Gypsy Blood: Love bloody hurts (The Gypsy Blood Series Book 1) Read online

  The last day at his parents’ house had been stressful. I was angry and upset that we had been emotionally forced apart, I still hadn’t accepted the decision. Zan seemed to be avoiding me, spending as much time as he could with his father. His parents were beside themselves with worry about him.

  When we returned to the house from our visit with Clementine his brother’s widow was waiting for us with the twins. I’ve never been one for babies, but even I had to admit with their golden hair and big blue eyes they were adorable.

  She wished us well on our journey and tearfully told us about Richard’s last mission. Being the wife, and pregnant, she mostly stayed at home in the family castle. Richard and Evita were the ones who regularly went on missions to kill vamps. We had already heard most of it from Evita, but Richard’s young wife told us about her escape from the country, and how she was smuggled via friends into New Zealand. I felt sick thinking about how I would feel if I knew Zan had been murdered and I had to run.

  Zan and his parents were white-faced, listening to the retelling. I knew he took picking up where his brother left off very seriously, and I thought revenge might also be part of his selfless determination to set me aside and pursue vampires.

  Watching him dangle his nephews on his knee and make baby noises, my heart constricted. Would I? Could I, ever stop wanting him? Sure we had only kissed twice and held hands, and yes, I’d kissed plenty of guys. But this one was different, every cell in my body screamed ‘take me, take me, take me, you are the one.’ Could it really be true that I had misunderstood and we were destined to be crime-fighting besties? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

  Now, three months down the track, as we prepare to train together, I grimace at my skirts. We have already passed knife throwing, staking, basic camping skills and undertake regular endurance runs. Today we are going to start hand-to-hand, close contact fighting. I have to admit; I’m nervous and excited, I want my hands on him, even though I know, he doesn’t want the same thing anymore.

  “What?” he asks, seeing my annoyance and revealing that gorgeous smirk.

  “It’s these,” I whine, “these fucking flouncy gypsy skirts. It’s bullshit, you are allowed to wear pants and shorts,” I point to his bare legs, “they say we have to wear these because,” I put on my best Evita Russian bitch accent, “concealing ze veapons is easier, you vould be surprised vat you can conceal under layers of petticoats – and it is tradition.”

  Zan pisses himself laughing, and I reluctantly join in.

  “I can tell you,” I say, “I am concealing a weapon beneath my skirts, but not quite the type they are suggesting.”

  “Stop it,” he laughs, “you’ll get us in the shit. We are supposed to be hand-to-hand combat training.”

  “All I’m saying,” I pause to blow some stray hair out of my eyes, “is that these people need to get with the program and face the modern world. I can conceal just as much in army pants as I can in this skirt, and I can run a shit load faster and kick a shit load higher without flashing my knickers.”

  “Really?” he says, raising an eyebrow, “there’s knicker flashing? I’m all for the skirts, it’s the tradition you know, very important.”

  I punch him playfully on the arm.

  “Seriously, I’m going shopping the first city we find. I’m going to dress for practical warfare, not ancient mystical bullshit.”

  He nods.

  “When we leave here,” he says conspiratorially, “we can shop till you drop.”

  “Well,” I tuck my skirts into my knickers to give myself some leeway ready for the combat, “that would presuppose I have money, and I hate to tell you this, but I’m flat stony broke.”

  He grins.

  “Didn’t you listen to anything my dad said? We are aristocracy, apparently, one of the oldest and richest families in Europe. The business in NZ is just a cover. And you’re my gypsy, which means I support you, financially, so the sky is the limit for what you want.”

  “A Lamborghini,” I say quickly, “and a horse, ooh, yeah, and my own Brazilian cabana boy, for when I need my pool especially cleaned,” I give him a wink, but I can see straight away that I’ve hit a nerve.

  “No cabana boy,” he growls, leaning down and coming at me hard, “you need to reserve all your energy for killing vamps.”

