Born Of Light

Book Three in the Passion Series

Born of Light

Stacy

By

RJ Dale

Copyright © RJ Dale 2014

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

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This book is a work of fiction. All characters and locations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead or real locations, is purely coincidental.

RJ Dale is an Australian author and Australian English and spelling have been used.

2019 edition

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In The Passion Series:

Awoken By Passion

Edge Of Darkness

Born Of Light

Blood And Fruit

Kin of the Dundine: Four book set

The Kyra Series:

Ever On: Part One

Ever On: Part Two

Ever On: Part Three

The Coven

The Elementals

~~~

Book cover design by RJ Dale 2014 © copyright.

This is a supernatural romance for over eighteens.

This book contains mature content, and is intended for adult readers.

~ ~ ~ * * * ~ ~ ~

Born Of Light

Stacy

By

RJ Dale

Ones true self is forged in the light of shadows.

Lust, touch, and desire are the essence of life.

~ ~ ~ * * * ~ ~ ~

Chapter 1

Days ago

The sky was mucky grey; the ground was thick with muck too. Dirt, leaves, rocks. Nothing but land and trees and all kinds of shrubs. Some had berries. I didn’t want berries. They tasted strange. My feet were muddy, I paused as one foot sunk into a puddle of water. Should have shoes on. Should have covers over those. I glanced around the area. Trees, trees and more trees. Ahead, hidden in thick brush and broken trees was something that might have shoes. I didn’t put shoes in there. Did I?

Moving towards the rusted Beetle, I opened the stiff door with a heave. It groaned at my actions, but what flooded to me had my mouth watering. Salty, tinny, scented with spices, and oh so … yum. Launching myself inside, I hissed at the realisation of something stopping me—me? My belly. It was rounder, larger. Getting in to the small vehicle wasn’t so easy and after a few attempts I was in and reaching for yummy stuff. Yes.

Tasty. Mouth watering, and so, so needed.

I groaned at the scents around me, at the condition I was in. I ruffled endless wrappers, paper bags. Bringing them to my lips to breathe deep on the scent and old juices of dried blood. Wrapper after wrapper was tossed around. Empty, Empty, Empty.

No. They can’t be all empty. No. They can’t. I need them.

Tossing them aside, one after the other. I climbed out heading to the trunk, and even as I found shoes. Shoes? I sniffed them. Don’t need shoes. The burning was too much. It had doubled. Tripled. Maybe it was just my imagination. I placed a hand on my belly. Closing my eyes and taking gentle breaths. Okay. It’s still round. It’s … still in there. Its still hungry. So, hungry. Why can’t you sleep already.

The kick wasn’t hard, but it was enough to say never.

Feed me. Feed me. Feed me.

Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

No. NO. No. I don’t have any more. They are all gone. All gone. Can’t you see. Waving my hands to the empty packets and wrappers didn’t do any good for it. It couldn’t see anything. It was in my belly. Another kick.

I rubbed it, soothing it.

I will find you something. I will.

Swallowing a dry throat, a raw, tired, sore throat. I turned from the vehicle and walked. To the far side of a hidden drain, it was supposed to get me to the city mall, to the butcher. That was what it did days ago. But here. No. Here it was … muddy. Thick gooey mud and water creeping and lapping over the entrance. I wandered into it, ankle deep and getting higher. The gunk was too thick.

I can’t walk through that. No. I can’t go there. How. How?

Think.

The road?

Too far.

The car?

Too … hard. Can’t get in. Can’t drive. It’s stuck. Remember.

Get some one to help. Someone could tow it out. Yes.

Remember.

Tristan?

The memory of him flashed across my mind. His black hair, his perfect chiselled features, high cheek bones, strong arms, muscled, bronze, tanned, brown eyes. So brown and welcoming, as was his love for me. His kiss, his mouth on mine. Moving, slipping his tongue into my mouth with hunger.

Hunger?

NO.

That’s what started this.

That’s why I was here.

He did this.

We did this.

I rolled my eyes at the tunnels and turned away.

Walking was hard, but I just couldn’t stop. The dryness of my throat became a constant roughness and edged on burning scraping and always, always tingling. Not for water. Not for fruit. Not for cooked food either. Nothing stopped it. Only one thing soothes it. Soothed and eased the burn. I need to stop this burn. Swallowing wasn’t helping. It was making it worse. Finding a bush of berries. I squished them; they smelt tangy, yucky too. Not what I need. Not what it needs. Another stream. Water.

Cupping my hands around the water, sipping it, guzzling it. Yes. Scoffing it down and that was when I smelt them. Like honey and spices and all things of rosemary roast beef and sweet, sweet meat. I stood, alert.

Voices.

So, I say’s to my wife. If I can’t do the washing and you say, do the washing, how am I supposed to do the washing?

They were laughing.

Who cares what they were saying. They were … there. A distance away … somewhere near by.

I hunched low, moving with tiny steps, to the larger trees. A trail. Oh, yes. There they are. Red and Yellow Jackets. Like a Big Mac sign. Yum. Yum. Yum.

