THE BRANDED TRILOGY
LAKOTA HONOR, BLOOD
CURSE,
and SACRED LEGACY
by Kat Flannery
Fate has brought them together, but will a
promise tear them apart?
In the
small town of Willow Creek, Colorado, Nora Rushton spends most of her days
locked up in her home with a father who resents her and fighting off unwanted
marriage proposals from the wealthy Elwood Calhoun. Marked as a witch, Nora
must hide her healing powers from those who wish to destroy all the
witkowin—crazy women. What she doesn't know is that a bounty hunter is hot on
her trail.
Lakota
native Otakatay has an obligation to fulfill. He has been hired to kill the
witkowin. In a time when race and difference are a threat and innocence holds
no ground, courage, love and honor will bring Nora and Otakatay together as
they fight for their freedom. Will the desire to fulfill his promise drive
Otakatay to kill Nora? Or will the kindness he sees in her blue eyes push him
to be the man he once was?
EXCERPT:
PROLOGUE
Colorado Mountains, 1880
The blade slicing his throat made no
sound, but the dead body hitting the ground did. With no time to stop, he
hurried through the dark tunnel until he reached the ladder leading out of the
shaft.
He’d been two hundred feet below ground for
ten days, with no food and little water. Weak and woozy, he stared up the
ladder. He’d have to climb it and it wasn’t going to be easy. He wiped the
bloody blade on his torn pants and placed it between his teeth. Scraped
knuckles and unwashed hands gripped the wooden rung.
The earth swayed. He closed his eyes and
forced the spinning in his head to cease. One thin bronzed leg lifted and came
down wobbly. He waited until his leg stopped shaking before he climbed another
rung. Each step caused pain, but was paired with determination. He made it to
the top faster than he’d thought he would. The sky was black and the air was
cool, but fresh. Thank goodness it was fresh.
He
took two long breaths before he emerged from the hole. The smell from below
ground still lingered in his nostrils; unwashed bodies, feces and mangy rats.
His stomach pitched. He tugged at the rope around his hands. There had been no
time to chew the thick bands around his wrists when he’d planned his escape. It
was better to run than crawl, and he chewed through the strips that bound his
feet instead. There would be time to free his wrists later.
He pressed his body against the mountain
and inched toward the shack. He frowned. A guard stood at the entrance to where
they were. The blade from the knife pinched his lip, cutting the thin skin and
he tasted blood. He needed to get in there. He needed to say goodbye. He needed
to make a promise.
The tower bell rang mercilessly. There was no
time left. He pushed away from the rocky wall, dropped the knife from his mouth
into his bound hands, aimed and threw it. The dagger dug into the man’s chest.
He ran over, pulled the blade from the guard and quickly slid it across his
throat. The guard bled out in seconds.
He tapped the barred window on the north
side of the dilapidated shack. The time seemed to stretch. He glanced at the
large house not fifty yards from where he stood. He would come back, and he
would kill the bastard inside.
He tapped again, harder this time, and
heard the weak steps of those like him shuffling from inside. The window slid
open, and a small hand slipped out.
“Toksha ake—I shall see you again,” he
whispered in Lakota.
The hand squeezed his once, twice and on
the third time held tight before it let go and disappeared inside the room.
A tear slipped from his dark eyes, and
his hand, still on the window sill, balled into a fist. He swallowed past the
sob and felt the burn in his throat. His chest ached for what he was leaving
behind. He would survive, and he would return.
Men shouted to his right, and he crouched
down low. He took one last look around and fled into the cover of the forest.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Upon mine death for the blood ye have shed, Every daughter
born to ye shall die before it draws breath, to which ye will know pain and
worse, I cast unto ye mine blood curse.” ~ Vadoma
Four years
after the Blood Curse, Pril of the Peddlers vows to protect her child against
the evil men who hunt her. With her clan unaware of the branded girl among
them, Pril has to keep the identity of her daughter a secret. When her child is
kidnapped, she is forced to ask Merchant runner, Kade Walker, for his help.