  I dodge out of his grasp at the last minute, I’m quick, but he grabs my skirts and pulls me to the ground, ‘fucking skirts’ “I have a lot of energy,” I mutter, struggling to pull his arm behind his back. He twists and rolls me into the dirt, knocking the breath out of me. I try to wriggle away but he has my arms pinned above my head and his weight on me, and I give up the struggle.

  “You win,” I pant, spitting out some dirt and looking up at his face, my skirts have ridden up, and his thighs are against mine. It’s the first time we have had our skin against each other’s, and I feel a deep tingly stirring down low. We are so close I can feel his breath on my mouth. I gasp as his breath hitches; I can feel his arousal through his shorts, hard against my thigh. I look into his eyes, but he closes his and jumps up off me quickly, holding out a hand to help me up and angling his body so I can’t see his pelvis.

  I’m red-faced, I don’t know what to say. ‘He wants me; he wants me, he wants me’ my mind sings. I struggle to come up with something witty, anything to diffuse the situation, when I see Evita marching towards us, and Asumpta, the head of the training camp, close behind, a look of fury on her face.

  “Ah fuck,” I whisper.

  That was the last combat training we were allowed to do together for six months and the last time we were alone, unchaperoned, before we graduated.

  He trained with a lot of gypsies; I trained with a lot of princes. No one, and I mean no one, made me feel the way his body had as it was pressed against mine for that short time.

  I look up at the castle walls, the turrets, the fortified battlements and shake my head.

  “Ho-ly shit batman, I mean, I knew your family was loaded but…”

  Zan shakes his head in amazement. “We were never rich, we always worked for what we had, well off, yes, but this, this is just as mind-blowing for me as it is for you.”

  “Shall we explore?” I turn to him and grin, and his eyes light up.

  I’ve missed him, God, how I’ve missed him. I mean sure, I’ve seen him, we’ve trained, eaten at the same table even, but we haven’t had time alone to chat, to joke, I’ve missed the camaraderie, having someone attuned to me, someone to laugh at my jokes. Bulgarians were all so serious, at least the ones I’d come into contact with at training, and their food is shit.

  Now, knowing we are finally on our own, out in the real world and planning our own raids on vamps, I felt more free and happy than I have felt in months, like the world is our oyster. I wonder if he feels the same.

  “Let’s find the kitchens,” I say, entering the grand hall ahead of him, “I am starving for real food.”

  He laughs.

  “You haven’t changed.”

  I pause and turn to look at him, the light is behind him in the doorway, lighting up his dark curls from behind, bringing out red and gold hints, and he looks like a Botticelli angel. “No,” I say seriously, “have you?”

  He shrugs. “I can fight now. But if you are asking me if I’ve changed as a person. I don’t know, honestly. I guess so.”

  “Hmmm,” I say, “then that could be a problem?”

  “How?” he walks closer and frowns down at me.

  “Well, I kind of miss taking the piss, and if you’ve suddenly become Mr Serious, that might not go down well.”

  “Ah,” he smirks, “but you’ll still take the piss, regardless?”

  “Of course,” I laugh, “keeping it real babe.”

  We both laugh, our chuckles interrupted by the clearing of a throat.

  Turning we see a butler in full black suit and tie approach.

  “Sir,” he says, “Madam,” he bows, “lunch is served.”

 
“That’s what I’m talkin about Willis. Do lead on McDuff,” I smirk, and indicate the butler should show us the way, watching out of the corner of my eye as Zan shakes his head.

  As we follow the butler I notice he has a slight limp, and I begin to hum the Adams Family tune, ‘da da da dump,’ as I double click my fingers I hear Zan do it at exactly the same time behind me, and a huge grin splits my face, he hasn’t changed.

  The ballroom was like a scene from War and Peace. Women swanning around in long, beautiful dresses, men in tuxedos, a full orchestra playing on a dais. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that I was armed to the teeth under my dress and primarily just a bodyguard for the man I adored, I’d think I had walked into a fairy tale.

  We had been living in his castle now for a month, scoping out the territory and getting together our network of gypsy and aristocrat contacts.

