PROMISED BY BLOOD
A PARANORMAL VAMPIRE ROMANCE
SAMANTHA SNOW
Copyright ©2016 by Samantha Snow
All rights reserved.
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About This Book
When lovestruck teenagers Holly and Tristan promised that they would marry each other when they were adults they both meant it.
But then Tristan mysteriously disappeared from her life and it seemed as if that promise was going to be broken forever.
However, a decade later and Tristan is back and ready to make good on his promise but only after he reveals his dark secret to her.
That secret is that he is a vampire. And for them to be together she must become one too....
This is a Paranormal Vampire romance that includes some graphic scenes of a sexual nature. Only suitable for adults.
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
Prologue
“Oh my God! He’s done it, he’s actually done it!” Holly wails as she tugs Tristan toward their homes.
“Slow down, Hol.” Tristan pulls her back, intertwining their fingers comfortably once more. “Your dad did not call the cops because we’re five minutes late.”
“Tristan, those lights are in front of our houses, I’m telling you, they are,” Holly protests stubbornly.
“They’re at least three house down from ours,” Tristan assures her, “maybe they finally decided to raid the Pruitt’s house.”
“Don’t laugh about this Tristan!” Holly chides. “I have a really bad feeling.”
“Your dad is not going to be pissed that we’re a few minutes late,” Tristan confirms, shaking back his hair and grinning, the way she likes, the way that makes her smile.
Holly can’t ignore the pit in her stomach. “Tristan, please, something is wrong.”
They pass the elementary school and cross Garfield Street. Their houses sit like mirror images at the end of the block, just before Blaine Street. As they close in, Holly squeezes Tristan’s hand. She’s right about the flashing lights – but which house, his or hers? They exchange a meaningful look and run the last five houses.
Holly and Tristan skid to a halt as the EMTs wheel a stretcher out of Tristan’s house. Holly reaches for him but Tristan is already racing toward the stretcher. His mom emerges from their house, wrapped in the familiar terry robe that Tristan bought her for Christmas six years ago.
Holly must have patched that robe for her at least a dozen times but Victoria refuses to be rid of it. Victoria collapses into her son’s arms, sobs audible from where Holly stands, frozen. She watches her own mother, Carrie, cross their lawn to help Tristan usher his mom back in the house.
“Hol?” Her dad appears at her side, wraps an arm about her shoulders, and escorts Holly out of the shadows toward the homes as the ambulance pulls away.
“Is he dead?” Holly whispers, not tearing her eyes away from Tristan’s front door.
“No,” her dad affirms, “Paul is young and strong. He will be fine.”
“What happened?” Holly squeaks out as they shuffle toward home.
“They think he had a stroke, Hol.” Bill Chamberlain doesn’t pull punches with his youngest daughter. He’s told her dozens of times that he lied to and even manipulated his older children but decided to do things different with Holly. She loves him all the more for it. “I’m going to take Victoria to the hospital, and Tristan if he wants. You should get some sleep, though.”
“But he’s gonna be okay?” Holly asks.
“I would think so, kiddo,” Bill answers, “but only time will tell.”
**
Turns out, time does tell. Time gave Paul DuMonde exactly three days to suffer.
Holly stands beside Tristan as he greets people. She smiles when somebody acknowledges her. Most of Tristan’s family knows of her relationship with him by now. That’s what happens when you live next door to each other and spend nearly every waking minute of ten years together.
Holly accepts the smelly kisses from Tristan’s Great-aunt Irene and ignores the not-so-subtle pick-up lines from his cousin Jeremy. She makes sure Tristan eats by sneaking away to make his favorite peanut butter and banana sandwich since all of the catered food smells like dirty feet or rotting sushi.
“Can we get out of here, Hol?” Tristan whispers in her ear after he destroys the sandwich.
“Sure, let me tell my Mom so somebody knows,” Holly agrees. She catches her mom’s eye and gestures first to Tristan, then herself, then the door. Carrie nods, knowing where they are going.
Holly grabs Tristan by the arm and guides him through the mourners to the back door. They slip out, surprisingly without being stopped, and sneak back to their old tree house. She’s thankful their Dads made it big when they were six because at sixteen they barely fit in it together. Holly scrambles up the steps on Tristan’s side of the massive maple tree in their back yard.
She glances at the matching wood slats on her side of the tree. How many times have they raced up their respective sides to the little wooden house? Holly wonders if this will be the last time. She pushes the hatch open and shimmies inside. Tristan follows and they lay there, nose to nose, knees tucked bent so they can fit. He wraps his arms around her; a feat, given their cramped space, but she accommodates him.
