Dark Promise (Darkhaven Saga Book 3)

  Dark Promise

  Darkhaven Saga: Book Three

  Danielle Rose

  This book is an original publication of Waterhouse Press.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2020 Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Original Cover Design by Wicked by Design

  Cover Redesign by Waterhouse Press

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Acknowledgments

  Continue the Darkhaven Saga with

  Also by Danielle Rose

  About Danielle Rose

  For Shawna—

  for always having my back and extending that whip.

  You make me a better writer.

  This one is for you.

  Chapter One

  There’s a moment in one’s life when everything changes irrevocably. It’s usually after an awful decision. I don’t think we’re usually privy to the timing of this moment. It happens, we react, and we must deal with the consequences.

  Somehow, I know this is that moment for me, yet I can’t stop myself from running steadfast into the unknown. After everything—the promises that were broken and the lies that were told, after I was forsaken and abused by the very people who shared my life’s blood—I am still tethered to them.

  I can’t see our link. If I could, I would break it. I would cut it into a million pieces so no one could braid it again. I can’t see it, but I know it’s there, tying my soul to theirs. I want to break free, to run wild with my vampire clan, but I can’t. I’m secured to the ground, rooted in place, until someone speaks.

  “Liv is missing, mija,” Mamá says, her voice soft, her eyes tired.

  I stare at them in silence. The moonlight casts shadows across their faces, distorting their features into hellish expressions. In this light, they look like monsters.

  They don’t want to be here, but they’ve come seeking my aid. For months, I wanted nothing more than to end our feud. I truly believed we could have peace. After all, we fight for the same cause—to stop rogue vampires—but then I dreamed about a spell gone awry. Mamá cut me, sinking her dagger into my flesh. My arm still aches where blade met bone.

  Of course, this never happened, but I feel it as sharply as I feel the cold wind against my face and the crunch of frozen ground beneath my feet. I hold my arm against my chest, rubbing a wound that never existed in reality. I tell myself that was only a dream. But was it?

  I may be undead now, but I was born a spirit witch with an affinity for clairvoyance. This isn’t the first time a dream morphed into something more, something solid I can fight. After I woke from the nightmare, I was of the firm belief that the witches were up to no good. Now I must decide if my premonition is coming true. Are they here for retribution and vengeance?

  But Liv is missing.

  A rogue vampire has taken her, and it’s only a matter of time before she becomes a meal or something worse… Something like me.

  A witch-turned-vampire is a curious creature. I am not vampire, not witch, but both. I have one foot firmly planted in both worlds, yet I belong to neither.

  As I think about what my former best friend must be experiencing, I feel ill. I was blessed to have been saved by Jasik and his comrades. Unlike rogues, my saviors follow a set of unspoken guidelines to maintain peace and anonymity—like not eating people. It’s generally considered poor form to do so.

  I know Liv isn’t as lucky, and if she has been taken, she’s running out of time.

  My mind is a mess, my emotions clouding my judgment. I replay Mamá’s words over and over again. Each time, I still don’t know if I can believe her. Is this another lie? After the witches’ last betrayal, I vowed never to return to my old life, never to aid them or fight on their side again. I fell asleep yesterday believing I was free, but I woke to another nightmare.

  “Will you help us?” someone asks.

  Among the witches is Liv’s mother. Her eyes are bloodshot and sunken, her skin pale and wrinkled. Her nose is pink, her lips dry. Her dull hair is frizzy and flutters in the breeze. She shivers from the cold and wraps her arms around her chest.

  Liv’s mother never liked me or my coven, but the two seem to have merged into a single covenant. Their intention is to protect Darkhaven, the small village we all call home, from those who keep to the shadows. I once fought beside them, but now I see their prejudice has blinded them from the truth.

  Not all vampires are evil, soulless fiends who need to be sent straight to hell.

  I find it ironic that Liv and her family are intent on killing us. In the past, Liv had to sneak out just to see me. Her mother, a self-professed flower child and free spirit, didn’t believe in violence. Now she joins the fight as often as she can—and so does Liv.

  I saved her from a rogue vampire just last night, and he’s dead. So how is she missing? Who took her? What happened after I left the witches?

  “Perhaps she ran away?” I say, finally speaking. While unlike Liv, this is the most obvious conclusion. The rogues from that nest are supposed to be dead.

  “No seas tonta, niña,” Mamá chastises.

  “I’m not being foolish, Mamá,” I say. “This doesn’t make sense. The rogues are gone, so who could have taken her?”

  “There are always more vampires! Don’t be naïve,” Liv’s mother says.

  In the distance, something catches my eye. The woods are eerily dark tonight, and even the moonlight struggles to find its way through the thick branches. I squint at a shadow. It moves when I focus on it, returning behind the base of a thick tree.

  “Someone is out there,” I say.