  Zan was from a leading family, the leading family, supposedly, and Richard had been the main organiser for vamp raids and vamp protection systems, so it was taking Zan time to fill his big brother’s shoes. It was a task I knew he loathed, we had talked about it ad nauseam, but his role was set. As was mine.

  Tonight was another networking night. He had to impress with his knowledge and intelligence, get the other princes on side to follow what he said. I essentially had to stay out of the way, and, if possible, make friendly with the other gypsies. Some of them, a very few, had the ears of their princes, so making a good impression on them was important.

  Zan scans the room and smiles when he sees one of his aristocrat would-be buddies gesturing for him to come over. He looks down at me, and I nod.

  “I’m just going to go to the ladies; I’ll meet you over by the bar.”

  “Refreshment table,” he says in a fake British accent, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

  “Don’t be a wanker.”

  He snorts and saunters through the crowd and, as usual, my eyes are drawn to him, watching as he weaves his way past people, nodding and saying polite words. As I watch him, I see someone else fix their eyes in his direction.

  The man is tall, elegantly dressed, handsome in a dark, urbane kind of way, not in the wild natural way Zan is, but more in the gentleman’s magazine kind of way, like a model for an expensive brand of watch. My eyes narrow as I see the man follow Zan’s movements, if I didn’t know better, I’d say the guy was a vamp. But surely a vampire wouldn’t be stupid enough, or brave enough, to socialise with a room full of prince bloods?

  Noticing my attention on him, the man turns his eyes to me, smiles, and nods.

  I don’t respond.

  My gypsy friend, Esmerelda, approaches and stands by me, also surveying the crowd, we trained together, and I use term ‘friend’ loosely. We were more like associates, except, she’s a total zealot and I’m a reluctant conscript. I turn to her.

  “Who is that?” I ask, pointing to the other side of the room.

  “Who?”

  “Ah, never mind, he’s gone,” I shrug, but I still have a vague on-edge feeling. My eyes scan the room, but he has disappeared.

  I make my way to the ladies’ toilets and, after an awkward piddle, trying to raise long skirts, keeping knives, guns and stakes out of my way, I stand and peruse myself in the large, gilt-framed mirror. I can hear women talking over the cubicle walls, and one particular voice catches my attention. Squeaky, a bit like Minnie Mouse, I decide, as she gushes about the man she has just met.

  “And Daddy says he and I are perfect for each other, one of the oldest, most famous families, a very good connection.”

  “And so handsome,” her friend says from the cubicle next door.

  “Yes, we are to have lunch tomorrow, he’s six years older than me. Mummy says that’s a perfect gap. I’m so hoping for a Spring wedding.”

  “Of course,” her friend says, “the blossoms, the marquees. Oh, and your babies will be winter babies, born just at the right time of year.”

  “Oh yes, and you know I want babies straight away, lots and lots of babies.”

  I sneer and just manage to muffle a snort as I dry my hands. Seriously, what century are we living in? Women’s lib ladies, ring any bells? Fucking hell.

  I turn my attention back to the mirror and try to tuck some stray curls into my bun; I’m getting a headache, my hair is too heavy for long-haul bun wearing and my feet are starting to hurt in the heels I’ve worn. ‘Great vampire hunter I am, ooh sorry you got eaten, my prince, my heels tripped me up, and I stabbed myself with one of my many concealed weapons.’ I smirk ruefully at my reflection as the gossiping women flush and join me.

  They stand, still chatting, and look at their perfectly blonde, pale reflections in the mirror as I compare my red cheeks and dark, messy curls to their barbie perfection. I’m pretty much appalled with my looks and turn to leave but pause infinitesimally when I hear Mini Mouse say Zan’s name. My back stiffens as I leave and I know I’ve gone red. ‘Babies? Mini mouse wants babies with my prince. I fucking think not.’ I feel my knife digging into the side of my thigh, and I grimace as I make my way back to the dance floor.

  As I walk out Esmerelda approaches and starts blahing on about duty, about how perfect the aristocrat women are and other such shit. I listen for a moment, then snap.

