The Tempted by Donna Grant

 
    Daman searched the ground for where Ronan and the old woman were looking. The bright pink and blue skirts of Ana, Ronan’s lover was visible from the dim light of the fire. As was the dagger sticking out of Ana’s stomach.
    The odds of any of them getting out of the gypsy camp without a fight wasn’t in their favor. By the looks exchanged between the gypsies, they were prepared to die to avenge Ana – regardless that Ronan didn’t kill her.
    Daman looked to Morcant and Stefan and saw the slight nod of Stefan’s head. Morcant slowly began to pull his sword from his scabbard as Ronan shook his head in denial.
    “Ronan,” Stefan said urgently, palming the hilt of his sword, and waited.  
    There was a moment of silence, as if the world held its breath.  
    Then the old woman let loose a shriek and pointed her gnarled finger at Ronan. Ronan’s eyes widened in confusion and anger.
    Daman heard a gypsy near him whisper a name – Ilinca – as he stared at the old woman. Ilinca’s face was contorted with grief and rage.
    Words, hurried and unfamiliar, fell from Ilinca’s lips. The language was Romany, and by the way Ilinca’s dark eyes narrowed with contempt, it was a curse she put on Ronan.  
    Daman waited for Ronan to grab his sword and the battle to begin. When nothing happened, Daman looked harder and realized Ronan being held against his will. His pale green eyes were wide with confusion.  
    Daman opened his mouth to shout to the others, but Stefan drew his sword the same time Morcant rushed Ilinca. The old gypsy shifted her gaze to Morcant, and he halted awkwardly, her words freezing him in place.
    Once Morcant was taken care of, her gaze returned to Ronan and continued speaking in the strange language.
    “Stefan!” Daman shouted.
    But it was too late. Stefan’s fury had been let loose, and the monster was free. Stefan released a battle cry and leapt over the fire toward Ilinca. Stefan hadn’t gotten two steps before the old gypsy pinned him with a look that jerked him to a halt instantly.
    Then the old woman’s gaze turned to Daman. He sighed and thought of his friends. There was one rule between the four of them – they lived or died together. Daman stepped over the boundary, a cold tremor rushed down his spine at Ilinca’s triumphant smile.
    He was immediately surrounded by men. Undeterred, Daman left his sword in the scabbard and used his dirk and his hands to slice, stab, punch, and kick anyone stupid enough to get close.
    Five men fell – two dead. He put another three on the ground before he found his limbs immobile. No matter how hard he tried to move his body, he couldn’t.
    The men parted, and Ilinca walked to him. Daman looked around, but Ronan, Morcant, and Stefan were gone – vanished as if they never were.
    He glared down at the old woman. How he wanted to tell her how he was going to kill every last gypsy he came across as punishment for what she did to his friends, but the words wouldn’t come. Ilinca controlled every bit of him.
    “Why didn’t you enter the camp?” Ilinca asked him.
    His eyes narrowed as he realized she had allowed him the ability to speak. She wanted answers, but he wasn’t going to give them to her. His lip curved in a sneer.  
    “So, you don’t want to answer. You don’t like to ask for help, do you? Your friends have been cursed, but you already know that.” Ilinca drew in a breath and looked him over closely. “Why did you have to come into camp? You were wise enough to keep out earlier.”
    Daman saw her hands shaking. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She was upset at Ana’s death, but he was desperate to find his friends. Even if it meant talking to her. “Where are the others?”
    “Some place they can’t hurt anyone or themselves.”
    “Ronan didna kill Ana.”
    Ilinca lifted her chin. “He might not have stuck the blade in her, but he’s still responsible. Just as Morcant is responsible for bedding an innocent and ruining the