Bound by Blood. Samara Hayden

Preface

(Samarra pov)

I've often wished to live in a fantasy world, like I'm sure many other people do.

Fantasy worlds always seemed less… complicated.

There's a heroine who doesn't know she's the hero.

A soldier who protects her with his dying breath.

And a villain, boyfriend-shaped, just to really mess with your head.

They fight.

They love.

They win.

They live.

Simple.

So much less complicated than packing up your entire life into mismatched boxes, driving until the scenery blurs, and starting over in yet another town where no one knows your name, but everyone eventually learns your weirdness.

My life isn't a fairy tale.

It's not even a one-star-rated novel.

It's that book you kind of start reading, get bored halfway through, and abandon on a coffee table forever.

At least… it was.

The moment we moved to Mill Hollow, that all changed.

Chapter One: Rain and Other Bad Omens

Mill Hollow smells like wet earth and old secrets.

That was my first thought when we crossed the town line. No welcome sign, no cheerful slogan. Just rain. Relentless, quiet rain that felt less like weather and more like a metaphor for my life.

"Home sweet nowhere," I muttered, pressing my forehead against the fogged-up car window.

"You're being dramatic," Derrick said from the driver's seat. "It's charming."

"Of course you'd think that. You think abandoned gas stations are 'full of character.'"

"They are," he replied calmly. "That one back there had integrity."

I snorted. Derrick has this way of saying ridiculous things with complete sincerity. It's unsettling. But comforting. Like if the world ended tomorrow, he'd nod and say, 'Well, at least traffic will be better.'

The town slid into view slowly, old brick buildings, narrow streets, and trees crowding in from every side like they were eavesdropping. Everything looked… muted. As if someone had turned the saturation down on reality.

From the back seat, Catherine didn't comment.

She rarely does.

She sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, eyes tracking the treeline as if counting something only she could see. Catherine has this way of being present without being present. Like a shadow that learned manners.

If Derrick is the voice that fills silence, Catherine is the reason silence exists in the first place.

"You're staring again," I said.

"I'm watching," she corrected, without looking at me.

"Same thing."

"No," Derrick said. "It's not."

I sighed and turned back to the window.

We crossed an old rail road and a shiver ran down my spine. The air suddenly feeling so much colder.

I rubbed my arms.

Catherine noticed.

She always notices.

"Ground yourself," she said quietly.

"I am grounded."

"You're dissociating."

"I'm observing dramatically," I corrected, rolling my eyes.

Derrick smiled. Catherine didn't.

She reached into her coat pocket and pressed something cold and metallic into my palm — a small, worn token etched with symbols I wasn't allowed to ask about.

"Just in case," she said.

I curled my fingers around it automatically.

I never ask what the 'cases' are anymore.

We turned up a small dirt road and drive through the thick line of trees all the way to a small clearing.

When the car stops in front of the house, Catherine gets out first. She scans the street, the windows, the forest line. Not paranoid. Methodical.

"This is it?" I asked.

"This is it," Derrick said.

Catherine nodded once. "It definitely has… history."

"All it needs is a new coat of paint," Derrick said dryly.

"It looks like it needs an exorcism" I try for jokey, but it came out way too judgy.

Catherine steps onto the porch, boots heavy against the wood. "Can you try to be positive," she adds. "Just this once."

I waited for her to turn and then pulled a face, which of course Derrick saw and gave me a look before ruffling my hair and walking to the back of the truck.

Derrick pops the trunk, and it immediately begins to rain harder.

Of course it does.

"That's personal," I muttered at the rain.

"I told you," Derrick said calmly, reaching in and lifting two full boxes at once like they weigh nothing. "This town is like a teenage girl. It loves to add a little drama to everything" he winks and goes to drop the boxes in the living room.

I turn back to the truck and spot the bag.

My bag.

The one Derrick had explicitly told me not to touch.

It was massive. Overstuffed. Probably violating several laws of physics. Derrick had tossed it in earlier like it was a pillow.

"Don't," he said, without turning around.

"I didn't do anything."

"You were thinking loudly."

"I can help."

He finally looked at me, rain slicking his golden locks, his jaw right, expression flat in the quiet, reserved way that makes him look almost otherworldly.

"Leave it, Mouse."

I scowled. "I hate when you call me that."

"You've hated it for sixteen years. Yet here we are."

He turns back toward the house.

Which was rude.

So obviously, I grabbed the bag.

It was heavier than I remembered.

Like offensively heavier.

I dig my heels into the wet gravel and yanked.

The bag slid.

I felt victorious for exactly half a second.

Then my foot slipped on the rain slicked ground, the bag yanked me instead, and suddenly gravity decided to remind me who was in charge.

I went down hard.

Flat on my back.

Rain soaking through my hoodie almost instantly.

The bag landed beside me with a dull, smug thud.

There was a pause.

Then Derrick sighed.

Not rushed. Not alarmed.

Just… resigned.

"Please tell me," He said, stepping into my field of vision, "that you didn't just try to prove a point to a bag that outweighs you."

"I had it," I said weakly, staring up at the grey sky. "It was cooperating."

He crouched, hands on his knees, looking entirely too amused. "Ah yes. The rare cooperative duffel bag."

Catherine glanced over.

Said nothing.

Which somehow made it worse.

Derrick offered me a hand. I ignored it on principle.

"I'm fine."

"You're horizontal."

"I'm acquainting myself with the moss," I snapped. "Becoming one with the land."

He laughed, actually laughed, low and warm, the sound cutting through the rain. "Well, I'm proud of you, Mouse. Mill Hollow appreciates commitment."

