2
Lizzie shrugged one shoulder. “No one knows. You’ll be lucky if he rises tonight.”
Lizzie winked, made a point of studying the piece of black hair that worked its way loose from her ball-cap as a knowing smile spread across her pretty face.
“Maybe with you here he will quit pouting, but you go on and enjoy the carnival. Everyone will be happy to see you, even if he doesn’t make an appearance.”
It was a gentle dismissal, an avoidance of the reason Roman broadcast sadness, and Mariah took the hint.
The employees of the carnival possessed unwavering loyalty to the ringmaster.
Most of them came to him with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
He provided them with a home, a place where they belonged, and put food in their bellies when the world turned its back on them.
Every race, color, and age called the carnival home, and they all embraced the Romani lifestyle with thankfulness.
Roman didn’t make them feel any less, but taught them his ways.
Some of the Romani were weary of his acceptance to non-Romani, or Gorga , but eventually came around to Roman’s way of thinking.
No judgment could be found in this mix of forgotten souls, and for that, they would never betray him.
The carnival was the last of the true gypsies and Roman Lee their fearless protector and leader.
Mariah paused before the tall, gated entrance and stared at the clown’s face with Welcome painted on its brow.
Her gaze dropped to the white line surrounding the carnival, running alongside the temporary fence.
It signified the boundary into his domain and every creature calling its peaked tents, rides, and booths home.
She knew the seers or witches poured the salt line and hesitated before crossing their well-placed protection spell.
To enter meant he’d know she’d returned if he didn’t already.
It could mean an untimely death, even though she was already knocking on death’s door.
Mariah inhaled deeply before taking the last step into his domain.
A wave of sadness engulfed her soul so strongly she clutched her stomach and groaned out loud.
The ground trembled beneath her feet, and she stumbled at the ripple effect over the land occupied by the carnival.
It wasn’t enough for the normal patrons to notice, but the employees lifted their faces in surprise and fear, all connected to him, searching for the source, until each set of eyes locked with hers, before dropping to whatever task they performed.
Mariah steeled herself for what might come next, but in an instant the turbulent emotion settled.
Roman ignored her again.
Roman Lee stirred from his slumber as a familiar soul entered the carnival, disturbing his rest.
The dirt shifted around his body, conformed to his shape, and resettled.
His fingers lay clasped together on his chest and barely twitched.
The heart thumped irregularly for three beats before slowing again to its regular, soft rhythm.
He focused all his willpower on ignoring her presence, but the harder he tried, the faster his blood raced in his veins.
His mouth salivated with the need to see her, taste her, or just be near her.
A low growl rumbled from deep within his chest, the sound resonating throughout his earthly tomb beneath the Haunted House.
So, his lost mate actually returned, seeking his compassion and love.
What she didn’t know was none remained.
Roman shifted again at the lie he told himself, and his fangs slid from his gums, piercing his lower lip, sending twin drops of blood across his mouth to mix with the rich soil.
The bitter tang seeped between his lips, settled on his tongue, and nagged at his peacefulness until his eyes snapped open. With the swipe of one hand, he created a small cavity over his face and inhaled the first deep breath of the night into his lungs.
Mariah Stone .
Her name clung to the tip of his tongue, but he refused to voice it.
One taste of her was enough, but that miniscule amount burned in his veins still to this day.
Memories of their time together swam in his mind and refused to stay locked behind the door where he forced them.
How could one woman cause so much havoc? He hated her, and he hated himself for ever allowing Mariah to worm her way into his heart.
She was an eight-year-old child the first time her parents brought her to the carnival.
An instant friendship formed between her and every member of his band of outcasts, including himself, since she wasn’t accepted among the children her own age.
They all knew what it was like to not feel like you belonged in this world and how cruel it could be.
A large, hairy birthmark sat beneath her right eye, leaving Mariah the victim of bullies. But with time, she blossomed into an intelligent, beautiful young woman.
The teasing never stopped, but eased a little with each passing year. Most people looked at her with pity, but the birthmark bothered no one at the carnival.
Roman should’ve seen the deep-seated insecurity growing inside her.
Downcast eyes, avoidance of people her own age, and too much time spent at the carnival were all warning signs.
Even though Mariah knew the truth about the people calling the carnival home, she never feared them or told anyone because they accepted her.
He kept the carnival at this very location longer each time they arrived, just for Mariah.
He witnessed her stealing the hearts of everyone who worked for him, including his own.
The child became a young woman, and he thought she’d outgrown her insecurities until she came to him in tears one fateful night.
