In the back of the closet, buried beneath boxes of memories and shoes and even photographs that never made it to albums, Holly finds a small chest. She slides it out into the center of her mom’s room. It’s old, no, not old, vintage as her Mom would say. Holly pinches the lock mechanism until it pops open.
She has to help it a little but is rewarded for her patience. Inside is a stack of letters and photos, a memory box much like the one Holly has for Tristan. Nestled in the bottom is a newspaper clipping about a local man who died in an accident in London. Holly notices the picture first, he’s handsome but not to the point of being pretty. Her mom had good taste. Then she notices the name, Gavin Dashiel.
“Holy shit,” Holly says to the empty room. Her heart thrums in her chest until she can’t breathe. Holly bolts from the house into the backyard and gasps for air. It cannot be, it just can’t. She grasps for ideas, rational explanations for that flower arrangement. A son her mom never knew about? A nephew named for his dead uncle? All possibilities, she supposes. Holly paces, breathing in the cool air lingering after the day’s rain. Her feet are wet from the grass but she doesn’t care.
“You should have stayed inside.” A voice from the shadows startles Holly from her contemplative state. She gauges the distance to the house, can she make it? Depends on where the voice is coming from, and what it is.
“I needed air.” Holly backs toward the house.
“You’ll never make it before me.” The voice taunts.
Leaves rustle to Holly’s left, she turns toward it while taking another step toward the house. “Who are you?”
“Like you don’t know.” A female voice, bitter and cruel.
“Honestly? No, I don’t,” Holly asks nonchalantly, trying to sound as bored and unconcerned as possible. The tree to her right, near the treehouse, rustles slightly.
“You aren’t that pretty.” The voice sounds annoyed, or disappointed?
“I always thought my nose was a little too pointy,” Holly agrees, taking another step back toward the house. “Why don’t you come talk to me, face to face? I’d like to know who you are.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.” The voice is toying with her.
Holly turns to sprint the last few steps to the house only to find herself face to face with a woman, just a few inches taller than her with icy blue eyes and a cruel expression marring what would otherwise be a lovely face. Before she can move, the woman’s hand is around her throat and Holly is lifted from the ground.
“I’m here to kill you.” The woman’s face curls into a sneer, her eyes blazing red in the dark. “Then he’ll be free of your spell and free to love me.”
“What?” Holly manages despite her windpipe creaking under the strain of the woman’s hand.
“Keep up. I thought you were smart, witch.” The woman barks, pulling Holly closer until their noses practically touch. “Why does he want you? You’re so breakable.” The woman uses her free hand to grab Holly’s forearm and squeeze until the bones shatter. Holly screams but nothing comes out as her windpipe is being crushed. She sees spots, her vision fades to gray. “No! You can’t go yet! I haven’t had any fun.”
Holly is released. She crumples to the ground, landing on her shattered arm. Holly tries to scream again but her damaged windpipe is useless. Using her good arm, Holly tries to claw her way toward the house.
“You are so pathetic.” The woman stands over her, a blade shimmers in the light from the house. Holly tries to move but the woman is fast, so very fast. She drives the blade into Holly’s thigh effectively pinning her to the ground. Holly whimpers. This just makes the woman angrier. She leans into Holly. “What was that?”
“You’re a crazy bitch.” Holly spits blood in the woman’s face. If she’s going down, she’s going down with dignity.
The woman backhands Holly causing her head to bounce on the ground. Holly looks up to the woman defiantly even as the blackness threatens to take her. The woman drives a second blade into her other leg, straight through the middle of her thigh. Holly hears the bone break in the process and bites her lip to hold back the scream. Surprisingly, her vision clears as the stranger straddles her, leaning over so that she and Holly are eye to eye.
“I lied,” the woman says. “I think I want to talk to you after all.” She squeezes Holly’s cheeks in her hand. “So stay coherent for a little longer.” The woman surveys her. “But, I don’t think you’re going to last much longer, Holly. Those wounds in your legs are pretty bad. We’ll have to do something about that.” The woman shifts her weight and Holly feels something dribble down her thigh, her legs feel better but she still cannot move them. “There, that should help for a bit. Can’t have you bleeding out before I’m ready, can we? Now, where were we?”
The woman leans back over Holly allowing her to see the tips of her fangs dripping with blood. “I’m afraid my blood will heal you a little bit but that doesn’t mean you have a prayer of surviving this, witch.”
“I’m not a witch,” Holly tries to say. She doesn’t understand why this is happening, how did she get mixed up in this?
“You don’t even love him, do you? You turned him away the past two nights. I watched you. He did not like it at all.” The woman ignores Holly’s attempts to speak, continuing her own rant. Clearly, she’s never seen a movie because the bad guy always messes up by talking to the victim for too long. Holly nearly chuckles at that thought. Instead, she surveys the bushes for signs of help. Where in the hell is Petey? The sprites? Where is the back up? Hasn’t there always been back up? The woman slaps Holly again. She struggles to think clearly. Who is this woman talking about? Tristan? No. It couldn’t be.
