Blood Curse (Branded Trilogy Book 2) (5 page)

She sucked in a breath and let it out in a loud whoosh.

“You did not want to know the days ahead of you, sir. You came for another reason.”

“If you are so sure, then what is the other reason?”

“I do not know.”

He pulled at the chains, shaking the bed, and winced when his head came down onto the cot.

Pril leapt forward to help him when a strong hand reached out, grabbing her shawl and pulling her close.

“Remove these damn chains,” he said through clenched teeth.

There was something in his eyes. A flash of agony, betrayal, hurt? She didn’t know, and when she looked again it was gone.

“I…I cannot until you speak the truth.”

He shook her violently. The walls vibrated, and she closed her eyes.

A loud thud silenced the wagon and loosened the grip on her shawl.

She opened her eyes and regarded Kade, unconscious and bleeding from a cut above his right eye.

Galius leaned over them.

“What have you done?”

“What I always do.”

“He wasn’t going to hurt me. He was confined to the cot.”

Galius shrugged.

“Out!” she shouted. “You have done enough. Now I need to mend another wound.”

She waited until Galius left before blotting the cut above Kade’s eye. Why had he come? He didn’t believe in what she did, and she could see the lie in his eyes clear as the morning sun. He searched for something. She swept his blond hair from his forehead and stared at his handsome face. Dark brows framed even darker eyes. A somewhat crooked nose and square chin gave him a rugged appearance, but it was the clean-shaven cheeks that had her wondering where he’d come from.

Most men in her clan kept a beard during the colder months, and only those of wealth shaved often. She spotted a ring on his right hand and lifted it to see the jewel better. Large hands with callused palms told her he worked hard wherever that may be. The gold ring housed a round emerald in the center, and she couldn’t help her gasp. It must’ve cost a fortune. She leaned closer.
Who are you?

She dabbed the wet cloth over the cut above his eye, cursing Galius and his hot temper. She sunk her finger into the jar of wax and slathered the slash. The brow had begun to swell, and a light shade of purple colored the skin.

Mr. Walker wasn’t telling them the truth. He wasn’t here to harm them, but possibly another.
Tsura.
Her child needed protection from the world outside of their clan, and she couldn’t do that. Galius had tried, but Milosh disagreed on every matter concerning the child. He’d been held against a stone wall far too long. Now things had become worse. Milosh’s child was gone, and he blamed hers.

She’d have to face her brother sooner or later, and the thought frightened her to no end. She’d not allow herself any comfort. Her niece died because of her hand—because of her selfishness. She released the tears waiting on the edge of her lashes. How could she have not protected them all? What good was the magick she held if she couldn’t help those in need—her own family?

She knew the spells by heart, she’d said them often enough, but she didn’t know how to save her only child. She wasn’t strong enough. When she was younger their mother concentrated on Vadoma’s gifts. She was the Chuvani, the one with the most power out of the two sisters. Pril was self-taught. She felt the light in her, the heat as it moved from her soul to her fingers, and spoke the words. She’d made mistakes, but Vadoma had tried to help her when she wasn’t busy studying her own magick.

After their mother died, Pril leaned on her sister for comfort but was met with a resistance she’d never felt before. Vadoma had placed beams around her heart, and no one could get close.

The fire rose high, reflecting off of the concerned faces of the Peddlers gathered around. Pril held Tsura upon her lap while waiting for the clan’s counsel to begin. She didn’t want to be here, but like all the times before, Galius insisted. She searched the familiar faces for Milosh and Magda. She exhaled when she saw no sign of them.

She should feel more relieved than she did, but instead her chest was heavy, and her hands fidgeted. She yearned for a word, an embrace, or even a smile from her sister in-law. They’d been close, and now a boulder stood between them. Milosh had never been accepting of Pril’s decision to raise Tsura as her own, and even though he hadn’t said so in the last year, she knew his defiance and anger were coming soon. She squeezed her daughter to her chest as fear turned her blood cold, and she shivered.

Galius stood in the center of the circle, the fire behind him. She knew he’d be by her side through anything, but this battle was hers to fight. He cleared his throat to summon everyone’s attention.

“Tonight we hold counsel to answer your questions, and calm your fears,” he said.

Pril’s hands shook, and she rubbed Tsura’s back for something to do. She knew what her people dreaded, and Milosh was mixed up in their doubt.

“We’ve been told Tsura is of special blood. She is the reason for the hunts,” Ivan spoke, clutching his daughter Callie to his side.

“This is untrue,” Galius said in low even tones. Pril knew he would only give short answers, refusing to divulge more.

“Your own brother, Milosh, has said these things. How can we be certain she is not the one the Monroes want dead?”

The faces of her clan stared back at her and Tsura. Pril bounced her daughter on her lap to hide the fact her legs were trembling.

“Milosh is grieving the death of his own child. His words cannot be taken as truth.”