  I rush forward, pushing past the witches. Mamá grabs on to my arm, yanking me backward. She squeezes me tightly in the very spot her dagger slid into my flesh. The raw sensation of her angry glare and bony fingers sends shivers down my spine. Being a naturally stronger predator, I pull free easily and step backward, putting space between the witches and me. I hold on to my arm, rubbing my skin. I don’t like the feel of her skin against mine. Not only because of the hell she put me through since I’ve transitioned but also because mortals are scorching to the touch. I still feel the heat of her body on mine. It takes several seconds for the sensation to dissipate.

  “No te preocupes por eso,” she says, but I do worry. Someone is watching us, and whoever it is might know what happened to Liv. I live in a particularly deserted part of the forest. The only people this far into the woods either reside here with me or are looking for trouble. And this isn’t the former.

  I glance back at the woods, and I see a set of eyes staring back at me. The unsettling feeling that I’m being watched washes over me, and all at once, I realize how vulnerable I am. I’m standing in the forest with known enemies. I’m alone, my only allies inside Amicia’s ne
st, the Victorian-style manor behind me, waiting for my call.

  I recognize the onlooker as a member of Mamá’s coven. It’s distressing to know there are more witches hiding behind trees, but I don’t show my fear. The witches need to understand that bringing the fight to our doorstep will never end well for them. We are at our most powerful here, and an attack would be fatal to them.

  Maneuvering through the overgrown yard, I backpedal until my heels knock into the steps of our wraparound porch. I take each one at a time, never breaking eye contact with our unexpected visitors. I’m so distracted, I almost forget to pat our watcher—an old stone gargoyle perched on the top step—on his head. This has become a ritual for me. I reach for him, running my hand along his smooth scalp.

  As I bend over, the necklace I was hiding under my shirt falls loose and dangles atop my black T-shirt. The chain glistens in the moonlight. Prominently featured, the silver cross is shimmery against my shirt. Its sparkle catches the eyes of the witches, who gasp.

  “Eso no es posible,” Mamá says. The other witches mimic her response, shouting that it’s not possible for a vampire to touch such a sacred object. Internally, I agree with them. Vampires cannot touch crosses. Jasik just proved that to me.

  But I’m not just a vampire.

  I’m something more, something better.

  “What are you?” someone hisses, her voice betraying her disgust with all that I am.

  They may not know everything, but they have witnessed some of my peculiar traits. In addition to my newfound ability to touch religious relics, I also have access to magic—and not just any magic. The power within me is pure, formidable. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  I’ve wielded this magic in several attacks against rogue vampires, and the witches watched as my enemies were turned to ash by my mere touch. My hands contain the very flames of the fiery depths of hell, and I will eagerly use this magic to aid my comrades.

  The witches act surprised now, but I wonder how shocked they really are. They know I can use magic. They’ve seen it with their own eyes. Wouldn’t they expect more from me? Did they come here to ask for my help because they want to see what else I can do? Is this why they’re here now, begging for help? Just yesterday, they wanted nothing to do with me. Now they consider me an ally. They trust me to save one of their own?

  I grab my cross pendant, trailing my fingers over the cool metal. Rather than harm me, it gives me strength. I was given this necklace by Papá before he died, and since Mamá has stolen my stake, this cross is all I have left of him.

  “How is this possible?” someone asks.

  “Because the world is not just black and white,” I say. “Nothing is ever that simple. You condemn us all based on the actions of a few. That’s not fair or right. Even this cross trusts in me, so why can’t you?”

  I tuck my necklace back under my shirt, letting the metal slide against my bare skin. It tickles as it slides down to its rightful place between my clavicles, but it does not burn me. The only thing that stings is the way Mamá looks at me, her only child, with such disdain. She hates what I am, but I see the wheels turning behind her narrowed gaze. She’s up to something.

  “Are you certain you want the vampires’ help?” I ask. I need to hear them say it aloud, especially her. The witches have come to the vampires for help. They need us. I won’t agree until they realize it.

  Mamá’s eyes are hard. They’re so dark brown, they’re almost black. Our eyes used to be identical, right down to their shape. Now my irises are crimson—the same color as the blood of the innocent. Or, in my case, the blood from blood bags.

  “We can find her without you,” Mamá says.

  “But you can’t stop them,” I clarify. “Not without us.”

  The witches know I’m right. This isn’t about who’s naturally stronger or who’s the better fighter—both titles go to the vampires, though. This is about putting aside our differences to save someone. To stop the rogues. This is about protecting Darkhaven.

  “And you speak for everyone?” Mamá asks.

  I shake my head. “No. I make no decisions for anyone. We agree together, as a family.”

