Branded Covenant Read online

  Branded Covenant

  Branded Covenant

  Book One

  Obligatory Fate Series

  Penned by Heather Burke

  © 2020 by H. L. Burke

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Dedicated to my white knight who braved the enemy, the madness, and the depths of suffering to rescue me.

  Soli Deo Gloria

  Prologue

  The gag tasted of blood and earth, making me sick to my stomach. Saliva began building up, soaking it. He removed it quickly, staring me unblinking. His eyes had changed from hazel to pale blue with white flecks encircling the black of his irises. An emotionless mask concealed his usual soft demeanor until a whimper escaped my lips. The pounding of my head sounded as he moved his bare torso up against me, pulling me into him. I tried to wiggle out of his tight grasp that enveloped me in an almost choking embrace. Sweat dripped from his chest into my eyes, stinging them as they poured tears without permission from me.

  “Just relax. I won’t hurt you.”

  I shuddered and cried harder as tears blinded me. Resigning myself to the idea that I would soon join the body across the room lying lifeless in a heap on the floor, I stopped fighting him. I was certain this would make it easier on me, and I hoped to be granted a swifter death than whomever it was that had crossed his path. Once I stopped resisting, he began stroking my hair gently, smoothing it from the top of my head to the tips near my waist. He blocked my view of the person who lay just beyond, a single bare lite bulb with blood running like a foul river. Without a doubt I knew whoever it was had died horribly at his hands.

  “Listen,” he said. His voice was soft and vibrated through his chest into my ear, which was flush against him. “I did what I had to do. He was going to take you and make sure I couldn’t covenant with you.” He pulled away from me slowly, his eyes meeting mine with alarming intensity. “My love, I’m here for you.” He searched for a response from me. The twisted intensity he had for me caused bile to rise in my throat.

  “Who is that?” My tongue clung to the roof of my mouth, giving way to dry words. The unfeeling mask gave way to a small worry as he contemplated whether or not to let me see. Then fixing his gaze back on my eyes, he shifted just long enough for me to identify the corpse.

  Enraged, I lunged at him, pounding his chest with my fists like a small bird flying into a brick wall. Guttural screams rolled from me while snot and tears mingled as I struggled against him to go toward the doorway. He firmly held me as still as he could while I moaned, cursed, and cried. Pieces of me I didn’t know I had broke off as he whispered to me that it had to be this way. He had no pity for the life he just took.

  He had no remorse for what he’d just done.

  Chapter One

  Glancing in the mirror on my way out the door, dark circles hung under my almond-colored eyes. Fishing around in my backpack for concealer only to come up empty, my fingers tapped the sides of the familiar bottle I hoped to be free from. Pulling it from my bag, I ran my finger over the glossy, slick label in hopes that soon I wouldn’t have to rely on big pharma to help me make it through my pierced life.

  “You’re going to be late again, Cami.” Sherry’s voice startled me, and I nearly dropped the bottle. She was wearing her long light-brown wool overcoat, and her layered curly hair rested just above her shoulders. Tiny wrinkles gathered above her brow that were prominent particularly when she was worried.

  “I won’t.”

  “Don’t be. We pay this guy by the hour.” She took the pill bottle in her hand, examining its contents, then quietly stuffed it back in my open bag and brushed a strand of my auburn hair out of my eyes. “Long night again, honey?”

  “Uh, yeah. Just the dreams. You know.” I tried to smile to reassure her it wasn’t as bad as she suspected, and she hesitantly smiled back, just nodding as I gave her a quick hug.

  Dr. Rhodes had all his exemplar certificates framed and poised on his sterile walls. He looked over his glasses at the yellow notepad while I settled into the coffee-colored, oversized leather chair. I had spent one day a week in this small space for the last six months, seemingly making no progress. I only showed up to get my father-and Sherry-off my back as well as to keep a refill on my prescriptions coming.

  “Okay.” He sighed. “Now, Cami, last week we talked about the moment when your birth mother showed up on campus. So now that you’ve had time to process it, can you tell me how that made you feel?”

  I shifted. “Confused.” I felt small in that chair under his inspection as I talked only when he prompted most of the time.

  “Go ahead and be a little more descriptive.” As he looked back to his notepad, pencil in hand, he struck me as a morose man. His countenance was always sort of somber and often aloof at times.

  “My parents told me I was adopted when I was seven days old, and they told me that my birth mother, Amanda, was a homeless addict. They said she left a note that didn’t make any sense. She rambled on incoherently about my lineage of being born into a dangerous family, and she didn’t want me to have to grow up like that or something. The only information that was specific was her first name, my birthdate, and that she loved me. She didn’t mention my birth father or anything that was useful. This was the story they painted. You know. Simple.”

  “Were you ever curious about your biological family?” His gray bushy eyebrows lifted slightly as he peered from the notepad to me.

