Promise Me

by Tara Fox Hall

  PROMISE ME

  The Promise Me Series,

  Book 1

  By

  Tara Fox Hall

  Published by

  Melange Books, LLC

  White Bear Lake, MN 55110

  www.melange-books.com

  Promise Me ~ Copyright © 2012 by Tara Fox Hall

  ISBN: 978-1-61235-417-0 Print

  ISBN: 978-1-61235-418-7 EBook

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Art by: Caroline Andrus

  To Tammy, the first friend to encourage me to live my dream of writing.

  To my mother for all her encouragement, such as the statement, “If you don’t make this more exciting, I’m not reading more than the first chapter.”

  To my husband Eric; my anchor, my oak and my rock.

  To Eve M., who remained patient with me even when I was cranky and bitchy. To Nancy S., for taking a chance on a new author, and Caroline A, for a stunning cover.

  Lastly, to my beloved Ghost and Darkness: I miss you every day.

  Promise Me

  By Tara Fox Hall

  When young widow Sarelle McGarran finds the vampire Danial Racklan unconscious and hurt in her woods, intuitive concern quickly becomes passionate love. Together Danial and Sar work to overcome their own past heartbreaks, their vastly different lifestyles, and Danial's relentless enemies. Yet Danial needs more; an Oath of forever. But can Sar give Danial his greatest desire?

  About the Author

  Tara Fox Hall’s writing credits include nonfiction, horror, suspense, action-adventure, erotica, and contemporary and historical paranormal romance. She is the author of the paranormal action-adventure Lash series and the vampire romantic suspense Promise Me series. Tara divides her free time unequally between writing novels and short stories, chainsawing firewood, caring for stray animals, sewing cat and dog beds for donation to animal shelters, and target practice.

  Other works by Tara Fox Hall at www.melange-books.com:

  Surrender to Me

  Return to Me

  The Origin of Fear in Spellbound 2011 Anthology

  Kink and The Oath in Wicked Christmas Wishes Anthology

  Author Contact

  www.tarafoxhall.com

  Prologue

  Danial was dying.

  He could feel it in his blood, the burning in his flesh. He pulled the truck onto a side road and accelerated. His pursuer couldn’t be far behind. He glanced at his arm, at the small gash that was even now healing. It might be better for him if he opened it up again. He’d cleaned it the best he could, but it wasn’t like he’d had time to do more than pour water on it. It felt as though a razor had cut him and was working its way deeper into his flesh.

  Had to be poison. And no run of the mill arsenic or derivative.

  His mind worked frantically. What poison had been on the tip of that arrow? Who had that been in the shadows? Who’d known he’d been working on the Donaldson contract, that he’d be there tonight, watching? And most importantly, who had dared attack him?

  It was possible the attacker hadn’t known his name. But whoever had done this knew the breed of man he hunted and had prepared a special end for him. He’d gotten a glimpse in the shadows of what had hunted him; red eyes and a masculine form moving at supernatural speed. In his world, that still left a long list of possible suspects. For certain, it had been another of his kind.

  He came to a crossroads and went west, then to another and headed south. There were no headlights behind him, at least so far. Best to leave the most complicated trail he could.

  With some bitterness, he wondered why he was fighting so hard to survive. His life had been pointless for the last half century. Modern books and novels talked about how fun it was being a creature of the night; so romantic and glamorous. What a crock of shit. If he hadn’t had his business, he’d have gone crazy. And as for there being so many women who wanted to be with…someone like him…for the most part, it was a phase girls in their twenties went through. Looking for a bad boy to titillate and seduce them. Not one had been anything of substance. It never lasted very long. But the ones who wanted in for the long haul were worse. There was always the vow of doing anything for him and the promise of eternal devotion. Until they found out that he couldn’t give them what they wanted. Then it was wheedling and hints of what he would do if he really cared for them. He’d stayed away from any serious commitments lately, say the last thirty years. Why bother, when they were doomed to fail?

  Enough of depressing thoughts! God, wasn’t death at the end of the night depressing enough? He smiled at that and checked the rearview mirror. Still no lights. His attacker was either a master tracker or an amateur.

  Maybe his life wasn’t everything he’d hoped for when he was young. But he’d be damned if he’d give it up without a fight.

  He felt a wave of nausea, and swallowed. If there was going to be a fight, it had better be quick. He could already feel himself getting lightheaded, and it was getting worse by the second. He had to pull in somewhere and get out of the open. The night was more than half over. He’d never make it to the campsite he’d planned on, not how he felt.

  * * * *

  Terian paused, full of righteous triumph, a wide smile on his face. This was going perfectly. He’d hit his target, and it would all be over in a matter of hours. If he was lucky and had gotten the arrow deep enough, it might be only one hour. That poison was damn effective. Better yet, fate had done him a favor. The killer had been calling on his cell when he’d been hit, and in his shock and rush to get away, he’d dropped it.

  Slowly, red eyes gleaming, Terian held the phone in a taloned hand and crushed it to pieces. No help coming tonight.

