“Feel better?” He whispered, his breath against my cheek beginning to stoke a fire inside me that had yet to die. A fire I feared, that with Gerik, would never die.
I swallowed hard and tried to nod.
“It’s only you, Trinity. I keep telling you that, yeah?” He tilted my chin up until I was drowning in his two deep blue pools of blue. I never wanted to leave his arms, never wanted to let go, never –
“Gerik?” Becki said softly, appearing next to us. “Trinity and I have clothes to wash and, if you don’t let her go, we’re not going to get them done before daylight runs out.”
I’d never been so grateful for dirty underwear before.
******
I followed Becki to a large metal basin where three piles of clothes waited for us. She threw me a large clump of soap and I dutifully started scrubbing clothing against a washboard.
I had never before been a big fan of manual labor. It had also never crossed my mind that someday I would find myself burdened with such a large amount of it. Here my days are longer than ever before, eaten up by washing clothes and dishes, cooking and serving food and playing with children who are not mine. I fall into bed at the end of the day bone tired with aching muscles and sore feet and yet…I feel a fulfillment that I can honestly say I’d never experienced before.
Technology, even the simplest forms of it, had made people’s lives so much more accommodating but it had also disconnected us. But here, in this Romani camp, we are forced to interact just to survive. It was a forgotten way of life, yet, to the Romani it was all they’d ever known and they worked hard to keep it that way.
Staying in tune with the earth, keeping their families close and passing knowledge along to the next generations was what the Gypsies considered the right way to live. They never wasted a thing. They didn’t litter or purposely pollute. Everything had a use or a purpose. The land we lived on was sacred; it gave us life and in return they gave back to it. That, to me, felt right and I respected them for it.
“So…” Becki said.
I paused in my scrubbing to rub the itch on my nose with the inside of my elbow, careful not to get soap on my face. “What’s up?”
“How would you feel about cooking duty tonight?”
I narrowed my eyes. “No one cooks at night, what are you talking about?”
“I’m supposed to make jerky tonight, but I promised Hockey I’d meet him in the back lot later.” She scrunched her face up at me like a cute little puppy dog. “Pretty please, Trinity? I’ll be your best friend!”
I rolled my eyes. “You already are.”
She jumped up, clapping her hands. “Great! I so owe you one! I’ll be right back, I’m going to go tell him we are on for tonight.” She ran off, her hands still covered in soap.
Hockey (Stefan Sava Jr.) and Becki had been together for a few months. They were polar opposites. Whereas Becki was loud, Hockey was quiet. Becki liked to drink and Hockey didn’t. Becki wouldn’t read a book to save her life and Hockey constantly had his nose buried in them. Becki had dated half the guys in camp and I’m pretty sure Hockey hadn’t dated anybody until Becki. Still, they were pretty adorable together; she did all the talking while she dragged him around behind her.
“Trin, do you ever smile?” Xan appeared out of nowhere and threw a large green duffle bag at my feet.
“Didn’t you already fill your harassment quota for the day?” I asked.
“I’m just dropping off dirty laundry, not here to fight.” He nodded at the canvas bag he’d left at my feet. “Mostly Pitti’s underwear and socks. Knock yourself out.”
I groaned. Pitti Moldoveanu had the smelliest feet in the world.
“Xan?” I called out as he turned to leave, wanting to ask him something that maybe only he might have a familiarity with.
He turned, one eyebrow raised, his eyes dark and hard. I thought about his explosive temper and changed my mind.
“Never mind," I said quickly.
“Fată, what’s bothering you?” He leaned up against the basin a few inches from me, his dark eyes assessing. It was too close for comfort. I often felt uncomfortable around him, exposed in a way I wasn’t used to feeling.
“Your father couldn’t stay with the clan because he wasn’t a Roma, right?”
Surprise lit his features and for a moment I didn’t think he would answer me. Then, “Yeah.”
“So, what makes me any different? Is it just because it isn’t safe out there? If it was, would I have to go?”
Xan just stared at me, his body ridged. I knew his father was a sore subject.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “Now, my laundry?” He nodded toward the bag and walked away.
I huffed. “Jerk.”
CHAPTER THREE
Serbia, 1065 A.C.E
“Emilian! Emilian! Hurry, before my mami sees!”
Treime giggled at his surprised look as she tore past him. Colorful petals now sprinkled the countryside as her long black hair blew out behind her. The wildflowers and intricate braids that had been woven into her hair for the festival earlier were both lost to the wind.
His footsteps behind were a heavy stampede. Her heart began to race in anticipation the louder and closer they grew. Her excitement was palpable, making it easy to ignore the dirty looks and nasty comments from the Gaje villagers as they ran past them.
She let loose a scream of frustration as the tips of Emilian's fingers brushed against her back. He was gaining on her. Again.
On a whim, she changed direction toward the village well. Just as she’d thought she’d lost him, Emilian’s hands slipped around her middle and in mid run she was swung up through the air.