  “Not really. I mean, yes, curious, but I don’t know…I guess I had so much on my plate that trying to contact them or figure out who they even were wasn’t on my radar. You know, I was trying to get my basics done so I could apply to medical school. I pretty much focused on making good grades, and life was…it was good.” He made a small knowing sound through his large nostrils as if he were understanding of my position. “So I wasn’t really interested in finding her. I was happy as things were.” His pencil scribbled as I drew my legs up, crossing them under me.

  “Okay. So let’s go to the day she showed up. Tell me a little more about that. You have touched on it, but today I’d like to hear any details you may remember.”

  I could see her in my mind clearly. She stared at me with eyes identical to mine that were encased in years of what looked like drugs, worry, and pain. Her face was thin and surprisingly younger looking than the eyes she held. Her threadbare shirt hung off her underweight frame like she was a sickly scarecrow, yet she was still beautiful.

  “I was eating lunch outside of the library. I had just gotten out of biology and was sifting through all my work, talking to Griffin about how horrible Professor Miles was, when this woman asked me if I knew Camilla Davis. I told her that I was Camilla, and she started shaking all over. Griffin and I just looked at each other as she struggled for words. When she finally spit out that she was Amanda, my birth mother, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.” Drawing in a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay, I breathed slowly before continuing. “I asked her what she was talking about, and then she told me that I was born in Trenton Hospital, just a few hours from there. She started to cry as I sat there unable to form words for a response to this unexpected bomb.” My voice quivered slightly. “She said I was so beautiful and looked exactly like her sister Ellen. She leaned over to touch me, and Griffin told her to step back.”

  “And why did he do that? Did you feel threatened?”

  “I don’t know. I guess because I was a little freaked out, and she was rambling on so…” I looked at him as he
went back to scribbling. “She apologized for approaching me like that but said she had something she needed to tell me. Then right as she was about to speak again…” I couldn’t say it, as the tears welling threatened to fall down the sides of my cheeks, but I could see it so clearly in my mind as if it were happening again. The side of her head sprayed out a mist of blood as she collapsed to the ground with a shocking thud. Frame by frame it played in my mind in slow motion. The tears flowed until I finally got enough control over my voice to continue.

  “Here.” Dr. Rhodes handed me a tissue and looked at me almost empathetically.

  “She was about to speak when she was shot in the head.”

  He wrote for a moment and looked back at me, placing a finger over his lips, lost in thought before he spoke again. “Now, I know they still haven’t caught the gunman. How has this affected you lately?” My thoughts ran back to brain and blood spattering as she hit the pavement. I felt her warm, wet blood on my hands as if I were still holding pressure on her gaping head wounds while her body spastically flopped around before all movement ceased. “Cami, did you hear me?”

  “Sorry. Yes, it’s scary sometimes. I worry that he or she isn’t done. What if they come for me? Was she warning about someone who was after me? Was that bullet meant for me? And why? Why kill her? I was told she was a druggie. Did she owe someone money or something?” I gritted my teeth and choked back more of what I wished would quit flowing from my eyes while straining for composure.

  “We’ve been over this scenario before, and I thought we agreed the most likely reason why she was killed was because she was involved in illegal activity,” Dr. Rhodes said a little flatly. “You and I both know your biological mother had a long history of drugs and prostitution. This is reason enough to put your mind at ease that whoever did this unspeakable act isn’t coming for you. Don’t you think?” His bushy eyebrows bobbed as he studied my face. I nodded in agreement even though my gut did not digest this as easily as everyone else did. He stood up and went to his large mahogany desk, placing the notepad down and exchanging it for the prescription pad.

  “Cami, when was the last time you had an episode?”

  “Um.” I sighed. “Like a month or so ago.”

  “So not since I changed up your medication and put you back on the clozapine?”

  I nodded.

  “We didn’t talk about this last week, but I’m certain this was a good switch for you since you’ve been able to successfully navigate life again without incident,” he said in a convincing tone while nodding his head simultaneously.

  “I do feel pretty tired on it, though. It’s kind of hard to study without feeling drowsy.”

  “Just a side effect. Don’t stop taking it. Continue the drug treatment therapy because you aren’t out of the woods yet. More often than not, when someone starts to feel better, they stop the medication, abruptly causing all sorts of issues. And then the cycle starts again.” He handed me another tissue.

  “They’re just nightmares,” I murmured.

  “No, they are not just nightmares. They are hallucinations intensified by profound PTSD.” I rolled my eyes when he wasn’t looking. I hated being labeled crazy. Worse, I hated how normal felt because, strangely, normality made me less alert and oriented. The pills kept a few things at bay but made daily life tiring and even numbing.

  “Your mother, Sherry…”

  “Stepmother,” I said, correcting him.

  “I’m sorry. Your stepmother, Sherry, called with concerns because you are screaming in your sleep most nights, and they are unable to console you for long periods of time afterward. Now, I think if you try to handle this with the medication I’ve prescribed, coupled with another one, you’ll have more success.” I didn’t bother answering back because I knew it wouldn’t do any good. I hadn’t made any measurable progress since I started coming half a year ago—even with the drugs. And the more I resisted, the more drugs they pushed on me, insisting I needed them. He scribbled some more. “How are the panic attacks? Any increase in those of late?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “Good.” His pleased yet still somber oversized lips frowned as if he were thinking and looking for holes in my lie. I held steady, unwilling to admit the truth, and we moved on.