“I love you, Holly Chamberlain.” Tristan breathes into the space between them. His eyes flare with emotions – pain, loss, love, longing.
“I love you, too, Tristan DuMonde.” Holly answers, tears pricking at her eyelids, though she doesn’t really understand why.
“No matter what happens, I promise, I will always come for you.” Tristan murmurs. “It’s you and me, Hol. Always and forever.”
She nods. Her mouth can’t form the right words. They haven’t spoken about the conversation they overheard the night before. She knows it weighs on him. Her parents tried to convince Victoria to stay in Seattle. They offered all the assistance she could need. She told them she needed time to think.
Tristan and Holly were in the kitchen doing the dishes but they’d heard. Every word. Victoria wanted to return to New Orleans, to their families. It had been a family scandal when Paul accepted the transfer to Seattle and swept his wife and six-year-old son away from their family. Holly had overheard a lot lately. Great-aunt Irene had told Victoria that the Gods were finally punishing Paul for leaving.
Uncle Philip shushed his mother but didn’t apologize or dispute her claim. There had actually been a lot of whispers about Paul being cursed for leaving New Orleans like he did. Holly knew they believed in that stuff dow
n there. They believed in a lot of things according to Tristan. Holly decided not to tell Tristan about all the things she heard over the past few days.
“I think she means it, Hol.” Tristan mutters bitterly, breaking Holly’s train of thought. “I think she’s gonna cave.”
“Mom and Dad are still working on her. They aren’t going to let you go without a fight.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it? I can come back here for college. What’s two years? We can write and maybe we could visit a few times?”
“Of course.” Holly agrees, though her stomach is in knots.
Tristan slants his mouth over hers. Familiar tingles radiate from her lips to her toes. Her stomach fills with butterflies instead of doubts. His fingers trace her spine. She loves him.
“I will always come back for you. We will be together, Holly,” Tristan promises.
**
Holly watches from her porch as Tristan and Victoria pull away in the Orange Cab. She does her best to stand upright but her tear-stained face betrays her pain as she waves good-bye to her boyfriend, her best friend. Victoria wouldn’t let Holly and her parents take them to the airport. Or maybe she feared that Tristan and Holly would make a scene. They probably would have.
“You’ll see each other soon, right?” Carrie Chamberlain gives her daughter a squeeze. She’s hopeful but she’ll miss her friend too. Ten years of cookouts, ball games, and PTO meetings brought Victoria and Carrie closer than if they were sisters.
Holly nods numbly but can’t make her lips work. Tears flow freely now.
“Ah, kiddo, we’ll figure something out.” Her dad leans in and kisses the crown of her head lightly. “This isn’t the end for you two. It really isn’t.”
CHAPTER TWO
“Please hand in all of your essays to Ms. Chamberlain. If you have any questions this weekend, direct them to her as I will be unavailable.” Professor Gilson’s nasal monotone grates on Holly’s ears as she struggles to appear approachable and interested for the benefit of the still surprisingly fresh-faced undergrads. She almost remembers what it felt like to be in their shoes. Almost. Six years of school really beats that bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed spirit out of you.
Holly plasters on a smile and accepts the essays, attempting some semblance of order as they are tossed on her table with little regard. She knows they don’t respect her, she’s just the TA. They will learn. Holly makes a mark on the papers of those students who make eye contact, make an effort to be polite, or even mutter a greeting as they drop their essays in the stack.
Unless the papers are terrible, Holly will give them a little grade bump. Professor Gilson turned her on to the practice when she was an undergrad and now it only seems fair to teach these kids the same lesson. It’s important to treat everybody with kindness because you never know when they’ll be your boss. Or your doctor. Or the doctor of somebody you love.
Professor Gilson watches the last of the students leave before approaching Holly for a real conversation.
“What do you think, Hol?” He grins warmly and leans over to help her straighten the papers into a neat stack.
“They have potential,” Holly replies. “A few will fail because they haven’t taken you seriously.”
Gilson chuckles. “That’s always the case. I’m surprised we only lost two in the first few weeks. Maybe a few more will get the picture after your hard-ass grading.” He winks.
“Mmhmm. Your boring professor routine has had zero impact on them thus far,” Holly observes.
“That is disappointing.” Gilson agrees. “Should we end the experiment?”