  He still had to be careful. After all, he’d never done anything like this before. This was no time to get cocky. It wouldn’t be over until he’d either seen a body or a nice mound of ashes bathed in daylight.

  Better get a move on. The night was already half over and his prey had a big head start.

  * * * *

  Where the hell was he?

  Danial looked around and saw only cornfields and wooded areas. Small houses were interspersed here and there, some with barns or paddocks. Livestock were in some of the pens; if only that would work tonight.

  The muscles in his arm suddenly contracted. He swerved, barely missing a truck coming the other way. He overcorrected, sending his truck almost into the ditch. But then he saw a turnoff. At least, he hoped it was. His eyesight was going dim, and he knew his time had run out.

  He swung the truck into the opening among the trees, evoking a loud clank from the front fender. Nothing like a metal chain to scratch paint, not to mention leave evidence of a trail. The road seemed little more than a path, and he maneuvered as best he could; but his strength was failing fast. He slumped over the wheel, and the car rolled to a stop.

  He had to get to safety. At least, in the trees there’d be darkness and shadows, where he might be able to find shelter.

  Exhausted, he pushed against the door, momentarily forgetting how to work it. He fell against the passenger side door, disengaging the lock, and opening the door. In slow motion, he fell, the ground rushing up to meet him.

  The door, at an angle, remained open for a moment,
illuminating his body in a pale glow. Then the door succumbed to gravity and swung slowly shut with a soft click, leaving the vehicle and Danial’s still body in darkness.

  Chapter One

  Yawning, I saw it was close to eleven p.m. It was Monday night, and I was curled up on my couch, cats sharing my lap. Sipping a glass of wine, I read the latest DeMille thriller. Jessica, my male cat with gender-identity issues, and my black cat Cavity had persuaded me to stay up past my self-appointed bedtime in order to provide some warmth and company. My slightly feral cat, Asher, was also there, hiding beneath the sofa, while two dogs, Ghost and Darkness, slept at my feet.

  It had been a long day, but I was used to that. Living alone at thirty on fifty-plus acres of both forest and rich-yet-rocky soil with pets and a job, even a part-time one like mine, meant long hours. And the work could be brutal. Today, coupled with visits to both Flora, my pseudo-grandmother, and my best friend, Kat, I was exhausted. But chain sawing and wood splitting tended to do that to me. Worse, this would be an extra busy week for me. That dentist appointment today had upset my work schedule, meaning I’d need to go in on Wednesday this week to make up the time.

  I probably shouldn’t have bought those flowers for Flora, I thought sheepishly. But she loved them, and she was only going to turn ninety-eight once. I could get by with waiting another month to make my first foray back into the dating world. What would it hurt, to wait another month?

  Flora, of course, had taken the opportunity to remind me to get on with my life in her usual fashion: “People come in and out of your life. It’s the time you have here with them that matters, not that they may not be around forever.”

  To make matters worse, Kat had then reminded me that we were both getting older.I’m worried about you, she’d said, taking my hand. You need to let go, Sar.

  I’m okay, I’d replied a trifle coolly. I feel good.

  We aren’t getting any younger, she’d replied, her tone a little sad. It slips away so fast.

  It matters how you feel. I feel young, and good. I’m okay.

  But the truth was I’d lied. I did feel good most of the time. But I wasn’t okay. When I was twenty-something, I’d thought of thirty as “old.” I’d been sure that by the time I was thirty, I’d be married, with two cats, and maybe even a kid or two. At the least, I’d figured on knowing who I’d be with the rest of my life. I’d found out too late that even the best laid plans could fall in on me like a house of cards with one fateful gust.

  Maybe that was a good sign, that I knew I was missing something, unhappy living alone. I missed having a man around, both in my life and in my bed. I’d lost someone I loved. But I wasn’t dead, and maybe it was time to stop acting like I was. There was that singles thing coming up in town...

  Suddenly, my comfortable and reflective mood was interrupted by distant snapping and crunching sounds. They were faint enough to register with my challenged brain that all wasn’t as it should be. The cats didn’t act as if anything was wrong, but they were unreliable. If the house was burning, they might only move when the heat became unbearable. But the dogs at my feet were motionless, their heads raised. Dogs have ears that don’t fail.

  I stepped to the window just in time to see headlights slowly following the road. That was the sound I heard: a car driving on the property edge, along my neighbor’s access road. Whoever was out there at this time of night was most likely not traveling the road to inspect the gravel pit at the end for safety violations.

  Some jackasses were out looking to have some fun. My neighbors would have no idea that anyone was there, their home being a good ten minutes by foot through the trees, not to mention roughly a hundred feet higher in elevation. Many a truck load of. raw earth and gravel that had been dug out of the hillside, providing a perfect depression in the land to conceal any telltale lights from anyone’s view but my own. No one else could see them from the road, and even if they could, no one would care. Most people minded their own business out here, unless you wanted to make trouble and were prepared to deal with the business end of a shotgun.