  Chapter Two

  Our faded white two-story house with weathered blue shutters sat quietly in the dark waiting for me. Only a handwritten note lay on the coffee table.

  “Your father and I are staying the weekend at the lake house. Call us when you get in. Sherry.”

  Relieved that I would be alone for the first time in months helped ease my tension headache. Therapy always made me feel more stressed, and I honestly hated talking about my childhood—and Amanda—every week. I just wanted to move on and not relive my nightly horror. But according to everyone else, I was suppressing my issues and causing them to manifest in delusions or dreams.

  Plopping my book bag down and kicking off my black Converse, I flipped on the TV and spread out on the sofa. I would get to watch TV, study for finals, and eat pizza for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Some breathing space from Sherry’s constant mothering (that resembled something like hovering) was a nice way to start the weekend. After dialing the phone to check in, Dad wished me a happy, quiet weekend in his typical monotone, passive way. He was easy to talk to because he didn’t press or ask a million questions. Not that I hated Sherry for doing it. I understand why she did, but she tried too hard sometimes. And it only caused me to think more about how sick my brain was or how much they believed I was disturbed and too polite to come right out and say it.

  Dad married Sherry about five years ago, soon after my adoptive mom passed away from her long battle with cancer. Sherry was Mom’s best friend, so when Dad started dating her, I was a little put off by it all. I felt like he could have at least waited until Mom was cold in the grave before moving on. However, after a while, I decided I wanted Dad to be happy, so I just went along with it. Little by little, Sherry grew on me in more ways than just Mom’s bridge partner and mimosa-sipping friend. She made Dad laugh and tried to be my friend by taking me shopping and coming to all my school events. It was nice to at least have someone there at the science fair when Dad couldn’t be, and ultimately she won me over. Not with her sweet demeanor or showing up so I had someone to look forward to supporting me—no, it wasn’t any of that. It was actually her cooking. Exotic dishes of Thai, Indian, and Korean food were weekly occurrences, and this was nothing less than thrilling for Dad and me.

  When Mom was sick and then after she passed, Dad and I usually had burgers, pizza, or the occasional roast if cooking was left in our hands. But that was the extent of either of our culinary skills. So she became quite a shoo-in around our house, and before I knew it, Dad sat me down and asked me how I would feel if he were to marry Sherry. I told him I’d be happy for him to marry her because I couldn’t live much longer on our typical meals. With a laugh and a hug from Dad, it wasn’t but days later that she and Dad were setting dates for the wedding.

  Just as I was about to turn the TV on to drown out my thoughts, a quiet knock caught my attention. It came from the back door on the side of the kitchen, which meant only one thing. My heart skipped a beat as I opened the door to Griffin holding flowers in his hands and a goofy smile plastered on his face. “Griffin, will you ever learn to use the front door?” Grinning, I accepted the bouquet of yellow spider mums and lacy baby’s breath. “What will the neighbors say if they saw a guy skulking around the side of the innocent young girl’s house?” I asked teasingly, batting my eyelashes dramatically.

  “Hmm, well, the ones to the west might just call the cops or beat the tar out of the guy.”

  “Nice. Considering you are my neighbor to the west.” We both gave a small laugh.

  “Flowers again, huh?”

  “Well, you deserve them. After all, finals are around the corner.” r />
  “Uh-huh. And me going to therapy doesn’t have anything to do with it, does it?” He sat down at the breakfast table and brushed his silken dirty-blond hair to the side of his face.

  “Well, maybe. I know how hard this is for you. Talking about…things.”

  I would do just about anything to avoid talking about therapy, especially with him, so I grew pretty skilled at changing the subject rather quickly. “Griffin Meyer, for the last six months, I’ve gotten flowers from you at least every other week. The town florist must love you. I bet you’ve sent his son to that prep school two towns over with all the money you’ve spent on these.”

  “Not only that, but I’ve probably sent his daughter too.” He smirked as we made our way to the paisley rose-pink sofa in the living room where he always sat next to me while casually draping his arm across the back of the couch just above my shoulders. His cologne was subtly drifting and brought up feelings of something familiar. It reminded me of a hint of leather mixed with sage. I often smelled it long after he left. He swore up and down he wore nothing more than aftershave and teased me about my nose not working right. Whatever it was he wore always made me feel slightly elevated and as if the world was right when he was around.

  We settled on watching Casablanca while eating old Chinese food left over from dinner two nights ago. This was our custom most Friday nights. It was not really an expectation we had of each other to always be together on Friday night, more so a life rhythm we settled into that was never questioned or even mentioned. If Ryan, his brother, wasn’t entertaining his own guests, we would hold his couch down and watch movies with a bucket of popcorn and soda to boot. Usually we’d joke around, politely flirt, and eat, and then we’d part about midnight with nothing more than a lingering, cradling hug.