Chapter 1

Sophia Kincaid returned to Oracle, Arizona, carrying more than just her designer luggage.

She carried Ethan's child.

Or so she claimed.

She also brought a story, whispered by some back-alley psychic she'd found in Tucson. Our son, Kay, Little Eagle, was an "Earth Spirit." His small turquoise amulet, blessed by my elders, pulsed with a life force she needed.

For her baby. For its "destiny."

Ethan, my husband, believed her. He saw only Sophia, his first love, pale and supposedly fragile.

He told me, "We need it, Ella. For the baby."

I stood before him, the desert wind cold against my face even in our own home.

"Ethan, no. That turquoise is Kay. It's his spirit, tied to him since birth. Our tribe, our ancestors, they blessed it. It protects him. It protects this land, this ranch you cherish."

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture I once found endearing now a sign of his impatience.

"Don't be dramatic, Ella. It's a necklace. A piece of stone."

His eyes, once warm when they looked at Kay, were hard.

"Sophia is scared. Her pregnancy is...delicate. This psychic says Kay's amulet will ensure the baby's health. It's for his future sibling."

"He's five, Ethan! He understands its meaning. You can't just take it." My voice broke.

"He'll get over it. He has a drawer full of toys." He turned away. "The doctor Sophia found will be gentle."

The "doctor" was a nervous man with shifty eyes, reeking of cheap cologne, not antiseptic. Sophia's choice.

They held Kay down. My son, Little Eagle, who trusted his father.

He screamed. A sound that ripped through me, through the soul of our house.

I tried to intervene, but Ethan's ranch hands, men who'd eaten at my table, held me back.

Ethan watched for a moment, then his phone buzzed. Sophia.

"I have to go," he muttered, already halfway to the door. "Sophia's feeling sick."

He left.

They tore the turquoise from Kay's neck. The thong snapped. A small red mark bloomed on his skin.

The "doctor" fumbled, his hands rough. Kay went limp, his cries fading to whimpers.

That evening, as Ethan read fairy tales to Sophia's swollen belly, our son's fever spiked.

His breathing grew shallow. The life in his eyes, usually bright as the desert sun, dimmed.

He died in my arms before the real doctor, the one from town I'd frantically called, could even arrive.

The small, warm body of Little Eagle grew cold.

I carried him, wrapped in his favorite Pendleton blanket, to the main house, to Samuel Maxwell, Ethan's grandfather.

The old man sat by the fireplace, a book forgotten in his lap.

He looked up. His eyes, usually sharp, clouded with confusion, then dawning horror as he saw Kay.

"Ella? What...?"

My voice was flat, a dead thing. "The debt is paid, Samuel. My tribe's gift, my life given to your family, Kay's life... it's all repaid now. The blessing on this land, it ends with him."

Samuel's face, weathered like the Arizona landscape, crumpled.

"No... not Little Eagle. He can't be..." He reached out a trembling hand.

The doctor I'd called, Dr. Ramirez, a kind man who'd known Kay since he was a baby, stepped in from the hallway where he'd been waiting.

He shook his head, his face grim. "I'm so sorry, Samuel. There was nothing I could do. He's gone."

He paused, then his voice hardened. "The boy was terrified. There were marks on his neck, signs of a struggle. And a severe, rapid onset infection. Whatever happened, it was brutal. And there was no sign of proper medical care for the initial trauma, no sedative. It looks like he suffered immensely."

My knees buckled. Suffered. Ethan hadn't even ensured he wasn't in pain.

Kay's terrified screams echoed in my mind, no longer just fear, but agony.