The Soul Mate

The Holy Trinity Series: Book One

By

Madeline Sheehan

The Soul Mate

Madeline Sheehan

Copyright 2012 Madeline Sheehan

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For Sean and Cayden

PROLOGUE

Bulgaria, 1056 A.C.E.

“
The screaming has stopped Emilian. Time
to go.” Ferka gestured toward camp where Zora Petulengro’s brutal
birthing screams had since seemed unending. Emilian had never been
so thankful before that he’d been born a boy.

He had no desire to go back to camp even
though a few minutes ago he’d felt the sudden urge to run straight
there, straight to… that baby.

That baby, that little girl that was to
become his. No, she was already his. She had been given to him, as
a gift of sorts. They would be bound together as soon as he could
muster up enough courage to make his feet move. She would become
his bride when they were of age and eventually bear his
children.

He closed his eyes. His soul mate. He’d
scoffed at his tată and mami when they’d spoke to him of this
foretold prophecy. How could a seven year old have a soul mate? How
could he have a soul mate?

But Emilian wasn’t just any seven year old.
He was the first born son of Baró Gavril Drágon, the leader of
their Romani Clan, who already had more magic than his full grown
tată. Magic that would grow too powerful for any one man to
contain, without going mad. He would need to have an outlet, a
vessel with who to share his gifts with. Which was where this baby
came in.

“
You look green friend, but methinks you
better go before the Baró comes looking for you himself.”

Ferka was right. Green or not, the wrath of
Baró Drágon was indeed something to be feared, especially if you
were his son. Dragging his heals in the dirt Emilian began to walk
slowly back to camp.

“
Where have you been, you cowardly little
fleabag?!”

Emilian winced as his mami grabbed him by the
ear and yanked him in the other direction toward Zora and Boldo’s
wagon.

“
You were supposed to be close!” He didn’t
answer her; he knew no answer was good enough for Violca Drágon
when she was angry.

As his mami dragged him across camp much to
the amusement of the entire clan, Emilian could only stare
longingly toward where the horses were tied. Wishing he could yank
free of his mami’s hold, grab a horse and be gone from here
forever.

Boldo thrust open the small wooden door of
the wagon as they reached the steps, his large overbearing frame
dwarfing the entire structure. The look of disfavor on the large
man’s face belied any happiness Emilian thought the man might have
had for the birth of his new daughter.

Cowering beneath Boldo’s simmering glare both
he and his mami slipped into the wagon and approached his tată.
Lying on a pallet of rushes in the corner, Zora was holding a tiny
bundle in her arms. Zora looked exhausted, covered in sweat with
small bruises under her eyes. A pile of bloodied rags lay near a
bucket of equally bloodied water.

“
Come here Emilian” Zora said hoarsely, a
strained smile on her face. “You must touch her; make her yours, so
there will never be another.”

Ignoring the dark penetrating gaze of his
tată, the anxious stare of his mami and Boldo’s disapproving glare,
Emilian instead focused only on Zora, the only person who was
treating him with any sort of kindness.

On skinny shaking legs he knelt down beside
her, waiting with bated breath as she unwrapped the small bundle
pressed tightly against her breast. A tiny head covered in black
fuzz appeared along with an even tinier fist. The babe was sound
asleep.

“
Wake up, love.” Zora stroked her
daughter’s cheek. The baby blinked sleepily a few times and opened
her mouth in a toothless yawn. Emilian fought the urge to smile.
Just because she was adorable didn’t mean he had to like her. Then
she opened her eyes wide and the entire group gasped.

“
Green?” Violca squawked.

“
What does that mean?” Boldo demanded of
the Baró. No Roma had green eyes. They had varying shades of brown,
some almost black, other’s had hazel or even caramel colors but not
a blue or a green among them, it was simply unheard of. Gavril
stared at the tiny girl as a smile began to spread across his
face.

“
She is perfect my friends do not fret for
green represents balance, harmony and stability, everything that
Emilian will need. She is everything we could have hoped
for.”

This answer seemed to delight the parents.
Violca however continued to study the baby with narrowed eyes.

“
It is time.” Gavril lowered himself down
on one knee, Violca and Boldo following. Together they said the
proper Romani blessing over the two children, binding them together
in love, family and clan. Their union had been foretold by Nature
and would be upheld by the very people who had sworn their lives to
protecting Nature’s blessings and gifts.

“
Touch her child.” Zora urged, smiling at
Emilian.

Deciding on holding the tiny hand presented
to him, Emilian leaned forward to touch only the babe’s fingertips.
But when he crept closer his body responded to the nearness of her
and without thinking he kissed the baby’s cheek instead, breathing
in her scent. Shocked, he stumbled backwards and landed awkwardly
on his backside.

“
Son?” Gavril asked. “Did it work? Did you
feel something?”

Struck dumb by the sweetest perfume he’d ever
scent, Emilian couldn’t yet speak. He could only stare at the most
beautiful pair of sparkling green eyes he would ever see.

CHAPTER ONE

Catskills Mountains, NY 2011

Too afraid to move, I continued watching with
trepidation at the daddy longlegs spider that was poised directly
above where I lay. It was a creepy looking little devil, with its
tiny little body and obscenely long spindly legs.

Bugs, I am convinced, have been placed on
this earth to make my life miserable. Then again, there wasn’t much
that didn’t make me jumpy these days. The end of the world will do
that to a person.

