Blood Curse (Branded Trilogy Book 2) (4 page)

Kade opened his eyes. Twilight blanketed the room. He turned his head and was stopped by the discomfort ringing in his ears.
What the hell happened?
The last thing he remembered he was in the gypsy’s wagon. He could recall nothing afterward. He scanned his surroundings. He wasn’t in a cabin, but instead a wagon.

A rope, a rake, two small shovels, and a hammer hung on the wall to his left. He shifted on the bed and realized his arms were tied down.

“Ah shit.”

Had they found out who he was? Did they know he searched for the child or perhaps the child was here? If it were true, he could finally put the endless hunting to rest and finish what he’d set out to do.

The letter was still sewn into the seam of his coat. He’d memorized every word; the child with the mark behind her left ear and the urgency in the written words to find her. If his head didn’t hurt like bloody hell, he’d yell like an Indian warrior. His nostrils flared, and each breath burned straight to his lungs.

He kicked his foot, but the effort was for nothing as his legs stayed where they were. He needed to escape and shook the bed, rattling the walls. Tools clinked together, and a glass jar fell from a shelf to shatter on the floor. The scent of honey filled the wagon, and he licked his lips in hunger.

He hadn’t eaten since this morning. No light came through the boards. He figured it was past dinnertime or close to it. The air held a chill, and he wondered if they’d leave him here all night.

He used all his strength to sit up—to force the bonds to break, but instead was met with an intense ache at the back of his head. The room spun, and his mouth watered with the urge to vomit. Had she hit him with something? He searched his mind for any recollection of the afternoon. His mind was blank.
Damn it.
He yanked on the ropes once more. He was stuck—bound to whatever the gypsies had in store for him—and utterly useless.

Pril shoved the tweed satchel and burlap sack into the bench beside the bed. It had become clear that she and Tsura would have to leave the clan. She stood back, hands on hips and blew out a long sigh
.
With Galius’ warning of Milosh, she’d not be caught unaware if they needed to flee.
It was better to be prepared than not.
A soft knock startled her. She closed the lid on the bench softly before going to see who was there.

Galius stood outside—grim and commanding.

“I’ve come to take you to Mr. Walker,” he said.

She released a slow breath thankful it’d not been Milosh. The fear of seeing her brother—of speaking to him—haunted her, and she knew it was from the guilt she felt.

“Let me grab my shawl.” She hurried inside and took a quick peek at Tsura, still asleep in their bed. Hand on the bench she lightly patted the wooden top. She couldn’t afford for Galius to be suspicious. He’d surely try to stop her, and she didn’t want to deal with him. It was easier this way.

He raised his hand to help her from the vardo and escorted her across the lawn. Fires burned among the clan as they prepared their evening meals, and the smell of roasted venison wafted throughout the camp. The corset was uncomfortable, and she shifted her hip to relieve her skin from the tight confines. The bones pressed into her side, putting pressure on her broken rib, and she pulled her arm from Galius’ to wrap around her middle.

“It will take some time to heal.”

She ignored him. She was tired of being told as if she were a child.

She spotted Finn and Radu as they ran in between the wagons. She quickly swept the camp for the boy’s sister, Callie. The blonde haired little girl was nowhere to be seen. Heart in throat, she placed a hand to her chest and stopped, forcing Galius to do the same.

“What is it?” he asked, concern creasing his brows.

“Callie? Where is she?”

Galius followed her line of vision, to the children playing ten feet in front of them.

“Ivan and Lena struggle to let the girl play outside of their vardo.”

She nodded. How could she blame them? There had been three girls, and now two remained. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and willed her legs to move.

Galius cleared his throat.

She turned toward him. “Say what needs saying, Brother.”

He was never one to keep things from her, and she knew the signs when a truth needed to be told.

“Milosh watches us from his fire.”

She didn’t dare look and instead dipped her head from the shame she felt.

“You are not to blame.”

“But, I am,” she whispered.

There were many things Pril needed to confess, and her stomach churned from it all. How could she have thought raising a child would be easy—one with magick and hunted no less? Vadoma hadn’t thought of her. She hadn’t thought of anyone when she laid the blood curse upon the Monroes—a curse that had the clan running for the lives of their children. Resentment straightened her spine and thinned her lips.

Their life would never be the same again. The pendant had been lost, another betrayal of the sister she loved.

She peeked at Milosh through her lashes. His back rounded as he hunched forward. No longer tall and strong—the man she’d always known him to be was gone, and she was to blame for it. Magda sat on a tree stump by their fire, pale and weak. Her hands shook as she lifted a piece of bread to her dry lips, and Pril stifled the urge to run to her sister in-law.

When Magda saw Pril, her face distorted, and her eyes shot daggers.

Their hate slammed into Pril, crushing her heart and triggering her throat to spasm for air. Pril worked her fingers within her skirt. Her ribs screamed. How could she ever forgive herself for the agony she had caused? She blinked back the tears and dropped her chin. She would not let Galius see her cry. He’d want to help, offer reprieve from the torment she felt, but there was nothing he could do. Pril faced her heartache—her betrayal—alone, and today she was sure she’d die from it.

“We must speak with him,” Galius murmured.

“He wants nothing to do with me.”

He placed his hand on her chin and lifted it up toward him.

“Sister, you cannot be afraid. He is your brother. He will remember this and come around.”

“How can you be so sure, when he stares at me with such disgust?”

“I will talk with him before we have counsel together.”

He placed his arm around her shoulders, and they resumed walking.

