A Vow Written in Blood
I was born with a cursed tongue. The words I said came true. So as soon as I understood what that meant, I stopped speaking. For more than twenty years, I never said another word.
Then my six-year-old son knocked his pregnant aunt over by accident, and my husband sent him to a kennel.
My son had been bitten by a dog before. He was terrified of them. I begged. I went down on my knees and slammed my forehead against the floor until it was bleeding.
Connor Grant lifted his sister-in-law Camille Lane up off the ground, ran a tender hand over her swollen belly, and his voice came out cold.
"Don't think I can't see what's behind this. He did it because you put him up to it. You're a calculating little mute. He has your filthy blood in his veins. If we don't break him now, he grows up worthless."
"Send him somewhere that knows how to teach a child his place. Teach him how things rank in this house. And teach you, while we're at it. Don't touch what isn't yours."
By the time I found my son, he was in a cage with five vicious dogs. There was almost nothing left to hold.
I pieced the small body back together. I opened my mouth for the first time in over twenty years, and the first words I had spoken in my life were:
"Connor Grant. Blood for blood. I will see this house buried."