“I gave him eternity, offered him strength and power beyond human comprehension but he still left. He left because he loved you. But, I will show him how pathetic you are, how breakable you are and then he won’t be able to love you anymore,” the woman screams in her face.
“He will always love me,” Holly whispers in spite of the burning in her throat. “Always.” Her bravery is rewarded with a punch to the face. Pain explodes from her cheek, radiating across her face as her cheekbone shatters.
“Even your magic won’t save you when I’m done. You should have stayed safe behind your wards.” The woman laughs. “Silly little witchling didn’t take me seriously.”
And then she’s gone. Holly no longer feels the weight of the woman’s body compressing her chest. She gasps for breath, unable to move.
“It’s going to be alright, Holly. Just hang on a little longer.” A strange voice, velvety and kind, breaks through the pool of darkness threatening to drown her.
The last thought Holly has before the darkness takes her is that she broke her promise to Carmen. In the aftermath of her mom’s death, Holly broke her promise and left the house.
**
“Holly?” A familiar voice is calling to her. She tries to break through, struggles to open her eyes.
“She’s waking up.” Another voice chimes in. This one is not familiar.
“Holly?” The familiar voice again. “Please open your eyes, Holly.”
“Mmhmmfp.” Holly hears a garbled attempt at speech and realizes it’s coming from her. She’s aware of other people near her. Her body feels heavy, limbs unwilling to move.
“Holly,” the familiar voice whimpers, crying.
“I think you are going to have to do it if you want her to live, Tristan.” The other voice, tender and kind.
“I can’t. Not without her knowing.” Tristan. His words catch in his throat. “She needs to choose. I can’t take that away from her.”
“Tristan?” Holly rasps, barely audible. She blinks, her eyesight is blurred, darkened.
“Holly!” Tristan brushes her hair from her face. “I’m so sorry, Holly. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. Please, please forgive me.”
“’s okay.” Holly slurs. Her body doesn’t want to obey her; she can’t lift her arms to hold him. Why can’t she move? “Can’t mo
ve.”
“No, don’t move, just lie still,” Tristan soothes, tracing along her jawline. “You’re going to be okay, Holly. Just lie still.”
“Do not lie to her, dead one.” Another voice enters the mix, she knows this one too, Cody.
“I’m not,” Tristan hisses. “She’s going to be fine.”
“That depends on your definition of the word,” Cassidy chimes in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “There’s a reason why we are here.”
“Nobody asked you to be here, go away,” Tristan growls.
“I asked them to be here, for Carrie,” the unknown voice says gently. “I did not know this would happen.”
“Wha’ happnin?” Holly’s tongue is thick in her mouth as she struggles to speak. Confused, Holly struggles to focus on her surroundings, piecing together what happened. It’s all a flash of images that don’t make much sense.
“Tell her, Tristan,” the strange voice urges.
“Holly, I didn’t know she was still following me. I had no idea she would come for you.” Tristan chokes on the words. His face comes into focus; red lines streak his cheeks. “Kendra, the woman who turned me, it was her. She did this. I am so sorry, Holly. I didn’t want this. I didn’t know.”
She tries to reach up to Tristan but her arm doesn’t cooperate. Her brain processes everything slowly. What is he talking about? The red eyes. Holly remembers the red eyes in the dark. The woman called her a witch. That’s why she can’t move. “I’m dying,” Holly whispers. Everything hits her at once, the damp grass under her back, the darkness above her, and worst of all, the pain. She stifles a whimper.
“You don’t have to die, Holly,” Tristan says softly. “You have a choice.”
Holly blinks, working hard to focus on what’s happening around her but all she can think about is her mother and Gavin. What would her mom have given for a second chance with the love of her life? And now, if she chooses this, Holly can have a life with Tristan.
“She does not have much time, dead one,” Cody murmurs. “We can help her move on.”
“No.” Holly breathes, ignoring the pain in her lungs. “No, I choose Tristan.”
“Very well, Holly Chamberlain,” Cody answers reverently. “It has been a pleasure knowing you.”
“Are you certain, Holly?” Tristan asks.
“Yes, Tristan,” Holly whispers as clearly as she can manage.
“You need to hurry, Tristan,” the unknown voice urges gently. “She’s fading fast.”
Tristan leans over her so they are eye to eye. “I love you, Holly.”
She’s too weak to answer. She can’t feel her legs anymore, no pain below her chest at all, actually. Holly watches the world fade to black, not sure if she’ll ever see it again but hopeful.
*
Holly’s eyes snap open. She doesn’t recognize her surroundings. The bed beneath her is soft, comfortable but not hers. Sitting up, Holly surveys the room, elegantly decorated but not overdone. The bed is massive, obviously custom, and covered in dark satins. The theme of this room seems to be dark, darker, and darkest. Dim lighting from frosted sconces only enhances the heavy décor. Confused, Holly slides out of bed.