Kade
Walker needs to find the gypsy child. Blackmailed and pushed beyond his own
moral code, he is determined to do whatever it takes. When he comes across the
Peddler clan, he is sure the girl is there, however all hope is lost when the
gypsies capture him. Time is running out—until Pril makes him an offer he
cannot refuse.
Amidst
greed, lust, revenge and love, Pril will need to trust Kade. But as the evil
nears and doubt creeps in, will she discover that the enemy has been standing
next to her all along?
EXCERPT:
CHAPTER ONE
Appalachian Mountains,
Virginia 1723
Pril Peddler lifted the green shawl from
her trunk and wrapped it around her bare arms. The change in seasons brought a
damp chill to the morning air, and the heavy woolen wrap kept her warm. She peeked
at the small face huddled under the blankets at the back of the wagon. The
charm above the child swayed on the string Pril had hung it from. A dull ache
hummed in her chest when she thought of the horrific loss her clan had been
dealt.
The evil was near, and she’d need to work
another spell to keep them safe. Late for counsel with her brother, Galius, she
kissed the soft cheek of her daughter before heading to the door.
Hand up, she shaded her eyes from the
bright sun as she stepped from the back of the vardo. She pulled the heavy
burlap curtain down to close the opening and walked toward Galius.
“Your steps are light this morning,
Sister. One would think you did not want to be heard,” Galius said as he
stirred the coffee beans inside the metal pot.
Tension twisted her gut. He was right;
she did not want this counsel. She did not know what to say. She let the
flicker of merriment in her brother’s eyes wash over her relaxing the muscles
in her shoulders.
“My step is the same.” She poked him with
her finger trying to ease her own nerves and his as well.
His lips lifted as if to smile, and she
held her breath. It’d been weeks since he smiled. Pril’s heart ached, and her
lips trembled.
He held up the bubbling pot. “Would you
like a cup?”
She inhaled the aroma of strong coffee
beans and nodded taking a seat on a wooden stump by the fire.
He handed her a cup and sat down across
from her.
The wood crackled, and sparks jumped from
the heat onto the ground in front of her. She tipped her chin concentrating on
what to say next. Ever since the murder of her niece, she’d not been able to
hold a conversation with either of her brothers without offering apologies.
This morning was no different. She could not look Galius in the eyes and see
the anguish and sorrow within them.
The Monroes had come again.
They’d
never be safe.
She blinked away the tears hovering
against her thick lashes. Tsura was asleep in her wagon, while another was lost
to them forever. The door of her brother’s wagon creaked open and Milosh’s
wife, Magda, stepped out. Black circles settled around her sunken eyes, and
Pril felt the stab in her chest once more. Long brown hair fell untied down the
woman’s back. The black clothes she’d put on weeks ago hung on her body
unchanged and wrinkled from sleep. Milosh came from behind their wagon, a jar
of honey in his hand. Pril stood when Galius’ large hand grabbed her wrist.
“They are not wanting to see you today,
Sister.”
She heard the regret in his voice,
swallowed past the guilt in her own throat and nodded. Milosh hadn’t spoken a
single word to her since the death of his child. He blamed her, and it was
clear so did Magda.
“I…I’m so sorry, Galius.”
He didn’t reply right away, and without
seeing it, she knew he had wiped the tears from his eyes. “Alexandra’s death is
not your fault.”
The words were spoken because they needed
to be. Gypsies stayed together no matter what. They were family. There was no
truth to his words, and Pril knew it.
“Are you going after them?” she asked.
“I hold no power, no spells flow from my
lips. I am strong, yes, but they are stronger.” He stared at her, his eyes
pleading. “We need the pendant.”
Guilt thickened her tongue; the gritty
residue clung to her lips and tasted bitter.
The talisman had been in their family for
generations, blessed by each new Chuvani. Vadoma had promised her the pendant
before she died, but Pril never saw it, and there had been no time to search
for the jewel when they fled.
“Without the pendant we cannot break the
curse. We cannot protect our people.”
She knew this. They all knew this, but no
one had a clue as to where the talisman was. She’d tried to call an image
forward, to make a finding spell, but nothing worked.