“You know, most of these kids take this class because you are exciting and fun. They are just biding their time.” Holly dumps the essays into her bag and puts on her jacket. “Maybe just start teaching the class the way you like to teach it?”
“Sometimes I fear you lost your sense of humor, Holly.” Gilson shakes his head, his eyes suddenly sad. “How’s your mom?”
Holly sucks in a breath before answering. “She’s okay.”
“In case I haven’t told you lately, I’m really grateful you agreed to be my TA this semester.” Gilson reaches out and squeezes her arm.
“Thank you.” Holly changes the subject before she could fall apart in the lecture hall. “I’m sorry, I have to get to work. Those lattes won’t brew themselves!”
She spins on her heel and bolts from the room. Holly doesn’t have to relive her father’s death right now. Even if Gilson was on rounds when they brought him in, even if he helped try to save him, even if he got her back in school and provided her with a TA job that wasn’t in her major just so she would return to school. No time for that. Holly knew full well that he would keep trying reach her. It’s just the type of guy he is. A good one. It helps that he and his wife are friends with her older sister; it gives Holly’s family the illusion that he’s keeping an eye on her.
Holly hops the bus to Westlake and walks to the coffee house on 4th. She loves this city, the way people see you but don’t pay attention, don’t scrutinize. Shifting through the crowds of people heading to happy hours and date nights, Holly is faceless, she blends in somehow. Her eyes flick from face to face, studying them for later use, seeking something interesting to add to her character journal.
Somebody catches Holly’s eye. She stops suddenly, a familiar face across the street. Holly blinks and squints. It can’t be. The hair is longer, a little older, same jawline, looking right at her. Tristan. He’s leaning against the wall, his lips curl into a smile just visible in the beams of the street lights. She remembers that smile. Holly blinks again, ignores the people pushing around her, making rude comments about her stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
She steps forward, reaches a hand out. How can it be Tristan? Why now? Holly is jostled by a passerby; when she turns back, he’s gone. She laughs to herself. He was never there. Why would she think of him now? Holly frowns and scolds herself for being silly. She shifts her bag on her shoulder and heads toward the café.
“Holly!” Carmen hollers from behind the bar. “Thank the gods you’re here!”
She’s a tiny thing, more hair and jewelry than body. Most people mistake Carmen for a gypsy but she’s lived in Seattle all her life. Holly always finds it strange that it took a random coffee shop job to bring the two native daughters together.
They both grew up on Queen Anne Hill but Carmen was home-schooled until she turned eighteen and rebelled by leaving her family and moving into a one-bedroom flat near Pike Place Market. Carmen is unlike anybody Holly has ever known; maybe she is a bit eccentric but she’s loyal and funny – two things Holly desperately needs in her life.
“Where is everybody?” Holly deposits her bags in the small employee area and reappears with an apron in hand.
“It’s you and me tonight, kid!” Carmen winks. “Just happy to see you! It’s been dead in here tonight.”
“Would you expect any less?” Holly returns Carmen’s hug and surveys the barista station. “Was it busy earlier?”
“Nope.” Carmen shakes her head and gestures toward the only customers in the cafe. “Just Pretty Little Liars in the corner over there.”
Holly snorts. “Let me guess, white chocolate mochas, skinny, no whip. Am I right?”
Carmen nods. “You’re good, but no, they went the way of the chai tea latte this time.”
Holly snaps her fingers in faux disappointment. “So close. Better question, why is this place such a mess if it’s been so slow?”
Carmen shrugs. “You got me. But I’ll help ya clean it up.”
Laughing, Holly starts pulling dirty dishes from the barista area. “I don’t know what you’ve been making but do we have anything clean to work with?”
“We’ll be fine. Nobody’s coming in,” Carmen assures her. “We can do the dishes later.”
“How do you always know?” Holly arches an eyebrow at her friend.
“Cuz I cast a magical spell so we could just hang out tonigh
t,” Carmen teases. She begins dancing around singing some indie rock song that Holly vaguely recognizes. Her bangles clink as Carmen flows around the café, half cleaning as she goes. “Come on, girl, let loose, have fun. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us!”
“I’ve got four hours until close,” Holly reminds Carmen. “This is my short shift and I have papers to grade.”
“Forget the papers, have some fun. You have to loosen up, Hol. You’re working too hard.”
“I have to.” Holly shrugs as she dumps some coffee grounds from the tamp into the compost bin.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re all put upon and tortured but you still need fun in your life. Come on, dance a few songs with me and then we’ll clean up.”
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