Bloodline Gypsy: Jook and Gypsies Vol. 1

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Overview

A supernatural thriller of chilling carnage and haunting beauty, Bloodline Gypsy uncovers the origin of a mythical creature that has plagued history since the dark ages. Tracing an inherent line of magic back to Egypt in 981 AD, this dark fantasy reveals the mysterious link between gypsies and werewolves. A yoke that, twelve hundred years later, reveals itself in the form of a birthmark stamped on children born of Louvari descent.

When Susannah Henika loses her mother in a ...

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Bloodline Gypsy: Jook and Gypsies vol. 1

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Overview

A supernatural thriller of chilling carnage and haunting beauty, Bloodline Gypsy uncovers the origin of a mythical creature that has plagued history since the dark ages. Tracing an inherent line of magic back to Egypt in 981 AD, this dark fantasy reveals the mysterious link between gypsies and werewolves. A yoke that, twelve hundred years later, reveals itself in the form of a birthmark stamped on children born of Louvari descent.

When Susannah Henika loses her mother in a tragic accident, she moves to a mountain resort town to live with a father she has never known. She falls victim to night terrors and an impending sense of dread. She meets a woman in the woods, Madalina Sadrinovic, whose uncanny ways set Susannah ill at ease. Strange and foreboding events follow the arrival of Madalina's twin brother Luca. A local boy goes missing. The American teenager begins to suspect that somehow, linked to the strange markings on her hand; she may be one of the last remaining humans, genetically predestined, to bear the offspring of an altered species her distant ancestor forged into the world.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781481748704
  • Publisher: AuthorHouse
  • Publication date: 6/29/2013
  • Pages: 436
  • Product dimensions: 6.00 (w) x 9.00 (h) x 1.13 (d)

Read an Excerpt

Bloodline Gypsy

JOOK AND GYPSIES VOL. 1


By SHIRLEY MARTIN

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2013 Shirley Martin
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4817-4871-1


CHAPTER 1

Susannah


His wife wanted a paternity test from the very minute they received the call about the girl—a sixteen year old whose mother and grandparents were killed in a motorhome accident. She was allegedly, his daughter.

Face to face with her for the first time, in a seedy cluttered government office, Chandler Shaw realized that convincing his spouse that this was his child without DNA testing, was going to be almost impossible.

She looked completely alien standing next to him.

He had been seventeen the last time he looked into green eyes, with a ring of gold around the irises. Nicolae Henika's eyes—his daughter's grandfather. Her dusky complexion and fall of dark hair brought another jolt of memory ... Irena. She was taller than her mother had been, having inherited some of his length of bone. Her features too, were more refined, hinting towards his Anglo-Saxon heritage. But it was resemblance to her Hungarian grandfather that struck him the most, that very first time that he saw her.

The social worker handling the case was a woman named Kate Evans. He could feel the woman's eyes on him now, and it was an uncomfortable intrusion.

Chandler and Ms. Evans had been in contact on a regular basis over the course of the last two weeks. She was efficient, impersonal and as sharp as a tack. He had assumed the legalities would be cut and dried. Susannah's mother had raised her, with the knowledge of who her father was and how to contact him. His name was on the birth certificate. His daughter had stated in an informal hearing, that she would be willing to live with her father, on a six-month trial basis. Nevertheless, Chandler's lack of contact and financial support over the last sixteen years was—from a legal standpoint, considered abandonment. His credibility was under question. Ms. Evans expected him to prove his worthiness to provide his teenage daughter with a suitable home. Especially since Susannah had family, several aunts and uncles in Sandusky, Michigan who had expressed a readiness to take her into their homes.

It was the girl herself, who was the backbone of his involvement. She had insisted on making paternal contact—something that intrigued and touched him. He wasn't taking any chances. He retained a lawyer to walk him through the procedures, and make sure that all of the paper work was in order.

It was also a subtle way of letting Ms. Evans know he was perfectly willing to play hardball, and finances were of no concern.


Following the brief introduction, Chandler reached out to shake Susannah's hand. It seemed awkward and dully formal. She extended a slender arm and laughed suddenly at the "overwhelmingness" of it all. He did too. It warmed things up a little.

He had arranged to take her out to lunch for their first meeting, and he was anxious be alone with her. He confirmed his intentions with Ms. Evans, and signed the papers she quietly shoved in his direction. The daughter of Irena Henika was his child, but up until September 23, she would remain a ward of the state. Ms. Evans' crisp blue eyes drifted from him to the teenager—a notable softening of expression came over her face.