He crushed her against him and twirled until she was gasping for air.
“Ah micuțo…” He laughed harder. “You’ll never be faster than me. It’s just not possible.”
His dark brown eyes flashed gray. He quickly set her down and tapped her on the nose. She stomped her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?”
He shrugged unapologetically, still grinning.
“Well for starters, because you’re nine and I’m ten and six, but mostly because you’re a girl.”
Suddenly angry, she grabbed his wrist and released forth a string of the most unfeminine curses she could think of.
She waited for Emilian to start laughing. He always did when she cursed. He’d taught her most of them. Instead he’d grown unusually quiet, his eyes somewhat unfocused as he stared down at her.
“Emilian?” She shook his wrist, feeling his warm skin twitch under her hand. She loved the way their skin warmed when it touched. It never did that when she touched anyone else and she’d never told anyone about it either.
She wanted it to be their secret. Someday when she was older, she thought, she would tell Emilian about it, too.
He jerked his arm out of her grasp and frowned down at her. Her lower lip started to tremble. Did he know? Was he mad?
“Go home Treime, no more playing today.”
“But Emi—”
“Go.”
Confused, she stared into his gray eyes, her entire body warming at the sight of them. Whenever Emilian’s eyes changed color, all she wanted was to be closer to him, to hug him, to hear his stories, and the songs he sung, even though she’d heard them all a hundred times before.
“Don’t make me say it again, Treime,” Emilian’s eyes flashed white with anger. She backed slowly away from him, no longer recognizing her friend. Suddenly, Emilian’s fist shot out, connecting with the solid stone wall surrounding the well. With a scream, she ran from him, stopping only when she found a wide tree trunk to hide behind.
He brought his hand back, covered in blood.
“Are you hurt?” A small voice asked. A village girl was approaching the well clutching a large bucket to her chest. “I could help you,” the girl offered.
Slowly, he turned toward the villager and she watched in astonishment as her best friend smiled at t
he silly girl.
Was he going to talk to her, a Gaje? They thought the Romani people were thieving, beggar scum. Her clan had to move all the time because of people like this girl.
Holding out his injured hand for the Gaje girl’s inspection, Emilian waited until she was close. Then, using his good hand, he pulled her forward and her bucket fell to the ground. She saw his magic before the girl did. It was just a small amount of fire that Emilian pressed against the girl’s chest.
Where a typical village girl would have probably run screaming if a Roma boy had kissed her, this girl melted into Emilian’s arms. She watched as he led the love-struck girl into the woods, already untying the laces on her bodice.
Watching them, her heart broke.
CHAPTER FOUR
Present Day
That night sleep never came.
After spending hours knee deep in salt water, soaking sliced meat until I felt salted enough to hang myself on the drying rack, I should have been tired enough to sleep for days. Instead I ended up tossing and turning. Eventually, I gave up trying and wandered out into camp.
I could see the Popa’s fire pit burning high. As I walked toward it the low hum of male voices and the sweet sounds of a violin grew louder.
Jericho, the Jankovic brothers Lajos and Marcell, Mihai Asenov and his son Shandor, Xan, Gerik, Stefan Sava Sr. and Hockey, without Becki, all sat around the fire drinking out of Jericho’s large jug of homemade Plum Ţuică.
Gerik saw me before anyone else. He always knew when I was near. My skin heated at the memory of what had passed between us earlier and I looked away, embarrassed. When I looked back at him he was smiling brilliantly, the happy expression having reached his eyes. My breath caught at the exquisite sight of his features lit up with happiness. Every line on his face was symmetrical perfection, every plane and hollow an artistic masterpiece. Gerik wasn’t just handsome or attractive; he was the masculine definition of beautiful.
Marcell looked up at me and smiled or grimaced, I could never tell the difference. “Ah lepo dekle na lep večer,” he grunted.
I didn’t understand a thing he said. Marcell and Lajos spoke only Slovenian, neither bothering to speak English or any other language. I was convinced they both could but simply wouldn’t.
I looked around at the varying faces and ages, “Boys night?” I asked, not wanting to intrude if it was.
“Not at all. Please join us.” Jericho motioned to the chair next to him and offered me the precious Romani drink. For the first time ever, I was seeing Jericho with his long salt and pepper braid unbound. His hair hung long and thick down his back and even though he had to be in his sixties, maybe even seventies, he was a very handsome man.
I took a long pull of the sweet liquor and savored the slow burn down my throat and the warming sensation that exploded 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 sixteen and I'd 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 the 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 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. I’d never taken much offense to the lack of 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 suddenly 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 of 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 running 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. I followed his gaze to find Gerik 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 my chest. The instant he'd touched me, fire licked across my skin causing my body to arch 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 as 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 and 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, grimacing as he rubbed his jaw. He spit blood then 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.
The Holy Trinity Trilogy Page 3