NO. They are people.

They are food.

They are people with wives and laughing and walking and breathing.

They have blood and meat inside.

No. They have wives.

With meat too.

Licking my lips.

Oh, its so hard. Its so hard. I cried. I’m so hungry. So hungry.

The kick wasn’t helping. Feed me. Feed me. Feed me.

I swallowed and groaned.

Staying quiet, I watched them. Yes, the big Mac’s were walking towards me. Oh, yes. One was fat, like meaty bacon and the other was tall, like a sausage. Tall One might fight. Fat One won’t run. Yes. Could run out, bite down. Sink my teeth in. Should taste like beef from the butcher. Won’t be cold, won’t be washed or … it will be bloody. It will be raw. Raw meat. Mmmm…

I leant to the tree. Smelling it now. The wind brought the scent to me. Spicy. Raw. Tinny, alluring.

Think. Stop. Stop. No more. This isn’t right. This is wrong. Oh, it was so hard. I am me. Not a monster. The monster is in me. In me. Yes. That was what Tristan would say. It’s hidden. You can’t see it. You can’t hear it. You can just feel it. It’s just there. All the time.

Hungry.

Need it. Need to feed. Need to hunt. Not a vampire.

I am Stacy. Yes.

Stacy Gilbert.

I knelt behind the tree, fighting the urge to attack. The Big Macs had stopped. Looking at a map. Yes. They can just wait right there. Please don’t come any closer. I don’t want to hurt you or anyone. I’m a girl. I’m a lady. Yes. A lady who is … who is knocked up by a vampire.

Hahhhhhahah … I clasped my hand to my mouth. Shhh … don’t let them hear you. Don’t let them hear. You want to eat. This is food.

No. no.

They are so delicious.

I leaned towards the scent. Oh, these were better than steaks. So much better. They were ready for me to bite down on, to claw at, to drink and feed and oh, to bite in and fill, fill, fill. My neck was sore, my throat was on fire. I couldn’t stop. I need them. Oh, they are right there. So ready. So … close.

Oh, Tristan. Help me. Please.

The big mac’s were moving closer.

This way is faster. Trust me, said one of the Big Macs.

Yes. This way is going to be much faster. I hesitated, ready to leap out. No. No. I can’t do that. I can’t. They are people. They are so close. I can hunt them.

I shouldn’t hunt them at all.

But I need their blood.

Oh, please help me. Help me, Tristan. I can’t stop. I won’t stop.

Taking a step towards them, I paused. No. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. They were walking closer, stopping. Yes. They stopped. Stay there. No, come closer. I should move closer. Stay. Move. Run. Run. Run!

Hungry!

Something was running towards me. I turned to the sound. A grey wolf sprinted past me and to the Big Macs.

Nooo. They’re mine. I was behind the tree, ready to lunge when a voice startled me. I stopped my snarl, and held the tree tighter.

Stacy, my sweet. He held his palms up.

Staring at him, I dare not blink. It was him. It was a dream. He wasn’t here. Just a game. Interrupting my hunt. That’s all.

He moved closer.

No it’s him. Tall, six foot four. Black shirt, black hair, brown eyes. Yes. Him. He was here. Worry was there, oh, so much worry. Oh, Tristan. Tristan.

Tristan. My voice whispered.

It’s me, Stacy. He took another step towards me.

Oh, no. No. Please. Don’t come any closer. I don’t want you to come any closer.

Stacy. His palms still up, his eyes and voice pleading to stay where I was. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. His eyes travelled down my form.

I was hunched, my back pressed to the tree, and sure. Something wasn’t right; the way he was looking at me told me so. I could barely feel the cuts or the bruises or the mud and dirt under my nails. I just didn’t care anymore.

Please don’t. I heaved, wanting him to go away. Just a dream. Just a dream. Not real. Nothing is real. Just a dream. The wind changed and tickled my senses and the burn in my throat tightened. "I need blood. I need their blood." Sniffing the air, I spat the built up saliva away. It wasn’t of any use. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

The Big Macs were there. I jolted, curving to peek around the tree. The grey wolf was there. Paused in the trail, keeping them in view. They were frozen. Oh, and sweating with fear too. Mmmm … they looked so scared and mouth watering just clutching each other. I lunged, wanting them. They didn’t see me; I wasn’t able to chase them far. I was too big; my track pants were too muddy. The wolf growled and the Big Macs ran away, bobbing off in the distance, getting further and further away. Yellow and red were gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone!

Nooo! I need them.

The yelp of the grey wolf had me pause, staring at him. He lowered his head, surprise, fear and unease as his green eyes locked onto my belly.

No … Please. I need them. It hurts so much. I pleaded with the stupid thing. Hmm. Not food.

He’s not food. He doesn’t smell like food. He doesn’t smell like anything. But there was a smell here … something was.

I turned my head, staring at him.

Tristan. Please? I need blood. I’m so hungry. So. So. Hungry. I turned and rested a hand on my belly. Taking in his shocked expression had me blink. OH, please. No. Don’t look… It’s not right. He shouldn’t be looking. I am ugly and fat and wet and muddy and my hair is dirty and my fingers are bloody. I ran to a tree. Hiding. I was too fat to hide. I crumbled. Please leave. Go away. I don’t want you to see me like this. I can’t have you. Go away!