It sat wrong with him, having a stranger between them. Chandler shot the social worker a dismissive glance and led his daughter out of the office and into the hazy California sunshine.

Walking through the parking lot, away from the cluster of high rises, he laid his hand on Susannah's back. Navigating her to where he had parked his cherry red Hummer. He was encouraged by her response; she leaned gently into his touch. It was a reaction that both exhilarated him, and made him uncomfortably aware of his half-grown offspring's femininity.

Children change a lot between the ages of nine and sixteen. Chandler had forgotten to calculate those changes.


Hidden in a toolbox, in the rafters of his four-car garage, was an envelope full of pictures taken by a private detective. A detective he had hired to track down the Henika family in 2005. They were pictures of a scrawny, boyish looking nine year old with a wide mouth and a tangle of brown hair. He had studied everyone to memory. The one he stared at the most was a shot taken of his daughter, walking with two girls her own age, at what looked to be a festival. She was eating a snow cone and looking back towards the photographer, as if something had attracted her attention. Her eyes were oblong and deep set, their color hidden from the camera by the slant of the sun. The angles and planes of her face were oddly beautiful just then, in that moment, frozen on Kodak paper. A hint of the woman she would someday become.

Eyeing her as she paced beside him, he noticed that puberty had softened the angles of her face. Her hair had darkened with age. The chestnut color of her youth was being replaced by a dark sooty brown, giving it a two-tone look. It had grown down to her elbows; the added length straightened the curls to wave's—curls she had inherited from him. Irena's hair had been as smooth as black granite. She smelled of some kind of perfume, her blouse, was cut just low enough to reveal the soft swell of cleavage. There was an unmistakable curve of thigh, and flare of hip that screamed female sexuality. He would not be holding her on his lap or tucking her into her bed at night. Moments that had never come, were already gone forever. He opened the door and she slid into the Hummer. The lock clicked securely into place when the door shut.


Kate stood at the window and watched as father and daughter left to become acquainted for the first time. She had been privy to a few such circumstances, being in the room when a parent and a child met for the first time. While always charged with emotion, in her line of work, she witnessed that in many cases, it did not always work out. The situation with Chandler Shaw and his young daughter was hopeful. He and the girl's mother had parted ways as teenagers. There had never been any custody battles, accompanied by accusations of neglect or abuse. There was no history of drugs or alcoholism.

Chandler Shaw was an elegant, well-educated man. Kate had done enough homework to know that he owned two hotels and a huge chunk of stock in Big Bear Lake's premier ski resorts. He was charming and generous, casual but expensively dressed, modestly down playing his wealth. His response regarding paternity and guardianship over his illegitimate child had been without the slightest hesitation.

So why the lifelong absence in Susannah's life?

He had explained that it had been the decision of the parents, on both sides, to separate the young couple. Believable. Parents of minors often took matters into their own hands when there was a pregnancy involved. He had been only seventeen at the time. But certainly a man of his stature could have easily regained contact with Irena Henika and assumed some kind of responsibility over his child. They had never even left the state, and Henika was not a common name; he could have tracked her down on Google or Facebook for goodness sake.

Kate watched as the Hummer turned out of the parking lot and into a line of traffic. The windshield and high polish paint glinted in the muted sunlight.

She knew Chandler Shaw was married and had two young sons. He lived in what he had so casually hinted—as lakeside mansion. Not only would his teenage daughter have her own room, she would have her own wing, he added, chuckling to take some of the sting out of the brag. He was quick to point out that he and his wife were church going Christians and that he supported a youth organization, where he also donated his time counseling troubled teens.

This was a man that painted a pretty picture of himself.

What was it about that pretty picture that made Kate chew on her lower lip thoughtfully? Her guard had always risen when something looked too perfect. She was not a woman that took a second glance at anything that advertised something free, either knowing instinctively there would be a catch.

Raising teenagers as a single parent, and going to work every day at a job that she had deliberately taught herself to become desensitized to, Kate rarely allowed herself to develop an emotional connection to a client. However, there was something about the Henika case that had slipped through her defenses. Most of the teenagers and children that filtered through her office had experienced the ravages of life: drug addiction, abuse, molestation, prostitution, abandonment. They were bitter, withdrawn and emotionally disassociated with acts of kindness, and difficult to connect with. Kate had long ago accepted that there was only so much that she could do.