  The decision was now mine: did I want to involve myself with this? Whoever was up there was just going to smoke a little grass or drink a little, or have the kind of fun that involves little plastic square wrappers. But it might well be something worse they were doing, like crack or meth, and that could be dangerous for me to interrupt.

  I cursed aloud and decided I’d better take a look. Whoever had decided to take a little side route to adventure had first gotten through the heavy steel chain that blocked the access road. Bolt cutters would have been needed to cut through that thing, and who carries bolt cutters in their car? Someone had planned this, and if they were willing to cut a chain, they might be planning worse than some drinking and partying.

  Throwing on some clothes and collecting my waist-length hair in a plastic clip, I gathered a flashlight and my keys. I debated taking a weapon, but I talked myself out of it. Then, on the way to the door, I talked myself back into it, and got my .38 Special revolver. It was loaded. Depending on the size of the car, there could be six people at the most. Six bullets were enough.

  I buckled on my gun belt and knife and went out the front door. Walking to the barn, it occurred to me that I might be overreacting. But I wasn’t one for hiding in the house, waiting to see if someone would leave me alone. It wasn’t my way and had never been.

  The first fall I’d owned the farm, I’d seen a hunter parked by my barn during deer season. I hadn’t called the police, hoping they would show up before he either left or put a bullet through one of my windows. I’d loaded my shotgun and walked over to his truck. I’d racked the weapon within hearing range, and when his head had whipped around, I’d asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. He’d been properly apologetic and left. More importantly, he’d spread the word, and I didn’t get many trespassing hunters anymore. People who wanted to hunt on my land respected me enough to ask me, and if I thought they hunted with care, I let them. That was that.

  Tonight, I hoped I could just ask them to leave nicely and have them agree. Most times, despite my worries, that’s exactly what happened. But I didn’t hear the usual sounds I expected: loud talking, music, the sort of giggling that meant sex was a definite possibility but not a surety. Odd that whoever was in the quarry wasn’t laughing it up.

  I got to the barn. Its outside light was on and welcoming. I slid the door open and walked into the darkness inside. I knew the barn in and out, and I wasn’t afraid. There was nothing that was going to hurt me in there. I’d never been afraid of ghosts. I believed in God, and I had faith. And what my faith couldn’t handle, my .38 Special was sure to be able to take care of.

  I cranked the key to my 5310 tractor, and the fifty-five horsepower diesel engine roared to life. I raised the front-end loader and backed out, swung around, and headed in low gear up to the quarry. I hoped to give them enough time to realize I was coming right for them and to clear out. The access road led up to the quarry directly from the southernmost edge of my property. I wouldn’t cut them off. Instead, I’d come in directly in front of them, leaving them the option to back out, or turn around and go out the way they came in.

  The stars were out, and the wind brought me the smell of rain. It would be here before the night was through. I was remarkably awake for this close to midnight, which was a good thing. It’s bad to operate heavy machinery when you’re impaired. OSHA said so, and that was a large part of what I adhered to in my job, so I was familiar with the rules. The tractor had enough power to drive though a house wall, so it was good that I’d had only one glass of wine.

  I navigated the access road with my headlights, and sure enough, there was a car in the quarry. Rather, it was a convertible truck, one that switches to a SUV. Its headlights were still on, the engine idling. There was no one in the driver’s seat; and from what I could see, no one in the vehicle at all.

  What to do next? I hadn’t anticipated this.

  Time
to bluff. “This is private property. I’ve called the police, and am going to get your plate number before I go. So you’d better clear out!”

  There was no reply, or sounds of running feet. Where were they? I checked for footprints or signs that someone had been outside the car, but other than some leftover prints from my neighbors ATV in the muddy spots, there was nothing. How was that possible? Someone had to have driven the car, so there had to be footprints.

  I turned around and walked back towards the truck. This time I approached in the shadow of the car instead of the tractor headlights. It was then that I discovered that I hadn’t been as alert as I’d thought. Blending with the shadows was a large man lying on his back beneath some hawthorn bushes, his legs twisted. He’d tumbled out of the truck once it had stopped.

  He was attractive, thick dark hair to his shoulders. I would have thought Native American, but he was pale in the extreme, at least in the headlights. His build reminded me of a professional athlete. Not a bodybuilder with steroid-inflated muscles, but more like someone who did marathon running or ice skating. There was a solidness to him that spoke of strength and power with a purpose. His clothes, which I’d taken for gray, were actually dust-covered.

  I never assumed he was dead, lying there, but I finally thought perhaps I should stop admiring his physique and check him for injuries. I hesitated a few seconds, worried maybe he was waiting for me to get closer, so he could grab me. Then I told myself I was just being stupid. Hell, if he’d wanted to rush me, he could have done so easily when I was distracted. I touched him. He was cool, but not cold. He wasn’t dead, not with a pulse. It was sluggish, but he was definitely alive. I couldn’t see if he had any injuries. I thought about trying to move him, but I couldn’t budge him. He had to weigh about two-twenty at least, all of it lean muscle. I was pretty strong, but I wasn’t able to move him, not alone anyway.