She asked for healing, and Roman couldn’t deny the hopelessness in her sad, brown eyes, but even vampire blood had its limitations.
The coven of witches he provided a home for was asked to do what vampire blood couldn’t, but the difficult spell required a life-altering sacrifice.
The witches removed a small piece of his flesh to fill the hole the extracted flesh left from the removal of Mariah’s birthmark.
It was a delicate procedure requiring a physician to excise the birthmark, his vampire blood to aid in healing the skin into place, and the witch’s spell to tie everything together.
He still bore the scar from that piece of flesh extracted from his hip. A drop of Mariah’s blood locked him to her and sealed the spell, cursing them both. Although the incantation worked, it manifested a devastating side effect. If he had known, he would have tried harder to convince her parents to take the money he offered for Mariah’s surgical expense.
Roman snarled, remembering the spiteful words. It was a conversation that set everything into motion. Damn Mariah’s father for refusing what he called, “Dirty money from a gypsy.”
Those were the man’s exact words, and they still stung.
Connected to Mariah by flesh and blood, Roman paid dearly for his sacrifice and would for eternity or until his death. The words of the spell, chanted by the witches, stayed in his mind, festering with the passing of time and the regret.
When the soul is whole,
But the skin denied
A sacrifice is made
To strengthen and bind
The flesh of the dead
Will live again
But the host will be tethered
To the receiver until the end.
Roman’s torture knew no bounds. He experienced every emotion she had from that point forward. The euphoric moments of her blemish-free junior and senior year of high school warmed his soul. When Mariah finally turned eighteen, her beauty and spirit were unmatched. On the night of her first heartbreak, his was the shoulder she wept on.
He never said a word to Mariah, but from that moment, they both changed. She distanced herself from him and the rest of the carnival and stopped coming as frequently, although he still waited for her. Another man took his place and friends who never cared. Roman could’ve easily killed Mariah’s first lover, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her to come to him of her own free will.
The sharing of blood and flesh revealed what Roman already knew in his heart. Mariah belonged to him. She was the long-awaited mate prophesied by the witches.
Their connection pulsated with unquenched desire by the time Mariah turned nineteen. Her visits were rare and uncomfortable. Roman ceased looking at her as a child, but as a mature woman, as his mate.
The shared flesh and blood created a recipe for disaster, forging them together on another level.
Roman lived many lives over centuries, but Mariah had not, and something else haunted her brown eyes. He questioned her repeatedly, but she refused to reveal the truth. With his blood , Mariah learned to block him from her thoughts, and with time, her visits stopped altogether, leaving a gaping wound in his soul and heart.
He told himself it was what was best for Mariah. Maybe he expected too much? She couldn’t understand something she knew nothing about.
The separation caused him to withdraw from everyone and everything. The excuses turned bitter on his tongue, and the attempts at reasoning with himself, or Lizzie, became shallow. If Mariah suffered from the separation, he didn’t feel it, but he was the one with the knowledge that Mariah was his mate. He knew it from the blood, and the blood never lied.
Roman spent the last twenty-one years bound to a woman who used and left him. His soul yearned for hers, and his blood called out with no answer. Bitterness morphed into an ugly thing, along with his wounded pride. His body tightened with need every time he remembered her, and his heart hardened to where he thought he could forget her, but now every denied desire rose to the surface, begging and demanding release.
Roman’s jaw tightened and ticked in barely controlled rage, laced with a desire so powerful he didn’t know if he had the strength to control it.
Her presence drew nearer to the place he dwelled, and the very blood in his veins responded with such a loud cry he feared everyone might hear. Mariah’s flowery scent wafted to him beneath the earth, mixing with the soil, until it cocooned and teased, demanding he rise from his resting place.
Roman forced the soil below him to part until his body descended deeper, where her scent didn’t taunt him. He refused to acknowledge her, and when she finally turned from his resting place, he sighed in relief and pushed himself farther into the dark oblivion which had become his comfort.
The diamond stars overhead provided the perfect backdrop to the Haunted House. The blood thrummed in her veins, singing a song only she and Roman knew. It took some time for her to recognize what it meant, but now that she understood, it steadily called to her to him.
She studied the old, dark purple and black paint-streaked wooden structure before her while carnival goers shuffled on the gravel and laughed behind where she hovered. People had no idea what this place held, but she did. A beautiful stranger, a man from her past, rested and lived behind those weathered walls or deep in the ground beneath the floorboards.
Roman kept a room in the back of the building for his personal use, the place where he and his witches healed her, the place of so many memories.