Stacy? His voice was so small. Full of fear.

Another two wolves bounded into view. A brown and a white. I could see the rim of silver, the blue of their eyes, the worry. Sniffing the air, I just knew who they were.

Please, Erika. Please don’t come any closer. It’s all wrong … it’s all wrong…

She took a step towards me and I dashed to another tree. Looking to the mucky clouds, to the shadowy trees, the dapple shades, the flicker of wings and butterflies off to the side. The burn was there, never far. Always there. Burning. Burning. Burning. Twisting and hurting and burning.

It hurts. It hurts so much. I need it. Give it to me! I screamed. "You need to give me something." It was … it was something he had to give me. He already gave me so much. He wasn’t the Tristan who fed off me. He wasn’t the bird Tristan. He wasn’t the wolf Tristan or the … my … mate. Go away. Leave me alone. Don’t look at me.

Stayss? His voice raspy. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. He was moving towards me.

One step, two steps. I clutched my belly. He can’t have this. He can’t take it. He should see it. I shouldn’t have run off. I rolled my eyes. It kicked and I rubbed it.

I won’t hurt you or the—

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not happening. I swayed on the illusion, crying with pain, hunger and logic. It was bigger now, larger and oh, so hungry. But it wasn’t just that. It was mine. It was in me. Mine and Tristan’s. We made it together. Last week. Or the week before. Yes. Not long at all. It was so big though. So big and hungry. I will protect it and love it and feed it. Me. Only me.

Mine. It’s mine. You can’t have it. You can’t take it from me. It’s mine! I won’t let you take it away from me. Never ever. It was here. It was in me. Growing and oh, so hungry. Just like his father. Yes. His father. Tristan. Tristan was a vampire. That was why he was so hungry. Always hungry.

I won’t … I won’t take it away. It’s okay, Stacy. You’re safe. You’re okay.

I double blinked at him, standing there, inching closer.

Tristan. Tristan? Please. I reached out to him, not a foot from me as he came closer.

I’m here; it’s going to be okay. The wolves grizzled, he ignored them.

One more step, and—

I need it. Give me it. Now! I leaped at him, biting his arm, his hand. Hitting him, as he turned me around, pinning me to his chest. I sank my mouth around his palm. He was so hard, so strong. My Tristan. My watcher. He pulled his hand away with a hiss, his fangs bit down on his wrist, and dark ruby liquid spilled forth.

Oh, yum.

I had my mouth around it in moments.

Spicy, honey, sweet tinny, alluring, and damn filling and soothing too.

The burning was gone … gone. Fading.

The kick remained.

Snapping my eyes open, I was dazed. I was on a lounge, vampires were all around me. I sat up and crawled backwards. I couldn’t get away.

Please, don’t. I wanted to hide, to think clearer. But I couldn’t think properly at all to start with. My head was aching, my hands too.

Stacy, my sweet. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay, said Tristan beside me.

This isn’t right. I clawed my head, holding my hands to my ears. You should hate me, I lied to you. I stuffed it all up. This is wrong. It’s all wrong. You should hate me, this thing inside, isn’t right. I didn’t want to look at it now. Not that I couldn’t miss it. It was growing so fast and the burning was … there. Swallowing wasn’t helping.

No, I don’t hate you. I love you, He begged.

His words echoed inside me. Warm and fuzzy and oh, to have him. To hold him. To lose myself inside him. To kiss him and … and … oh! Oh, the burning. The burn. The sting. The tingle. It just never stops. Never ever—

Please make it stop. I hit my head, pulling at my mattered curls, gasping at my actions.

We’re trying to work it out, he said. It’s okay now. You’re home, you’re safe.

Safe? Hahhahahha. Safe is not what I need. I need to make it stop. No. I want it to stop. It hurts so much. I clawed at my throat. It burns all the time. I can’t make it stop. Please.

She’s thirsty, murmured Marcus.

I turned to him. His lips moving, his brown clothes; always brown. Like a tree.

She needs real food, said Caleb. The gentle one. The tall one. The doctor. The one who helps all the time. The father. Yes. I know him. I knew them all. I just need to make this stop. He was talking still, and only one word in that structure of words held any interest to me.

Blood! I jolted with hope. Where? I need it. I glanced from one to the other in hopes they had it. I sniffed. Nope. Not on them, but Tristan—

Judith stepped into view, strawberry hair, sweet ruby lips of a smile. Blue green eyes and curves that always made me envious. Stacy dear, I have some steaks in the fridge.

Oh, she is nice too. Really nice.

Steak? Is it raw? With blood? I want it. Show me. I was off and following Judith to the kitchen, desperately wanting it, needing it. I rocked on the balls of my feet with excitement as Judith pulled a parcel from the fridge. Even before she opened it, I could smell it. So juicy and rich and the aroma was salty and tangy, and … what I need. Need. Need it now. I ripped the wrapping aside, tore into it, and bit down. Oh, so … perfect. To taste. To taste something