Lakota
Honor
Branded
Trilogy
Book
1
Kat
Flannery
Genre:
Historical western paranormal romance
Publisher:
Imajin Books
Date
of Publication: May 30, 2013
ISBN:
9781927792001
ASIN:
B00D0S530G
Number
of pages: 183
Word
Count: 71,000
Cover
Artist: Ryan Thomas Doan
Book
Description:
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?
PROLOGUE
Lakota Honor
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.
Blood
Curse
The
Branded Trilogy
Book
2
Kat
Flannery
Genre:
Historical paranormal suspense romance
Publisher:
Imajin Books
Date
of Publication: October 1, 2014
ISBN:
9781772230031
ASIN:
B00MV4UDHI
Number
of pages: 216
Word
Count: 75,000
Formats
available: eBook and Trade paperback
Cover
Artist: Ryan Thomas Doan
Book
Description:
“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?
Book
Trailer: https://youtu.be/tJZeBrpg-zw
Blood
Curse Excerpt:
“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
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.
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 many
writing groups, Kat enjoys promoting other authors on her blog. She’s
been published in numerous periodicals throughout her career.
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 book.
Website:
http://www.katflannerybooks.com
Twitter:
http://www.twitter.com/katflannery1
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ReplyDeleteinteresting genre
ReplyDeleteinteresting genre
ReplyDeleteSomething rather strange just happened, as I came here to comment. My computer/webpage screen just scrolled down, as if it had a mind of its own. Then it suddenly stopped, with this sentence right in the center of the page:
ReplyDelete"Running is not going to change anything."
It was spooky, and so shockingly relevant to my life right now.
"Colorado Mountains, 1880..." I don't think I've ever read a book like this before. But after this brief little incident, like a palm reading of sorts, I feel pretty strongly that I'd like to check it out.