATCHING the tavern door slowly closing cutting off his view of Meghan. The feelings simmering inside him threatened to boil over. He struggled to clamp them down. Feelings! He hadn’t experienced this chaos within himself for almost eight hundred years! How did I ever stand this before? The look of interest in her eyes invited him closer, and he wanted to be closer. He wanted to be as close as a man could get to a woman, within her, tasting her, swallowing her essence. And by now he would be if it weren’t for that damn gypsy woman!
He had not counted on that. The familiar smell of gypsy blood given off by the short, smiling woman had surprised Mark. He didn’t encounter this particular tribe anymore. In fact, it had been sixty years since he last scented Curarya blood. She must be a descendant.
The Curarya clan once roamed freely, and in great numbers in his homeland of Moldava. Mihaela’s people had come from a branch of the Curarya, the Lovarya. Because of this, Mihaela was not even a consideration for marriage to one such as himself. The Anghelescu’s were of noble blood, and Marku was destined for great things including aligning his family to even greater fortune through marriage to the daughter of one of his father’s greatest friends, Count Latcu cel Mare. Marku had never met his intended bride to be. He never made it to that day alive.
One year earlier, as he rode into the village near his home, the castle Anghelescu, he had come upon a scene that changed his life. There, in the middle of the dirt road, a beautiful woman with honey-colored hair was throwing rocks at a tall, blond man. She missed more than she hit, but when one of her missiles connected, it connected with strength!
She was yelling at the man, who continued to try and corner her. A crowd had gathered creati
ng a semi-circle around the melee. The man stalked her until her back was to the village well. She had nowhere left to run.
“I will not marry you. Petre! I do not care what our fathers say!” She screamed at him, anger and fear in her voice.
“Mihaela, you have no choice in this matter. You will do as your father says and we will be married tomorrow. Then you will be mine!” The tall man sneered at his cornered bride-to-be.
The look of terror on her face said more than her words could. She didn’t just have a dislike of her father’s choice of husband, she was afraid of him. Something in Marku sparked to life. He never liked to see a woman abused. His own mother was a saint with the kindest heart in the world. She not only cared for her family, but she also put herself forward to offer care to the sick and the infirmed of their people. No child, elderly, or animal went without a kind word or basket of food and supplies either made or put together by his mother’s own hands.
This woman looked desperate. The man continued, unwisely, to approach her.
Feeling behind her, Mihaela found the ledge of the well. “Do not come any closer! I will jump down this well if you do!” Grasping the edge, she sat herself upon it, swinging one leg over.
“If you attempt to jump, I will make sure you wish you were successful!” said Petre. He was within arms-length of her now. She spit in his face.
“You will be sorry for that,” and with lightning speed, Petre swung out with his right hand, slapping the young woman so hard she stumbled and fell sideways off the ledge.
On the ground, she hid her face with her hands trying in vain to hide the tears and the shame. That was when Marku felt something in him take over. It was the moment that had changed his life.
“Stop!” Marku pulled his sword, rushing forth and forcing the blond man back and away from the girl. With the tip pointed at the man’s chest, Marku put himself between the two.
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