Sorina idled up to them. Her long black hair, braided to the side, brushed Pril’s arm.

“Good evening,” she said, smiling. “My sister sits with Tsura.”

Pril nodded, returning the girl’s smile.

Galius cleared his throat, a common occurrence when Sorina was around.

“While walking past the supply wagon I heard the man. He has woken, and he is not agreeable,” Sorina said.

“Agreeable to what?” Pril asked.

Sorina looked at Galius, and Pril turned to see her brother’s black eyes flash with anger.

“What have you done, Brother?”

“I am keeping us safe.” He scowled at Sorina. “Do you have something to calm him down?”

“I do,” Sorina said as her cheeks flushed crimson.

“Then go and fetch it,” he snapped.

The girl jumped, and Pril didn’t miss the way her eyes, moist with unshed tears, fell from Galius’ face to the ground.

She glared up at her brother. “Sorina, I thank you for helping us so.” She grabbed her hand and gave it a light squeeze.

“I will go, and do as you wish,” she whispered before hurrying toward her wagon.

“Honestly, Brother. Can you not see she cares for you?”

“I haven’t the time for such things.”

Galius had always been the practical one of the family. When Vadoma had betrayed them, he saw reason and helped Pril raise Tsura. He dealt with Milosh’s anger and sharp tongue, smoothing things between the brother and sister. He’d never forgive Vadoma for what she’d done, but he did see hope in the child. He believed in Pril, and in turn she leaned on him for support.

She peeked at him, strong jaw, trained eyes and lonely heart. How had she not seen it before? Milosh had Magda, she had Tsura, and Galius had no one. He’d been the leader of the clan; too busy helping others, her included. He’d put his own happiness to the side for the sake of them all.

They came to the supply wagon.
I am second daughter to Imelda the great enchantress.
She stepped in front of Galius and climbed the two stairs into the wagon. The room was small, and with Galius’ size it seemed to shrink right before her.

Mr. Walker lay on the cot at the end of the wagon, and she inched closer. His eyes were closed. She watched the rise and fall of his chest. The even rhythm told her he slept.

“How is his wound?” she asked Galius.

“I do not know. Stefan and I put him here but did not stay.”

“You did not bandage the wound?”

He was silent.

“Sorina did not attend the gash when she came to see him?”

“She has not come.”

She glared at him and shoved him out of the way. He knocked his large shoulder into the wall behind them. The tools rattled as they fell onto the ground and echoed in the small space.

“Where are you going?”

“To get bandages and salve for his wound.”

She’d need something else as well. Because of Galius’ lack of attention to Mr. Walker, he could be suffering from infection by now. Pril hurried toward her vardo. She ignored the pain as it vibrated up her side. She grabbed a needle, thread, cloth, bucket and her herbs. She tossed a peppermint leaf into her mouth and waited for the minty taste to coat her insides. She often used the leaf to stop her stomach from convulsing as she mended bloody wounds.

“That lamp is not going to be bright enough,” Pril said to Galius. “You will need to light another.”

Mr. Walker lay sleeping on his side. She inspected the wound. The blood had stopped flowing and had dried in a mess of matted hair. She dunked the cloth into the water and gently dabbed the cut, pulling the blood from his scalp. Mr. Walker didn’t move, and she worried infection had set in. To be sure, she placed cattail on the wound once it was cleaned. Taking the thread she dipped it into a bottle of whiskey before she threaded the needle. She poked it through the scalp at the back of his head and sewed up the torn skin. Still Mr. Walker did not stir.

“Where is the beeswax?” she asked.

Galius handed it to her. She opened the jar of wax and herbs. She scooped some of the thick salve onto her fingers and covered Mr. Walker’s wound. She placed her palm over the wound, feeling the energy flow into her mind and heart. She pushed it into her fingers and whispered, “Mend thee now whilst one day past. Heal thy wound, ever last.”

The wax would keep infection out, and the herbs would kill any contagion wanting to start, but the spell would fix it all.

“What in hell?”

She jumped and dropped the jar of wax onto the floor. “Mr. Walker, we are here to help you.” She glanced at Galius. Did he hear her say the spell?

He rolled onto his back, eyes narrowed, lips grim and unchallenging. “I find that hard to believe.”

“It is true. We mean you no harm.”

He lifted his arms until the chains tightened.

“My apologies.”

“Bullshit.”

She was silent.

“Where are my dagger and horse?”

“Your horse grazes with ours,” she said.

“And the dagger?”

“It will be given to you soon,” she said.

He scowled.

“Why am I tied to this bloody bed?”

Galius stepped forward.

She raised her hand to stop him.

“Sir, you fell from my vardo and hit your head.”

He spat onto the floor and turned a pointed glare toward her.

“Yet, you feel it necessary to chain me?”

“You will be released as soon as you tell us why you’ve come.”

“To hear of the days ahead of course.” He smirked, and she knew he was mocking her.

“We both know that is not the truth.”

“You damn gypsies know nothing of truth. You make a living from lies.”

“It will suit you best to answer the questions instead of handing out insults,” Galius said.

“And you best hope I don’t get free from these chains.”

Galius growled.

“What is your given name, Mr. Walker?” she asked.

He tried to sit up, the chains clinked, and she felt sorry for him. There was no need to keep him tied down.

“Brother, release him.”

“Not until he speaks of why he’s come.”

“Kade. My name is Kade Walker.”

“Why have you come, Kade?” Pril asked.

“To hear my bloody future. Why is that so hard to understand? You have people coming from all over the damn place to hear their past or present. Why am I any different?”