“We want to see behind the child’s left ear,” Emmett said.

Often quiet during clan meetings and ensconced in his vardo most days, Emmett didn’t seem at all the man he’d portrayed himself to be these past years. His wide shoulders stood out, daring any person, Galius included, to decline his request.

She was having none of it. She was not afraid to stand up for her child. “What will that tell you?” she asked, her voice pitched as she glared at the other man across the fire.

“It will tell us if she is branded. The Monroes hunt the marked one.”

“Of course they do, but would you not have seen way of this mark on my child long before now? She has frolicked among you for three years.”

Emmett snickered, and she didn’t miss the muscles twitch in his neck.

“I do not go about checking behind little girls’ ears.”

“But you have need to now?”

“Yes, we all do.”

She addressed the crowd. “You’re all wanting to see behind Tsura’s ear?”

Some nodded while others turned away, refusing to acknowledge the question.

“Sister, show them,” Galius said from beside her.

She inhaled expanding her chest and stood with Tsura in her arms. Placing the child’s head to her chest, she ran her fingers through the thick curls to pull back the hair behind her ear. With careful steps, she walked around the fire. Every muscle in her body tense, she prayed the light from the fire, the herbs and powder covered the mark she knew was there.

It’d been Galius’ idea to hold the counsel in the evening. He knew they’d ask to see the child’s ear, and with just enough powder and firelight it could be hidden. The mark was small and sat in the crease behind her left ear. Vadoma had the same one.

Sorina refused to look, showing she trusted her friends and didn’t believe what Milosh had said. While others nodded in acceptance as she passed. Once back at Galius’ side, she tucked her head into Tsura’s neck to blow out the long breath she’d held.

“Who is the man in the supply wagon?” Ivan asked.

“His name is Kade Walker, and we will make sure he holds no threat to us before we release him,” Galius said.

“He is injured, and when he is well I am sure he will be on his way,” Pril added.

Milosh burst into the circle, hair disheveled and eyes wild. He pointed a long finger at her.

“That child is a spawn. She is the reason we all have been running.”

Pril caught Galius’ eye. Heart hammering in her chest, she placed Tsura on her hip and turned to shield her daughter.

“You have been grieving, Brother.” Galius placed his hand on Milosh’s shoulder.

He shoved the gesture from him and took two large steps toward Pril.

Galius stepped in between them.

“No, Milosh. Not like this.” Galius’ voice was low, but the warning within the tone could not be missed.

“You’ve all gone mad to believe these two,” Milosh addressed the clan. “They’re liars protecting the devil’s child. Give her to me.”

“No,” Pril said.

“I will show you the mark,” Milosh shouted at the clan.

“We have seen,” Ivan said. “There is nothing.”

“That is because they’ve hidden it.” Milosh stepped toward Pril. “Hand her to me.”

“That is not going to happen, Brother,” Galius spoke, and Pril stood taller knowing he was there.

“You all have heard stories of Vadoma, the great Chuvani.”

Gasps surrounded her, and she blinked, trying to steady herself. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from shouting at Milosh. Vadoma had been known for her ruthless behavior and vengeance if crossed. She peered at Galius—her eyes pleaded with him to end this.

“Enough,” Galius growled.

“You know Tsura brings death.”

“My brother has become delusional because of his grief. Please, ignore him.”

Milosh laughed, a chilling sound that struck the back of her throat and made it difficult to swallow. He bent over, throwing his hands up as he continued to carry on. The clan grew quiet, and she stepped back.

Milosh shot up, his black hair sticking out in all directions, eyes wild and mouth turned down. He spat at her. “I despise you.”

“Why would you say such horrible things about your sister’s child?” Sorina asked.

“Because that child is the reason mine is dead!” Milosh went for Tsura, and Galius jumped on him.

Tsura cried into Pril’s chest. She could feel the child grow warm.
Not now.
She wanted to stay—needed to. She had to see what transpired between her brothers. The skin beneath her blouse heated. Without a word she raced to her vardo, holding Tsura tight, her flesh screaming.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she hurried, praying no one saw the smoke from her shawl and blouse. Once inside the wagon she dropped Tsura onto the bed and reached for the bucket of water she kept on the floor. She cried out as she dumped it onto her chest.

She dropped to her knees as pieces of her shawl fell to the floor. The smell of burning flesh permeated the room, and she gagged from the intensity of her wounds. Tsura’s whimpers faded as she ignored her child and tried to figure out how to fix what had just happened. She’d never been burned this badly before. The skin on her chest above her breasts oozed, and the cool air stung the open sores. She wheezed. A pang in her side reminded her of the broken ribs, and she leaned to the left to relieve the pressure.

Her hands shook as she slowly removed the blouse. The corset had saved her breasts and stomach from being burned. The white chemise had singed holes, but otherwise was in good shape. Her blouse and shawl could not be salvaged. She stood on trembling legs and reached for the jar of beeswax on the counter. Her hands shook as she tried to grab hold of the lid and open it.