Here, on the other hand, was an emotionally healthy girl who had had the benefit of a loving home and a happy childhood. The ravages of life had found her anyway, leaving her alone and adrift in an adult world. Kate thought that for Susannah it must have been like waking up one morning in a different century—everyone and everything she knew, dead and lost to history and time.

The social worker considered that it might just be, the girl herself, that had stirred dusty emotions back to life. Susannah had been escorted down from northern California by a Sonora County social worker. A personal favor from Kate's longtime friend and colleague, Gretchen Swanson, who had several years prior, moved up to Twain Heart and was in the habit of making trips down to the Southland to visit friends and family.

Kate had first set eyes on the Henika girl standing in the hall. She was clinging to a guitar case as if it was a portal to her past life. Grief stricken and solemn, she was an intense looking girl with odd colored eyes that lingered too long on passing faces, as if searching for answers in details in bone and flesh.

Gretchen's eyes met Kate's above the Susannah's head and there was instant communication. It was obvious to Kate that something had transpired over the twelve-hour drive that caused her lifelong friend's unprofessional and personal emotions to rear their ugly heads.

Kate had already arranged for foster care, and was extremely pleased with who had been available. Gretchen had promised to stay in town for a few days; coming by Kate's that evening for dinner.

Susannah took a seat in the office to wait for the finalizing of paper work and for her foster mother to pick her up. She swiped her long hair behind her ears and pulled her guitar close to her legs. Both women, after observing her for a few seconds locked eyes in meaningful contact.

"Meet me at Sandy's?" Gretchen asked, and Kate knew that she wanted to talk before they went to the house and were in the company of Kate's teenage son and daughter. Sandy's was a Bar and Grill, that had been their haunt when they were both rookies. When so many times the cases they were involved in, had taken such an emotional toll, it required the company of an ally and large quantities of alcohol to get through the night.

Kate raised her eyebrow, curious at her longtime friend's request.


Glancing up from her paperwork, Kate gazed at the clock and looked down at the girl. Molly MacDonald was late. She could not remember when that woman had ever been on time. Molly had insisted on picking Susannah up at the office, because she was taking her son to soccer practice and would not be home that evening. Susannah sat patiently, mostly staring out the window.

Only once, Kate looked up to find the girl's eyes on her. She had never seen eyes that shade of green before—their steady gaze was unsettling. The teenager smiled a tiny apologetic smile, as if somehow sensing that she was the source of unease, and turned her head back towards the window. Kate watched as her hand trailed across the handle of the guitar case, absently securing some kind of comfort from it. She had wide hands. Her fingernails were ragged and indented from the guitar strings. She clinched the handle briefly, then turned it loose and swiped at her hair self-consciously.

Kate was beginning to think, she knew exactly what Gretchen was going to say the minute she plopped her butt down next to her on that bar stool.

"Boy I'm telling you what Kate, if there was any way in hell, I would keep this one."

She would say it adamantly, shaking her head and taking a long swig of her martini. Kate had always compared their profession to that of people who worked in animal shelters.

"We can't take home every stray on death row; we would have thousands of them." She would always retaliate, grateful that there were laws that protected social workers from that very thing.


When Molly MacDonald finally walked in, she was a red headed flurry of a woman who talked faster than anyone could take in, her endless string of sentences. She had Susannah's full attention. Kate had never met Chandler Shaw in person at that point, although she had talked to him several times on the phone. She was willing to bet Susannah got the aristocratic curve of her jawline from her father. It indicated breeding. Not his smooth confidence though, or that almost undetectable hint of arrogance. His daughter was looking up at Molly McDonald, with such a heart-wrenching look of vulnerability on her young face. Kate thought she might have to slide onto that bar stool and beat Gretchen to the punch line.

"Boy, I tell you what Gooch, if there was any way in hell, I would keep this one."

It was easy for Chandler to get over his nervousness once they were in the Hummer. He felt a surge of control he had been struggling to maintain in the office. With his daughter beside him in the passenger seat, he drove through the city streets. He was aware that she kept stealing glances at him. From the corner of his eye, he could see the side of her face turn his way, and the cascade of her hair.

"You look so much like your grandfather," he could not help saying.

She smiled comfortably for the first time in his company. "Yeah, I know," she admitted simply. It was clear she had heard this many times before.

She had not dressed up for their first meeting and he wondered what that meant. She was wearing a frayed, sage green blouse with a scalloped hem that clung to her hips. Faded blue jeans with ragged holes in the knees, and scuffed brown boots. Comfort clothes. Clothes she had probably worn countless times in the company of her family, maybe even bringing back a memory of some special occasion.