“We have lost one of our own. Our clan is
frightened. They have lost faith. We cannot fight the Monroes. We have neither the
numbers nor the skill.” He took a long drink of his coffee. “And neither do
you.”
She glanced at him.
“I know you, Sister. You’re planning to
take Tsura.”
Pril sighed. She did not know what else
to do. The Monroes were coming for her child. Alexandra had died because of
that. Milosh and Magda hated her.
“Running is not going to change
anything.”
“It will save lives. It will…help Milosh
and Magda to heal.”
“No, it will not. Running will get you
and Tsura killed and that is all.”
“How can you look at me when you know
what I’ve brought to our family, when you know that this is all because of me?”
Galius blew out a long breath that moved
his thick beard from his lips. She watched through tear filled eyes as his
bottom lip quivered.
“Vadoma put this burden on you. For that,
we do not judge.”
Their sister had died a vile death. She’d
betrayed their clan and had hung while being burned. Pril ached for her
sister’s guidance and counsel. She yearned to know that what she was doing was
right.
“We had a plan, and up until Alexandra’s
death it worked. We will rethink and come up with something better—stronger.”
The plan was simple. Dress the girls as
boys, and the Monroes wouldn’t find them. But someone had figured out Alexandra
was a girl. Someone had told the Monroes. They came for her, stealing the
precious child in the middle of the night. The morning two weeks before, as the
clan frantically searched for her, a harrowing scream Pril would never forget
echoed across the land. Milosh found his daughter’s body by the river, her neck
broken.
She raised a shaky hand to her mouth so
she wouldn’t let out the sob she held against her lips.
“I have enough for one more protection
spell.” She lied; her forehead ached because of it.
He glanced at her, his eyes showing no
emotion. “You will concoct another.”
“I cannot.”
He frowned.
“The spell has the oil Vadoma blessed.
Without it, Tsura is at the mercy of the Monroes and so are we.”
Galius pumped his large hands into tight
fists. “Surly you can think of another?”
“I cannot. Vadoma placed the blood curse.
It is only with the blessed oil that I am able to create the spell to keep
danger away. The oil is almost gone.”
He worked his jaw. “That gypsy whore—
She held up her hand to stop him from
blaspheming their sister. It wasn’t right. It brought evil to curse your own,
and Pril would have none of it.
“Our sister had her reasons. Leave it
be.”
“Reasons? She betrayed us. Left us with a
curse we cannot break and wealthy plantation owners hunting our very
hides—killing our children!”
She hung her head unable to look at him.
What could she say? He was right. Her very niece had died but thirteen days
ago.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tsura is a Chuvani, and with that comes great
power…
Desperate
to escape the memories that haunt her, Tsura Harris returns to Jamestown, the
very place her mother forbade her to go. A gifted Chuvani, Tsura has sworn off
all magick, thus making her vulnerable to the Renoldi clan, who wish to kill
her and take the pendant that is the key to her power.
Red Wolf
is hell-bent on living his life on the sea, until he runs into Tsura on the
docks. His pride wounded from her rejection years before, he hoped to never see
her again. But when the evil Corsair, Romulus Black, demands to know where she
is, Red Wolf must protect her, as is his duty.
But is
duty and honor his only reason, or does Red Wolf still carry a flame of love in
his heart? And will Tsura finally discover her destiny?
EXCERPT:
CHAPTER ONE
Jamestown, Virginia,
July 1740
Tsura Harris lifted the hem of her green
skirt and stepped up onto the wooden plank. She clutched her reticule in her
right hand and reached for the rope with her left. The planked bridge swayed as
the boat rocked against the seas. She stared at the water below. White-capped
waves crashed along the ship’s hull, rocking the boat. She inhaled, forced her
chin up, and took another step. She walked the short distance to the boardwalk,
releasing the breath she’d held when her boot touched land. She planted both
feet upon the wooden dock and set her shoulders, but the reminder of why she
was here intensified the weight upon her chest. Despair was her shadow, and it
was with her today.
“Sister!”
Her brother’s deep, masculine shout came
from above.