He scooped the bag up with one hand, like it had was stuffed with wool and weighed nothing, then grabbed my wrist and hauled me upright with zero effort.

I stumbled into him. My cheek pressing against his chest.

He steadied me instantly, his hand impossibility warm at my waist. My head spins and my vision blurs slowly finding something solid, until all I could see was his piercing blue eyes.

Stupid low iron always trying to take me out. His blue eyes searched mine, like they always do, waiting to see if I was okay.

For half a second, I forgot it was raining. Forgot the town. Forgot the way my skin always felt too tight.

Then he let go, walking away like he didn't just steal my thoughts from my mind.

"Next time," he said lightly, "let the supernatural being handle the supernatural luggage."

I brushed wet hair out of my face. "You're not supernatural." I huff, though sometimes I do have my doubts. The way he moves, the way he speaks like he's from another world.

He smiled sideways. "Sure."

From the porch, Catherine finally spoke. "Inside. Before you try lifting the house."

I stuck my tongue out at Derrick and trudge past him.

Behind me, he murmured, "such a pain in the ass."

"I heard that!"

"Good."

And somehow, despite the rain and the watching forest and the weight in my chest,

I smiled.

Derrick pov

I knew this fight was coming.

I just hoped, selfishly, that it would wait at least a few days.

Samarra stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, jaw set in that way that meant she'd already decided and was now only humouring us. Rain ticked steadily against the windows, each drop tapping out time I didn't have.

"We've discussed this," Catherine says carefully. "With your condition, it isn't advisable for you to attend a regular school."

Sam exhales sharply through her nose, her green eyes flashing blue for a heart beat. A warning sign. "You keep saying condition like it's a death sentence."

Catherine leans against the counter, arms crossed. Looking between me and Sam. Her eyes searching for backup. Waiting to see which way I'll fall.

"I want to feel normal," Sam says.

There it is.

Not I want friends.

Not I want to go to school.

Normal.

I close my eyes for half a second. Just long enough to steady myself.

"Normal," I repeat. "Means noise. Crowds. People touching you, bumping into you. Chaos during class changes, before and after school. Noisy crowded lunchrooms. You shut down in grocery stores, Sam."

"I manage."

"You dissociate."

"I cope."

"You suffer and you know it. And I won't be there to help."

Her eyes flash again. Sharp and furious "So, I should what? Sit in this house forever? Let my entire life happen through a window because it makes you feel safer?"

The blow hits its target with practised precision.

I look at her and see sixteen years of scraped knees, nightmares and whispered reassurances in the dark. See the little girl who clung to my coat like I was the only solid thing in the world.

And layered underneath her—

I see Aleira.

Standing in defiance of men who thought obedience was righteousness. Chin lifted. Hands shaking. Eyes burning with the same quiet fury.

This isn't right, she'd said once.

And if no one questions it, then what are we even protecting?

"Derrick," Catherine says softly. A warning. Or permission. I'm not sure which, but it snaps me back into myself.

Sam takes a step closer. "I don't want to be protected from living."

The words land cleanly. No accusation. No drama.

Just truth. And God I want her to live. The past 16 years have been all about keeping her alive. The moving, the running. Pretending to be her brother so the world wouldn't ask too many questions.

I look at her, really look, and something in my chest fractures.

She's not asking for recklessness.

She's asking for a tiny slice of normalcy. Her gorgeous green eyes filling with tears now, her bottom lip trembling slightly and I have to resist the urge to ease that tremble by pressing my lips to hers.

I swallow and close my eyes. Pinching the bridge of my nose. "You finish this year," I say slowly. "You follow the rules. You tell us when it's too much. The second it becomes dangerous; we pull you out."

Her breath catches. She tries to hide it her excitement and fails miserably.

"You're serious?" she asks a broad grin spreading across her face.

I nod once. "I'm serious."

"You agree?" she turns to Catherine, practically beaming. And in that moment, I would sign away Heaven again if it meant keeping that look on her face a little longer.

Catherine looks at me for confirmation and then nods.

Sam flings her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly and I can't help but reach around her and press her against me for me moment. She lets go, giving Catherine the same treatment and then bounces off to her room.

Catherine watches the doorway for a long moment. "You know what this risks. She's almost 18 Derrick. Her awakening could be upon us and you're sending her into the human world just like that."

"I know," I say.

"And you still chose her happiness. She's not the two year old little girl you found in the forest anymore."

I meet Catherine's gaze. "I know Catherine."

And I do, really I do. We don't know exactly when she was born which means we don't know the exact date she'll turn 18. Her powers have been surfacing more and more lately. It is absolutely a risk to her to school where anything could trigger her. But God help me I have never been good at telling her no when she pins me with those green eyes.

I would give her the world if she asked for it. And Catherine. Catherine would follow my command till her last breath.

That night, we work.

Old paper. New ink. Stolen seals. Carefully forged records layered over existing human bureaucracy like a second skin. Catherine handles the details. I handle the things that require… persuasion.

By dawn, Samarra exists on paper.

A real address.

A real history.

A place at Carter High.

As I press the final seal into the document, my hand hesitates.

Aleira had stood like that too, green eyes burning into me, lip trembling, fighting for something small and human in a world that demanded obedience.

She'd paid for it.

I close my eyes, just for a moment, and whisper a promise I know better than to make.

Not this time.

When I step back into the hallway, Sam's door is cracked open. Light spills out. I hear her moving around, humming softly, something careless. Happy. I lean against the wall breathing in deeply.

It's worth the risk.

Even if it damns me all over again.