  “Esmerelda, fuck off.”

  She glares and walks away, and I take a deep breath. I am well and truly sick of playing nice and, after overhearing that conversation in the toilets, I want to stab someone.

  On the ride home I tell Zan that I need to get away from the castle soon, or there is no telling what shit I might get up to.

  He looks at me and grins as he loosens his tie and leans back into the BMW’s tan leather seats.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” he smirks.

  I re-read my gypsy training manifesto, The Vadoma Diaries, that night, just to torture myself after showering and hopping into my new bunny suit onesie.

  It was the diary of the ‘first gypsy’- well that was what they called her at the camp. In essence, it was the reasoning behind the sacrifice the gypsies made to guard the prince blood. I’d read it a dozen times before; each time frustrated that it stopped where it did. Apparently, the second half of the diary was lost centuries ago. My journalistic bullshit detector had gone off when I heard that. It seemed kind of convenient to me that the part of the diary we were given and, told to remember, was not complete. I don’t like mysteries.

  I open the first page and let the words wash over me. The first entry particularly resonates with me and makes me sad for this poor gypsy girl, who fell in love with the wrong man. No prizes for guessing why I identify with her. Although, I don’t think I’m in love with Zan, I mean, lust yeah, and I like being around him all the time, and I’m jealous as shit when someone else looks at him, but love, I don’t think I’ve crossed that bridge yet.

  1399 January 6

  Sent to his noble house, my reputation as a true seer preceding me, I read his palm, and I saw his power. We are worlds apart. Our joining should never be, but tonight we meet in secret.

  My prince, my dream, I know of no other who looks as he does, an angel on earth, no other with such a pure heart. His blood is compelling, his mind noble, he seeks out and destroys the night creatures, returning victorious each night. A man of such purpose.

  1399 February 8,

  All month we have met, my noble lover and I, he is 22 and I, 15, but our love knows no bounds, my body will never be satiated, I will never have my fill of him. He no longer asks me to read his future. My crystal ball reveals we will always be linked. The cards show me; his blood is more magic than I perceived. But his secret is safe with me.

  1399 March 30,

  A campaign calls my prince to the east. The dark things gather and he and his men, his kin, must defeat them. While he is away my life is a void. He tells me he will write of me every day, in his diary. I see no purpose in writing my thoughts. My readings are no longer clear.

  1399 October 1,

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sp; My belly swells, I meet tonight to show him the fruits of our love. My father demands I tell him the name of my lover and I hope, after tonight to reveal all; to tell of my impending marriage. So long he has been absent, so many of hell’s creatures he has turned to ash. I have missed him so; he is the air I breathe, the food I eat, the peace in my heart.

  1399 October 2,

  I have smashed my crystal ball, I have fled my family. My noble lover shuns me. No marriage will he commit to. No claim will he lay to the child I carry. He sends his servant in his stead to deliver a letter to me. “My family would never allow me to marry someone as low as you Vadoma,” he writes. He says I presumed, that I was no more than a dalliance and he will see me no more. He will marry another, a noble lady from a noble house. I burn the letter. I flee to the forest, to die, my heart shattered. But my father finds me.

  1401 January,

  I live only for my children. Inside I am a corpse. My noble lover, the father of my babies, is dead. The vampires have destroyed his line. Although it is true, he cast me aside, my love for him is perennial as the tides. Knowing he is gone from this earth shatters my soul.

  1401 February

  She visits me today, wearing the black of mourning, and I cannot meet her eyes. Her son, my prince, is dead, along with all of his kith and kin. Only she lives, she will exact her revenge. Throughout the land a terrible rampage has been made, his bloodline is all but gone in our province, and the fear spreads. She says I have done something terrible. She accuses me of the crime of revealing the immortal power of my lover’s blood to a vampire. I deny the claim, but she will see no reason. The mother curses me for all time, curses every gypsy, and I know, for I have seen, that my people will pay the price for my perceived betrayal. She takes my son. Her grandson. His twin, my daughter she does not see, hidden as I have kept her.

  1405 January,