Her chest stung, the skin still smoldered as the room dipped before her. She reached out to steady herself. The jar fell from her hand onto the floor and rolled under the table. Black dots danced in front of her, and she blinked as her vision blurred. She sunk to the floor and lay on her side. With the remnants of her blouse, she covered her burned flesh. The skin throbbed with the beat of her heart. The pain was so powerful her teeth chattered, and she bit down hard to stop them. She couldn’t halt her body from shaking and soon was in full convulsions.

Kade spit the key from his mouth onto his lap. The gypsy, Galius, hadn’t thought to check his pockets when he let Kade relieve himself earlier. Working on a vessel his whole life he’d acquired certain talents. Pickpocketing was one of them, fighting the other. He pressed his fingers into his pant leg, pulling the fabric so the key slid down and into his palm. He glided the key into the metal lock. In one turn, he heard the click. Every muscle in his body sighed.

He stretched his arms above his head and inhaled a deep breath. It felt good to be free of the chains. His fingers skimmed the cut on the back of his head. Whatever the gypsy had put on the wound was working. The ache had all but disappeared.

His dagger gone, he took an ax from the wall, opened the door and peered out into the blackness. He expected a guard to be standing outside the wagon and was surprised to see no one there. Shouts in the distance brought his head up toward the large fire a hundred feet away. Two men wrestled around the flames. The shorter man flailed about. No rhythm or beat to his punches; he’d lost all control, fighting with anger rather than a clear head. He’d lose because of it.

His opponent was Galius. Kade’s palms twitched with the urge to beat the other man into a bloody state. He didn’t care for the big gypsy and owed him for the knot on his forehead.

Galius let his opponent pummel him without so much as a flinch. He was a thick mass of muscle, and Kade felt he’d met his match in the gypsy. It’d be interesting to see who would win if the two of them went at it.

Two more punches struck Galius before he puffed out his barrel chest. Eyes full of remorse, he lifted his meaty fist and, with one blow, clipped the shorter man under the chin, sending him through the air to land awkwardly on the ground. The crowd gathered around the fire fell silent. Galius fell to his knees beside the fallen man.

Branches broke to Kade’s right. Someone was coming. He observed the area on his left. A short distance away was the wagon where he’d met the gypsy, Pril. The steps drew closer. With no time to wait, he fell back into the shadows and headed toward the wagon.

He leaned against the wood structure, his back firmly to the wall he inched toward the door. Voices could be heard across the camp, but they were more concerned with the man who’d been knocked out instead of their escaped prisoner.

He peeked around the wagon. No one was there, so he ducked inside. He halted at the doorway. Pril lay on the floor, her small body trembling. He closed the flap and dropped to his knees to help her, when he saw the small boy with big green eyes and black curls sitting beside her.

The muscles in his chest tightened, and he inhaled through his nose. His stomach dropped, and his soul cried out. Memories assaulted him of a boy with blond hair, brown eyes and of the man who raised him.
Damn it!
He sat back on his heels and pushed his face into his hands. He’d put it all away, tacked it down tight. Forced upon his own hand, he’d given his word to do the unthinkable.

He groaned.
I have no choice
. He set his jaw, ignored the constant ache within him and considered the boy.

The child moved away from him to lie across the gypsy, protecting her.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Please, let me help.”

The boy gawked at him, and Kade didn’t know what to do. He’d never had anyone gaze at him so intently. It was as if the child could read his mind, or see into his soul. After what seemed an eternity, the boy moved to the side and off of Pril.

Kade lifted the blouse from her chest and gasped when he saw the blistered skin above the charred corset. He moved to the bucket on the floor, dunked the blouse inside and swished it around the little water that was left. He gently laid the fabric over her wounds. It wasn’t enough. He needed to do more and pulled her onto his lap while she shook.

“Is this your mother?” he asked the boy.

He nodded, one black curl dropped over his eye.

“Is there any medicine in the cupboards?”

The child stood and went to the last cupboard on the right. He reached up, taking a small jar with herbs and handed it to him.

“What do I do with these?” He held the jar up gazing at the green and brown crushed leaves inside.

The boy crawled under the table, pulled out another jar and gave it to him.

He opened it, and inhaled the bee’s wax.

“Do I mix them together?” He loosened his hold on Pril, still shaking, and dropped the jar.

The boy picked it up and opened it. He placed his fingers inside, scooped some out, placing it in the palm of his pudgy hand, and pointed at the jar of herbs beside Kade.

“Here.” He watched as the boy dumped the herbs into the wax and worked it between his hands.

“What’s your name, boy?”

The child ignored him, still molding the wax within his hands. He motioned for Kade to remove the wet blouse covering his mother. Then very carefully he smothered the open blisters with the concoction.