She shaded her eyes from the hot
afternoon sun and peered up at him. His stature always shocked her. Micah
Walker was six foot with broad shoulders and strong arms, a spitting image of
their father, Kade. His white shirt gaped open to show the tanned skin beneath,
a sign of too many days out on the water. Long blond hair waved in the breeze.
Her handsome brother had his pick of the ladies, but still hadn’t settled down.
It was a shame. She knew he wanted children and a wife of his own, but his
heart belonged to the sea and time would lend him those favors only when he was
ready.
“You must wait,” he called and raced past
his men carrying crates of goods onto the wharf.
She placed her bag onto the wooden walk
and clasped her gloved hands together.
He reached her, his cheeks glowing and
dark eyes lit with mischief. Before she could discourage him, he picked her up
and swung her around. Her boots kicked the bag, knocking it over, as his strong
arms held her tight.
Micah had always been affectionate. He
never shied away from holding her hand, kissing her cheek, or teasing her like
a brother would. He’d come to her side when she needed him the most. When her
life had fallen apart, and she couldn’t see past her own misery to pick herself
up. He had carried her, and she loved him for it.
“You cannot go off without wishing me
well.” He smiled down at her.
“If you would simply release me, I’d be
able to make it so,” she retorted. He was the only one, aside from her mother
and father, who she allowed to touch her.
“Very well, nit.” He set her in front of
him. The nickname he used for her was one of endearment and came from her
pestering him as a child.
“Thank you.” She smoothed her skirt
before bringing her eyes to meet his.
“You do not need to do this.”
She glanced away unable to stare at him
any longer.
“Come sail with me.”
She shook her head. The urge to leave
caused her legs to shake. She couldn’t be around him any longer. His cheerful
disposition haunted her and made her think of things she’d rather forget.
“I know you don’t want to speak of this,
but—”
“No, Micah.”
“Tsura, you need to forgive—”
“Forgiveness is not within my heart.”
“It surely is.”
She shook her head, careful not to
release the many pins holding her thick corkscrew curls in a loose chignon.
“It is in all of us.”
She glared at her brother.
“Do not speak to me of forgiveness, brother.
My heart is cold to it.”
His dark eyes watered, and she knew her
words had hurt him, but she didn’t care. It was better this way—it was easier.
“Will you not reconsider?”
“No.”
“Please stay. I will protect you.”
Protection was not what she needed. She
could care less if she died. It’d be a relief from the constant pain she felt
each day.
“I should’ve taken you to mother and
father.”
“Do not speak to them of my presence
here.”
“They will understand.”
“Not one word.”
Micah sighed. “As you wish.”
“I must go.” Anger pressed on her spine,
and she straightened.
His shoulders dropped.
“Be safe. Trust no one.”
She nodded.
“I port back in Jamestown one month to
this day. You will be here.”
It was not a question, and she didn’t
know if a month would be enough. Would the time between then and now ever fade
from her soul? Would she be ready to return? She didn’t know if she could go
back and so she didn’t answer.
“Hiram knows of you coming?”
“He does.”
“Very well.” He straightened and smiled.
“Know that I love you.”
She fought the tears. If Micah saw one
ounce of sadness within her, he’d throw her back aboard the Jade and take her with him.
“As I you.” She refused to say the words.
He picked up her bag and handed it to
her.
“Thank you. Now go. You have work to do
and whores to see.” She smirked.
“Ah, that I do.” He pulled her into a final
embrace. “You will find your way. I am sure of it.” He held her away from him,
and his eyes searched hers. “Remember who you are.”
She pressed on his chest and stepped out
of his embrace. She couldn’t help the furrow of her brow or the set of her chin.
The reminders of the life she led were never to be forgotten, and because of
that she’d be forever lost.
Micah sensed the change in her and left
it alone. He bowed, and with a final kiss to her forehead he walked away.
She turned, unable to watch him go,
raised to believe it was a sign of weakness, of regret to watch one leave your
life. This was meant to be. The world around her had tilted, and even though
she wanted nothing more than to go back in time to the lavish house on the hill
where she’d felt content, where laughter was but an expression upon her lips,
she could not. What had been was no more, and she’d do right to remember it.
