Blood Curse (Branded Trilogy Book 2) by Kat Flannery Page B

daughter. There were three other graves to the left, each marked with a small wooden cross. He reached for Beth’s hand, cold and clammy, only to have her pull it from his grasp and tuck it back within her cloak. He’d known this last time would torture her, be her undoing, but he’d hoped she’d hold on for a little while longer. Wait until he’d killed the girl.
    She’d put on a strong face for the others, but this time was different. This time he’d promised the curse was broken, and she believed him. She’d given herself to him, trusting that all would be well, and now she hated him for it.
    He gnashed his back teeth together. How had he failed for so long? He’d sought out every well-known marksman within his reach to find the child, and still nothing. He’d resorted to using his slaves, and when met with resistance, he blackmailed them with their family as ransom. Yet, the bloody girl still hadn’t been brought to him dead or alive. The mark was the true-tell sign, and he wasn’t sure his hired guns had seen the brand on the child, instead killing any gypsy girl they found. All had been unsuccessful, and so he’d done them in.
    He peered at Beth, thin and frail. She’d not bothered to put on a day dress, instead keeping her nightgown on underneath her coat. The priest said a few words, blessing the infant and her family. He went on to chant in Latin, and Silas couldn’t understand him. All he could think of was the girl and killing her as he’d done her mother.
    He had one last hope, one more chance to rid the world of the wicked child. His eyes surveyed the barns, the longhouse where the tobacco dried and the slave’s quarters. On the west side of his land, as far from the slaves as possible, stood the Monroe Mansion. The large two story home with a veranda, twelve bedrooms, massive kitchen, ballroom, lavatory and two libraries. Within the walls, hidden from view, was all the hope he had left.
    He inhaled a cold breath that froze his insides and crystalized his heart.
    He’d held his daughter this morning before he dressed her in a white gown and laid her in the tiny box. She’d not lived long enough to take even one breath before she died. Blonde hair and blue eyes, she looked different then the last three. This one resembled Beth.
    Jude and Ilsa stood on the other side of the small grave. Jude’s arm lay protectively across his wife’s shoulders, and she leaned into him.
    Irritation flooded his senses, and his head ticked to the left. Beth couldn’t stand to be near him. She’d pushed him away, cast blame in his direction with every stare, mute answer and dejected stature. She’d given him reason to seek lust elsewhere and not feel guilty about it.
    The priest ended the sermon. Beth released a sob and flew into his embrace. Silas bit back the cuss words he wanted to let fly and left the cemetery. Hiram and Jude were soon by his side. A rough squeeze to his shoulder offered in comfort did little to ease the hatred he felt growing within him.
    “We will find her,” Jude whispered. “We have to.”
    “It has taken too long already. I need to know the girl is dead. I must see it myself.” He stopped and turned toward them. “Send a telegram. Ask if he has located her.”
    Jude nodded.
    “Tell him with each day that passes we remove one limb, starting with the fingers.”
    “Silas, you cannot be serious?” Hiram said.
    “I am very serious, Brother. This needs to be finished.”
    “There must be another way.”
    He stepped into Hiram, his hands around his throat. He wanted to kill the bastard. Watch as the life faded from his ruddy face.
    “Your children live while mine have all perished. Do not tell me to find another way when there is only one.”
    Hiram stood before Silas, arms to the side, not showing one ounce of fight within his brown eyes.
    “I will not fight you, Brother,” he whispered.
    “You are no better than our poor excuse for a mother. Soon you will turn to the opium and