Blood Curse (Branded Trilogy Book 2) (23 page)

Kade’s head spun, and he blinked several times to regain his composure. Blood? He was blood to the Monroes? Impossible. It couldn’t be. He’d been raised at sea by Sam, his mother a deserter.

“It is true,” Hiram said.

He searched for Pril. He needed her strength—the abruptness and fire that was all her. He’d absorb her courage, her solidity, and confront the Monroes. But she refused to look at him, and he couldn’t blame her. He was all the things she’d said and more. His gaze fell to Silas. His cravat was high around his neck, his waistcoat and breeches were of the finest fabric. The well-dressed aristocrat would die for what he’d done to Sam. He clenched his fists, anticipating the feel of his dagger as it sliced the man’s throat.

“You are one of us,” Hiram said. “You are a Monroe.”

“Bullshit.” He would not believe it.

“You are my twin.”

Absolute nonsense. Hiram had fair hair and blue eyes, just like him, but so did half the country. They looked nothing alike.

“I was raised by Sam Walker. My mother left me on the ship, abandoned me.”

“Our father wanted you dead,” Hiram whispered. “He believed it was a bad omen to have two babies born together and forced our mother to be rid of you.”

“She gave you to that bastard sea merchant instead of killing you like she was told to,” Silas barked.

Hiram frowned. “She couldn’t do it. She loved you and knew Samuel Walker would care for you as his own.”

He’d always been drawn to Jamestown, to the Monroes. Could what they said be true? But why was it kept from him?

“Sam never told me.”

“Mother made him promise not to speak of it to you. She thought of you even on her death bed.”

“She was a lunatic, a narcissist who took to spirits daily,” Silas sneered.

“Do not speak of the dead with little regard, Brother.”

“I will speak what I want.” Silas cocked the pistol and aimed it at Kade. “I’ve grown tired of this day. Where is the child?”

He could feel the ropes loosening around his arms and pushed away from the tree. He was thankful Pias hadn’t tied his ankles. He pressed the bottom of his foot into the trunk, stretching the ropes.

“She will remain with Pril,” Hiram spoke, his pistol still pointed at Silas.

“No one will stand in my way of killing the girl.”

“She needs to die for ours to live,” Jude said.

“There has been enough bloodshed. I will not condone this.”

“I care not what you say. My daughters have all perished because of that spawn, that witch.” Silas pointed toward Pril.

“I am not a witch, nor was my sister or her daughter.”

“Spells, potions and that blasted curse say you are!”

Pril sighed. “I cannot undo what my sister has done in the past, but I can end the blood curse.”

Silas smirked, and the wrinkles around his mouth stretched upward. “You will break the curse?”

She nodded.

He laughed.

“A mere gypsy with no gifts other than the hole between your legs?”

Kade heaved against the rope around his chest. He winced as the twine dug into his skin cutting the flesh.

“Be still, Strong One.”

He paused. The whispered voice belonged to Red Wolf. He was supposed to be back at the Inn. “How did you find us?”

“It was easy. Your horse has light step.”

He tried not to smile at the kid’s response and remained unmoving while the boy worked the bonds.

“The child must die.” Silas motioned with his free hand to the Indians beside him.

The two men pulled their tomahawks from their bare backs and ran toward Hiram and Pril. Kade’s chest constricted, his ribs pressed into his stomach. He launched forward, rustling the leaves. He needed Red Wolf to hurry, or Pril would die.

Pril went for her bow and quiver. No one would get through the door of the cabin. Bow and arrow ready, she aimed at the beefy Indian, screaming as he ran toward her. She steadied her bow, took a deep breath and released the arrow. She watched as it soared through the air and stuck into the Powhatan’s neck. The man fell to the ground, convulsing as blood spurted from the wound.

She spun, arrow ready, and watched horrified as the other Indian drove his tomahawk into Hiram’s chest. She set her sights on the Powhatan and loosed the arrow. The stick lodged into the tall lengthy man’s back. He pulled his tomahawk from Hiram’s chest and turned deadly eyes toward her.

She reached inside her quiver but it was empty. The Indian came toward her. She froze; her body would not move. Silas and Jude went for the cabin.
Tsura!
She dove to the ground, pulled the arrow from the Powhatan she’d just killed, rolled onto her knees and drew her bow. The man was two feet from her, his bloodied weapon raised high. She squeezed her eyes shut and fired. The ground beside her shook when the Indian fell, the arrow lodged in his chest.

She grabbed the spell book and clutched it to her. Her arms ached from the tight hold, but she’d not lose it again. She raced to beat Silas to the cabin door when Jude yanked her backward by the hair. The pinch in her scalp caused her to cry out as he held her tight.

“That was amusing,” he said and tried to pull the book from her.

She refused to give it to him, keeping the book tucked under her right arm.

He jerked on her hair again, and she was sure he’d pulled the tresses from the scalp. Her hold on the book loosened, and he wrenched it from her grasp.

“What is this?” he asked.

She didn’t answer him.

“It appears to be the devil’s work.” He tossed the heavy book into the fire.

“No!” She reached out her arms and thrashed the air as the flames devoured the book and every written word inside of it.

She struggled against him, but he held her still. When Silas came out of the cabin with Tsura in his arms, she ceased. She prayed the protection spell she’d spoken earlier worked, and her daughter would be safe.

Silas laid Tsura onto the ground and grinned at Pril.

“You bastard. I will kill you,” she screamed.

“Quiet her,” Silas yelled to Jude.

Before she could defend herself, Jude struck her with his closed fist.

Pain exploded on the right side of her face. She shook her head, pushed through the dizziness and the nausea to glare at him.

“A tough one are you?”

She spat in his face.