I blew out the breath I’d been holding as the
spider took off running. It skittered across the stained browned,
canvas ceiling of my 1980’s pop-out tent trailer and disappeared.
“Ugh,” I told no one in particular. “I am having a bad day.”

“The day hasn’t even started yet, woman. It
isn’t possible for it to be bad.”

I huffed at Becki, my trailer mate. “You
don’t consider waking up to giant arachnids hovering over your
head, waiting to eat you, a bad day?”

I ducked the pillow that came flying from the
other end of the trailer. It hit the canvas wall directly above me,
where probably, possibly, hundreds, maybe thousands, of hungry
daddy longlegs spiders may be living.

“You could have scared the spider back
out!”

“Trinity, it’s a spider.”

“Do you know how vengeful spiders are?” I
asked in my haughtiest voice. “Especially to the Greeks?”

I couldn’t quite tell, since her head was
still buried in her mattress, but she mumbled something that
sounded suspiciously like, “Here we go again.”

“Well.” I continued. “The Greek Goddess
Athena…” I paused. “You know who she is right?”

“How could I not? You talk about her all the
time.”

I chose to ignore that comment.

“Anyway, Athena and a mortal princess named
Arachne had a competition to see who the better weaver of the two
was. Arachne won and Athena was furious. So she destroyed Arachne’s
tapestry and cursed the princess to live a life full of disgrace.
Arachne, unable to bear the weight of her curse, hung herself.
Then, Athena took pity on her and brought her back to life… but as
a spider!”

“Trinity, if I had known living with you was
also going to be a constant lesson in Greek mythology, I really
would have reconsidered.”

“How would you like to be brought back to
life as a spider? Wouldn’t you be angry? Vengeful even?”

Becki scowled at me as I sat up. Her long,
black curly hair was hanging in front of her dark brown eyes, but I
could see enough of them to know if looks could kill, I would have
been dead two or three times by now. Becki was most certainly not a
morning person.

“Good morning sunshine.” I grinned at
her.

“I wish I could turn you into a spider.” She
grumbled, cocooning herself inside of her blankets until all I
could see was the tips of her toes.

I was about to respond with another little
tidbit of Greek Myth when I smelled it: Christmas in the middle of
July. The sticky sweetness of fresh pine trees and the thick,
pungent odor of cinnamon flew in through the open window alongside
the warm morning breeze.

“Gerik’s coming.” I told her, jerking my head
toward the doorway. The scent of the man preceded him wherever he
went.

The screen door swung wide open and a 6’4”
shirtless Viking came bounding through the small doorway, dwarfing
the entire trailer, bringing with him his unique scent. He always
smelled so amazing, so intoxicating… only to me. The one and only
time I’d asked another person if they smelled what I did… Well, I’m
pretty sure Alana still thinks I’m insane.

Gerik paused just inside the doorway and
shook out his long, soaking wet hair, spraying water
everywhere.

“Oh. My. God,” Becki moaned. “Why is everyone
against me today?”

He turned to grin at her while stretching his
long muscular body. The magical runes tattooed on his chest and
arms rippled with the sinuous movements.

Gerik looked like none of the other Gypsies
in this Romani camp I had been calling home for the past few
months. Most of the men and women in camp were of Romanian origins
and had darker shades of skin combined with dark, alluring
features. Others had olive complexions but they too had dark hair
and eye colors.

Gerik was different. He was strong and tall
like most of the Roma men, his forehead wide, his cheekbones high
and predominant, but that was where the resemblance ended. Like
many of his Scandinavian ancestors, his hair was the color of ripe
wheat and his eyes were a deep, ocean blue, that misted and swirled
like a stormy sea. Gerik’s nose was proud and strong, unlike the
majority of low rooted muzzles, and his jaw was strong and square,
standing out around the many rounded chins in camp.

Needless to say, Gerik was like nothing I’d
ever seen before.

I watched him wipe his wet face and chest
with his t-shirt before slipping it on; easily picturing him
covered in heavy animal furs and a horned helmet. Before I knew it,
I was giggling.

Becki was watching me. She rolled her eyes.
“Yes Trinity, we all know how sexy Gerik is.”

Her correct assessment of my thoughts
embarrassed me, but Gerik hadn’t been paying her any attention. As
usual, his focus was solely on me.

“Do my braids, yeah?” He held out his pony
holders.

My giggles turned into full on hysterics.
Gerik always wore his hair in two long braids that hung down his
chest, making him look even more the part of the Viking warrior. I
patted my bed. “Come Viking, I’ll plait yer hair before you go off
to battle.”

Still grinning Gerik grabbed the corner of my
old red quilt and with one quick tug yanked it off me. I shrieked
and lunged for my covers, managing to keep the sheet over my
legs.

“Ugh!” Still in her pajama’s, Becki jumped
out of bed and shot us a disgusted look. “It’s a little early for
the mushy stuff. I’m out.” The screen door slammed hard behind her
as she stormed out.

Gerik and I exchanged confused glances. Since
I’d come to camp, Becki hadn’t been a gracious morning person, but
she never been outright mean.

I scooted closer to him when he sat down,
taking the beaded pony holders out of his hand. The sheet that was
still covering me slipped down my legs. I followed his gaze to my
underwear and exposed thighs.

The air in the trailer grew hot and heavy,
thick with anticipation. I knew without having to look up that
Gerik’s eyes had turned gray.

Gerik made me tremble with want. He could
make me forget everything around me except for him. Even without
the knowledge that Gypsies still roamed the earth and that magic
truly did exist in our world I would have felt the power in this
man.