  Mamá narrows her eyes. It was petty of me to say the vampires are my family now, but I couldn’t stop myself. In the past few months, these vampires have been more of a family to me than Mamá ever was. They trusted me, trained me, and even risked their lives for me. They believed in me when no one else did.

  Mamá never respected me or my power. She never believed in me. Sure, she loved me. I was her daughter after all. She’s not totally heartless, but in her eyes, I was a novice compared to her. Now the student has become the master, and she must admit it.

  “No tenemos tiempo para esto,” Mamá says.

  “You will make time, Mamá.”

  I know I’ve upset her. Her hands are balled into fists at her sides. Her jaw is clenched, her eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flare with every sharp inhalation. She wants to tear me down. She wants me to submit to her. Before I was a vampire, I wouldn’t dare betray her. Not like this. Especially not in front of her peers. Everything I did, I did for the coven.

  But I’m not that girl anymore.

  “Do you want our help?” I ask again, emphasizing each word.

  There is a long pause, and then she says, “Yes. I want your help.”

  She is seething, her anger almost to its boiling point. Before she can erupt and ruin our unexpected truce, I smile.

  “I need a minute,” I say.

  I turn and face the manor. Two large double doors welcome me home, and I can see several blurred figures standing behind the stained glass.

  The vampires are waiting inside. No doubt they’ve been listening to our chat, and they know I’m coming in to convince them we should help. I know they’ll be upset with me. Just yesterday, I promised this was over. I assured them I had no intention of helping the witches ever again.

  I meant the promise I made, but this is different. It’s not about Mamá or the coven. This time, Liv is missing—Liv, the weak firestarter who begged for my help because her mother wouldn’t let her practice magic in the house.

  I’ve known Liv all my life. In fact, I can’t remember a time I didn’t know her. That bond is special. She may hate what I am, but she can’t label me a monster. I’ve yet to do something deserving of that title.

  So I twist the knob and walk into the foyer. Closing the door behind me, I shut out the witches and stare into the crimson irises of several angry nestmates.

  Surrounded by vampires, the space feels small, suffocating. I step backward until I’m flush against the stained-glass door. At my right, a doorway opens to the parlor, which is just a fancy word for our living room. Straight ahead is the sitting room, which connects to the dining room, solarium, and upstairs. Everywhere I look, I see vampires staring at me. No one looks happy.

  “Do I really need to point out that this is a horrible idea?” Hikari asks. She’s leaning against the doorframe that connects the foyer to the parlor. She glares at me, her arms crossed over her chest. Her black pixie locks are messy, the gelled spikes granting a defiant edge to her looks.

  “If anyone else was missing, I wouldn’t ask this of you,” I say.

  “You made a promise, Ava,” Jeremiah says. He stands beside Hikari, his right leg kicked back so the sole of his shoe rests against the wall. He fingers the zipper of his jacket as he stares at me. His dark skin is ashy, and his eyes are hard. He looks exhausted. I’m certain that has something to do with Holland, his ex-boyfriend who is now living with us.

  “I know, and I hate to break that promise,” I say.

  I don’t dare look at Malik. Since I transitioned, he’s become too brotherly, and I know my request to aid the witches will only disappoint him. The last thing I want to do is upset him, seeing as how he’s also my trainer. Last time, he took out his frustrations with my bad decisions while we were on the mat. I felt sore for the rest of that week.

  Jasi
k and Malik have one striking characteristic in common: they’re practically unreadable emotionally. I take a peek at the vampire standing beside me. His eyes are hard, cold. I know Jasik is upset with me. It seems like I’m choosing the witches over the vampires—again—but I’m not.

  “Liv was my best friend,” I explain. “She’s seventeen and far too weak to handle herself against rogues. She won’t survive.”

  “And why do we care?” Hikari asks.

  “Hikari,” Jasik scolds, his tone sharp.

  “No, let her say what we’re all thinking,” Jeremiah says.

  “But I feel responsible.” My voice is whiny as I admit defeat.

  “Why?” Hikari asks. “You did everything you could to stop the rogues. You owe them nothing.”

  “She’s right, Ava,” Amicia says. Finally, our fearless leader speaks. Her silence was unnerving, and her impassive gaze made it difficult to tell if she was going to side with me or her vampires. I should have known she’d pick them.

  “No, I mean, she never wanted to be a fighter. She never wanted to hunt vampires. She only did that to help me. She went on patrols with me so I wouldn’t be alone, so I’d always have someone to count on.”

  Amicia is only a few feet away from me. With arms crossed, her index finger taps to the tick of a nearby grandfather clock. The tap, tap, tap of her disapproving finger echoes in my mind. I try to assess her thoughts by reading her eyes, but she’s just as detached as the others. One thing older vampires are exceptionally good at is perfecting that expressionless gaze.

  Finally, she speaks. “And because of this, you feel responsible for her abduction? You have no control over the rogues. They do as they please.”