She’s dressed in a long gown, just slightly defining her figure but loose enough to move in. A luxurious robe is hanging on the back of the dark-stained door. Holly plucks it from the hook and shrugs it on, tying it tightly around her. She opens the door and peers into a short hall, ending in a flight of stairs. It’s somehow familiar but she doesn’t quite know why. Voices carry from downstairs, two males and one female.
“I’m sorry, but I think she deserves to make the choice when she’s not on the brink of death,” the woman’s voice argues.
“I agree, but what if she doesn’t remember anything?” one of the men asks. Holly cringes at the anger in his voice as she descends the steps as quietly as possible.
“She will. It may take a little work but she will remember,” the female assures him, then her voice softens. “I love her too, you know.”
“Not the way I do,” the male replies gently.
“I think she’s awake,” the other male interrupts, destroying Holly’s attempt at stealth.
Holly steps into the kitchen. It’s brighter, but barely. The coffee-colored cabinets and heavy black countertops dull the overhead lighting. Three people stand and stare at her expectantly. She feels self-conscious and pulls the robe tighter.
“Holly?” The female steps slowly toward her, hands raised. She’s dressed in bright colors, a long skirt with jingling chains at her waist and bangles on her wrist that tinkle with each step. Holly feels like she knows the woman but can’t place her. “Do you know me, Holly?”
Studying the woman’s face, kind eyes filled with concern, Holly tries to piece together why she’s familiar. She keeps seeing flashes of coffee cups but nothing else. “Why am I thinking of coffee cups when I look at you?”
The woman grins at her. “Because that’s where we met, at a coffee shop. We worked together for a long time. We are friends, Holly. My name is Carmen.”
“Carmen.” Holly tests the name; it feels right, almost familiar.
“Yes, we worked together at a coffee house. We are friends.” The woman, Carmen, steps closer. “You’ve been through something but we are here to help you. Do you know where you are?”
Holly allows Carmen to lead her to the table to sit with the others. She’s handed a mug of coffee that smells incredible. “I’m still in Seattle, right?”
Carmen nods her approval. “What do you remember?”
“I don’t really know,” Holly begins, cautiously, surveying the other two people in the room. Two men, both young looking in the face but one seems older in his eyes. The one with the young eyes seems familiar but she’s not sure why. “It’s bits and pieces, like somebody punched holes in my memory. My name is Holly Chamberlain and I grew up in Seattle, in a house like this. I can see my parents’ faces and my siblings. It’s all a little foggy, though. I don’t know. What happened to me?”
“You had an accident,” the man with the older eyes says carefully.
“So I can’t remember everything because of the accident? Did I hit my head?” Holly asks.
“Sort of,” Carmen answers. “It’s a little complicated.”
Holly notices that the young-eyed man is very quiet. He stands behind the others just a bit. She looks at him curiously, struggling to figure out where he fits in to her life. The way he watches her, though, something tickles the back of her mind.
“Who are you?” Holly asks.
“Do you know me?” His voice is like velvet, eyes kind and swimming with emotion as he steps closer.
“I don’t know.” Holly stands and walks over to him. “I think I do, but I don’t know how.”
“It will come back to you,” Carmen assures her.
Holly ignores her and reaches out for him. “I know you. How do I know you?”
“We were friends for a long time.” The man’s voice is husky now, thick with emotion. “For a while we were more.”
“You love me,” Holly says simply, understanding the feelings behind his eyes. She touches his arm lightly.
“Yes. I do,” he replies.
“Do I love you, too?” Holly asks.
“You used to,” he says, words tinged with sorrow.
Not tearing her eyes away from the young-eyed man’s face, Holly addresses Carmen, “You know me, right? Do I love him still? Can I trust him?”
Carmen sighs, weighing her words carefully before responding. “You can trust him and I believe you still love him.”
“Kiss me,” Holly commands the man. “Show me that you love me.”
She doesn’t have to ask again. Before Holly can close her eyes, he pulls her into his arms and slants his mouth on hers. His lips are soft but strong and he knows just how to kiss her. Tingles radiate from her lips to her toes and Holly moans involuntarily as he pulls her closer, stretching her body along the length of his
and deepening the kiss until she doesn’t know where her body stops and his begins.
It does the trick, unlocking all of the lost memories as her life slams back into place, a blur of memories and feelings and loss. Sensing the change in her reaction, the man pulls back, no, not the man, Tristan. It’s Tristan. Her Tristan. Pain and sorrow wreck her, Holly crumples to the ground in a heap, tears pouring down her cheeks as the truth of the past several days hits her.
“Holly!” Carmen shrieks and flies to her side. “What happened?”
Sucking for air, reliving her near-death encounter, Holly manages to explain, “I remember. All of it. I remember.”
Horrified, Tristan backs away and disappears from the room. The other man, the one she definitely does not know, follows after him. Carmen strokes Holly’s hair and holds her as she cries. Holly doesn’t know how long they sit like that; how long she weeps into her friend’s shirt before the tears slow. “Carmen, what happened?”
Promised By Blood Page 17