One year had passed, but the ache inside her soul still remained.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Praise for the Branded Trilogy!
LAKOTA HONOR:
"For
something different, transport back to the old west with this paranormal
historical, and its alpha hero, and a heroine hiding her secret talents." —Shannon
Donnelly, author of the Mackenzie Solomon Urban Fantasy series
"Talented,
Kat Flannery knows her Native American history and those who relish the
conflict of a heroic half-breed trapped between the white man's world and the
Indian will fall in love with LAKOTA HONOR." —Cindy Nord, award-winning
author of No Greater Glory
"Kat
Flannery’s, LAKOTA HONOR, weaves a fast paced and beautiful prose that
lures you through every chapter and leaves you wanting more. The struggles of
the main characters break your heart and leave you rooting for them, for their
struggles—although different—are similar at the core." —Erika Knudsen,
paranormal author of Monarchy of Blood
"LAKOTA
HONOR by Kat Flannery will hold your attention from beginning to
end. Her ability to intertwine good and evil within the confines of the
Indian and white worlds is nothing less than inspired. Nora and Hawk come
together in a very different, magical way; she as a healer and he as a killer.
The ancillary characters are well drawn. You either like them or hate them. You
might also wonder about some of them as the story progresses." —Katherine
Boyer, romance reviewer
BLOOD CURSE:
“Engrossing,
enchanting, and suspenseful. BLOOD CURSE (Book 2 in the Branded Trilogy) is the
perfect blend of paranormal, history and romance. The prequel is as impossible
to put down as its predecessor, LAKOTA HONOR. Flannery deftly weaves a tight
plot filled with mystery, emotional detail and heart-thumping action.” —Kim
Cresswell, award-winning author of REFLECTION
“Ms.
Flannery has crafted a taut story deeply embedded with gypsy lore, along with
the fanatical fear of witches that permeated the time period. Pril and Kade's
love grows slowly, and surprising betrayals and revelations will keep the pages
turning. Tragedy and unwavering perseverance fill this wonderful tale to a
surprise ending. A richly-woven tale of early America and gypsy lore.” —Kristy
McCaffrey, author of INTO THE LAND OF SHADOWS
SACRED LEGACY:
“A
Cherokee man, a Gypsy woman, a magic ruby, a wonderful, captive love story. One
of the few stories that captured me from beginning to end. A compelling love
story you can't put down.” —USA Today bestselling author, Rosanne Bittner
“If
you loved the first two books in this series, you will absolutely love this one.
I couldn’t put it down.” —Paranormal Romance Guild
“A
deeply heartrending tale that reaffirms the power of love and forgiveness.
SACRED LEGACY will immerse you in a harrowing journey of anger and bitterness
that only love and forgiveness can heal. You won’t soon forget Tsura and Red
Wolf’s journey.” —Kristy McCaffrey, award-winning author of the WINGS OF THE
WEST series
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Kat
Flannery’s love of history shows in her novels. She is an avid reader of
historical, suspense, paranormal, and romance. She has her Certificate in
Freelance and Business Writing.
A
member of the National Romance Writers of
America and Paranormal
Romance Guild, Kat enjoys teaching writing classes and giving back to other
aspiring authors. Kat enjoys promoting other authors on her blog.
She volunteers her time at the local library facilitating their writing
group as well as having taught writing classes there. She’s been published
in numerous periodicals throughout her career, and continues to write for blogs
and online magazines.
Her
debut novel CHASING CLOVERS has been an Amazon Top 100 Paid bestseller. LAKOTA
HONOR and BLOOD CURSE (Branded Trilogy) are Kat’s two award-winning novels and HAZARDOUS
UNIONS is Kat’s first novella. Kat is currently hard at work on her next
series, THE MONTGOMERY SISTERS.
I’ve been reading the
Argeneau series by Lynsay Sands for years and so was very excited about the
next installment, IMMORTAL UNCHAINED – book 25 – with the hope of learning more
about the evil Dr. Dressler and what he has in store for the immortals.
However, I had truly hoped this one would live up to the standard set by the
rest of the series and stories of the Dante Twins. Sadly, I was somewhat
disappointed.