He backhanded her, snapping her head to the side. Blood dripped from the cut on her cheek, and she left it there.

Silas pulled a dagger from his belt and knelt beside Tsura. The end of the blade pointed toward her heart. He was going to kill her.

“No!”

He lifted his arms high into the air above the girl, ready to drive the knife into her chest.

“Blast not what ye have done but what ye prepare. Cast thy weapon far into the air.” The pendant grew warm against her heart as she spoke the words.

Silas’ hand shook as he tried to hold onto the knife, but Pril’s spell was too strong, and the dagger flew from his hand and into the air to land at Kade’s feet.

“You bitch,” Silas shouted, and he dove for the blade the same time Kade became free from the ropes.

Kade jumped onto the Monroe, and she watched helpless as the two wrestled on the ground. She wriggled against Jude. She had to get to Tsura. She needed to protect her. Jude held her tight against him. He was stronger and could easily restrain her, but she wasn’t giving up. She tossed her head back into his chin. The force vibrated down her neck and into her back. She stomped her heel onto the top of his foot, but his hold on her grew tighter.

Silas pounded his fists into Kade’s sides, and she could hear his breath as it whooshed from his lungs with each blow. She cringed, helpless to do anything other than watch.

Kade grabbed Silas’ peruke and threw it into the bushes. He smashed his fist into the other man’s nose. Blood shot from the open wound, but Silas did not stop his relentless beating of Kade’s ribs.

Tsura sat up and wiped her eyes.

Pril struggled against Jude, driving her elbow into his side as she surveyed the danger all around her daughter. Her stomach dropped. She prayed the Witch’s berry still had Tsura dazed, and she’d not understand what was going on around her.

A low, threatening rumble came from Kade. She turned from Tsura just as he plunged the blade into Silas’ side again and again until he fell on top of him, unmoving.

Jude threw her to the ground and went for Tsura.

She scrambled for a weapon but there was nothing within her reach. He was almost to her, and she didn’t have time to stop him. Fear slammed into her stomach, and she reached out, grasping at the air around her.

She heard the whistle of an arrow right before it embedded itself into Jude’s back. Three more followed one after the other, but he kept going determined to kill her daughter.

“Tsura run!” she called to her.

Her daughter turned toward her. Confusion folded her forehead, and her pudgy hand brushed the ringlets that had fallen into her eyes.

Jude reached out to grab her.

Kade shoved Silas from him and threw the dagger. The blade struck Jude in the chest. He fell to his knees, his hand still out, he stretched for Tsura. A slow exhale exited his lips before he fell to the ground dead.

Pril released a sob and ran toward her daughter. She scooped her up and smothered her with kisses.

“My darling, thank God you’re safe.”

“Mama, I knew you’d come.”

“I did, my sweet.” She kissed the top of her head. Her eyes overflowed with tears as she rocked Tsura in her arms.

Red wolf walked from the bushes and into the clearing. He held a bow she did not recognize at his side. He resembled a warrior, much older than his twelve years. He stood away from them, and she sensed his confusion. She opened her arms, and he ran into them.

He smelled of pine and dirt, and she squeezed him to her.

“You saved her life.”

“As you saved mine,” he said.

“Where did you get the bow and arrows?”

The boy smiled. “I borrowed them from Mr. Mortis.”

She nodded.

“What is her name?” he asked, staring at Tsura.

Before Pril could answer, Tsura sat upright and said, “I am Tsura.”

“I am Red Wolf.”

Tsura placed the palm of her hand to the boy’s cheek, and his eyes grew big.

She smiled. Her daughter had shown Red Wolf a hint of magick.

“Gypsy, I need you,” Kade called as he leaned over Hiram.

She didn’t trust him, and as much as it hurt her, after today she would have no more to do with Kade Walker. She lifted Tsura off of her and went to Hiram. The Monroe was still alive, his breathing shallow, his skin a light shade of grey. She unbuttoned his long coat and folded it away from the wound. Blood surrounded the gash in his chest and stuck to his white shirt. There was nothing they could do. The tomahawk had gone too deep, and he’d lost too much blood.

Hiram reached for Tsura, and she placed her hand within his. Pril had never told her who her father was, but as she watched Tsura lean closer to him, she saw that the girl knew.

“I’ve not known you at all, but I always loved you,” he wheezed.

The girl ran her hand over Hiram’s eyes to close them, he inhaled short quick puffs of air, and she knelt beside him. She placed both hands one on top of the other covering the wound and closed her eyes. Her arms shook, her cheeks heated, the softness on her face contorted as she rocked back and forth. Sweat dripped from her forehead, and she pitched forward.

She opened her eyes, glassy and bloodshot, turned to the side and vomited onto the grass. Pril went to her.

Hiram sat up, the wound no longer visible, his flesh closed and healed.

“Bloody hell,” Kade whispered.

She smiled into the top of Tsura’s head.

“You did it, little one.”

“As I did for you, mama.” Tsura placed her hand onto Pril’s chest, and she remembered the burns her daughter had healed.

“Yes.”

“The child has her mother’s gifts,” Hiram said, staring in wonder at his healed flesh.

“She does.” Pril reached for the pendant around her neck and handed it to Tsura. “Come closer,” she said to Hiram.

He knelt in front of them. Without Pril telling her, Tsura took her father’s hand.

“Do you know the words?” she asked her daughter.

Tsura nodded.

“Cast ye from thy blood curse. Revoke thy spell, remove thy verse.”

Hiram glanced at Pril.

“It is done,” she said.

He put his arms out, and Pril’s hold on her daughter tightened.

“Mama, it is okay.”

Her daughter was growing into a strong Chuvani. Her sense for right and wrong was unlike Vadoma’s, and the worry Pril had felt all this time, eased from her soul.