He took her to the Macaroni Grill. It was the boys' favorite place to eat whenever they were off the mountain, and he felt like it was a way of easing her into customs, that were to be a part of her new life.

Parking the car, he asked her one of the questions that had been burning a hole through him since he had first talked to Kate Evans, "So, your mother told you about me?" The words sounded more casual than he felt.

"She talked about you all the time when I was little," Susannah answered, turning her full attention to him.

"What did she say?" Chandler cringed inwardly—he could not believe he just threw that out there like that. Was he even ready for the answer? No ... no, he didn't think so. But there was no retracting the question. His daughter was studying him thoughtfully.

"She said that you were just a kid back then, when she got pregnant and that you didn't have the support of your family like she did," Susannah said frankly.

Chandler took in a deep breath that stalled on the exhale. "Did she ever say why she never tried to contact me over all of these years?"

"Mom always said you would find us, when you were ready."

Suddenly, her eyes on him made him feel—utterly skinless. There was no way she could know that he had found them seven years ago, and had opted not to make contact. Peter, his oldest son, had been just a toddler and Penelope, his wife, was pregnant with Sammy, their second child. It would have thrown his life into turmoil and put an incredible stress on his marriage.

Still, he felt flush with guilt. Irena would never know that she had been, in part, right. That he had in fact, tracked them down.

Chandler fiddled with the gearshift knob and glanced out the rearview mirror. Heart to heart honesty wasn't really his thing. His comfort zone was behind a wall of pleasantries and pretenses. He was not a man who let people in. He unbuckled his seat belt and shot Susannah a glance. "You ready to go into the restaurant?" he asked, a little more lightheartedly.
(Continues...)


Excerpted from Bloodline Gypsy by SHIRLEY MARTIN. Copyright © 2013 Shirley Martin. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 5
( 9 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 9 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 22, 2013

               This is the BEST  WEREWOLF book I have ever read!  I

               This is the BEST  WEREWOLF book I have ever read!  I have no doubt this book will become a movie. It has everything
    all rolled into a very believable story. The author makes you feel these characters exist in the real world, which is an uncanny feeling. 
    It draws you in and leaves you wondering in a very beautiful way.It has all the genres and not for the faint of heart. 
    A must read. You can read this book over and over again.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 30, 2013

    Very engaging story. Once you start reading it you can't put it

    Very engaging story. Once you start reading it you can't put it down. Adult themes but not overtly over the top. Recommend highly for anyone into the supernatural world of werewolves and gypsies.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 4, 2013

    Other than needing a proof read due to typos, this has to be one

    Other than needing a proof read due to typos, this has to be one of the best Werewolf stories ever. Can't put it down! Intricate storyline, set in an atmosphere that draws you in as if you were there. The author has created an amazing cast of realisim.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 25, 2013

    Bloodline Gypsy brings a whole new meaning to the Werewolf genre

    Bloodline Gypsy brings a whole new meaning to the Werewolf genre. Shirley Martin literally "paints" you the story in an exciting visual experience of mountains, forests and characters. You won't be disappointed!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 24, 2013

    Finally!! This is the best supernatural thriller I've read in ye

    Finally!! This is the best supernatural thriller I've read in years! The author has done a brilliant job at making the story completely unique and beliveable. It has magic, a true understanding of animal instinct, sex and carnage. I'm blown away that a woman wrote it!! Cuddos Shirley Martin!!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 17, 2014

    This is one of the best books about gypsy's and werewolf's I hav

    This is one of the best books about gypsy's and werewolf's I have every read, once I started it I couldn't put it down
    I have recommended this book to several of my friends and family, Shirley takes the reader into the pages of the book,
    as the reader, you fine yourself right there with the characters, she has painted a picture so real that you will not want to
    stop reading.  I highly recommend this book, I can't wait until the next one go'es to print!!!!   

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 11, 2014

    I can't wait for the next one to come out! It's a page turner. T

    I can't wait for the next one to come out! It's a page turner. The story is truly unique in it's take on the werewolf. I almost want to say there's too much wild sex 'scenes'...I almost want to say that...

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 25, 2014

    Great read

    My friends mother wrote this book she is very talented I read the sample first and was immediatly sucked into the story I want more I couldnt put it down love the book a must read

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 10, 2015

    No text was provided for this review.

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