Edge Of Darkness

Book Two in the Passion Series

Edge Of Darkness

Tristan

By

RJ Dale

Copyright © RJ Dale 2014

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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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.

Please note that RJ Dale is an Australian author and Australian English and spelling have been used in this ebook.

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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 (Coming soon) 2017

Book cover design by RJ Dale 2013 © copyright.

This is a supernatural romance for over eighteens.

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

2019 edition

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Edge Of Darkness

By

RJ Dale

Tristan

Desire stirs from the shadows of ones mind

Chapter One

Oh, why do I do these things?

Sitting on the branch of an old tree, I stared with unblinking eyes through the window and into Stacy Gilbert’s bedroom. Stacy Gilbert. The perfect human female. The pixie with attitude and perfect in a nice little coco slim body of perfection. Did I mention she was perfect. From her hair, to her eyes to her laugh, to that crinkle in her nose when she’s grossed out by something. Perfect. All the way. Right now, she was sleeping. She had a deep breath and no snoring sounds. Least they were lady like—perfection. The curls of her short black hair hung loosely around her almond shaped face, and her black hair was like satin. So soft, curly but springy and even wicked when she turned and they flowed and followed her head movements. Something about them was slow motion. Like it could be my ability to stop time. But when Stacy turned, her hair was magical. She was a dream really and as dreams lingered in her thoughts, they constantly stirred in mine. The morning light flittered through the window in spades, highlighting the important curves, the way she was curved in the bed, lady like perfection of her slumber was an image burned in my mind. She was positively glistening. Oh, so smooth, coco skin to a caramel brown hue of the best skin tone I had ever seen. Not creamy white or flaky or even a peachy colour. She was tanned and caramelised. It always made my mouth water with want. The sounds of her gentle breath matched with the rhythm of her heart. She would wake soon. Listening from my position, and excitement became a tumbling thrill inside me. Oh, she would wake and that sent all kinds of flutter feelings inside me. I was content to stare, and had done for hours. I was drawn to her. To linger on her pulse as it beat in even strokes, to relax with the sound of her breath, the ease of her sigh and at times the moan of lost thoughts. Or maybe hopes that she wished never to end.

She dreamed again this night, a restless dream; possibly a nightmare. The rhythmic beat would quicken suddenly as she creased her brow in unease of the foggy dream or the nightmare that would fade in the morning hours. She would have no memory of the dream or me.

Oh, why do I bother?

She only ever sees me as this stupid bird. What kind I was, I couldn’t be sure. Some predator type I’d adapted to over the past two weeks and several times in my past, but I never paid attention to what kind. I didn’t care. I was pleased in the two weeks since the cave incident, the other coven had not discovered me. Part of me knew that it was pointless. I wanted to remember what happened in the cave, before the cave. I never could remember. I don’t know what happened. I tried to follow my big brother Ethan around, trying to get answers to questions I couldn’t ask him. It was good that he couldn’t sense me in this form. He probably had no idea I was here at all. That was the good news. The bad news, none of them spoke about the cave incident. None spoke about me, or what came of me.

What do I care.

They clearly don’t.

I considered visiting his house. Dropping in unannounced would make a big impression, though I could always say—hey, don’t know-anything-story—like that would work. Part of me still followed him though. Him. Ethan Coffer. My brother for all intent purposes. Blood brother—even if he denies it. And on top of that. He happens to be my older brother. Being a thorn in my side for so damn long. So many years and … so much of it was built around anger. Hope is all I had. But deep down. I hated and despised myself for trying so damn hard. I just couldn’t stop myself. I had to admit, I was curious. It’d been a good fifteen years since I last saw him. And to discover him with a girl none the less. One he was never far from and always talking too. She was quiet and shy. Still don’t know her name. While keeping an eye open, or as they say, mind out, for any strong power and, Bam! I got a whole lot of power I didn’t want to see—their lusting.

For the life of me, I was drawn to it and totally regretted it. Why their lusting caused such a strong pull on the power front annoyed me, though, once I knew the level it drew; I stopped seeking that kind at all. It was far too powerful. And hell. I wanted to jump right through his window and get some of her blood for myself. There was something about the air around her, for a good distant too. Like a crackle only I could see, or feel. It was inviting, and edging at the same time. Like if I was about to get struck by lightning or maybe shot in the heart. But, I refused. There was no way I was going to do that. Besides, I had more important things to do, like watching Stacy Gilbert. Oh, her eyes are fluttering, almost time for her to wake.

I stared with unblinking eyes, frozen by the desire to see her rise, to watch her move. It wasn’t just her morning routine I watched, or her nightly routine. It was her daily life. I did try an leave—several times actually.

I flew for two days straight only to catch the next up draft back, due to the fact I’d managed to tell myself, I hadn’t said goodbye to her. Stupid. Yes. It was stupid.

This form was playing tricks on me; my head wasn’t the same since that cave incident. I didn’t follow Ethan and his group around all day. Just a few hours, it was easier that way. More time with Stacy. It was no lie to know that Ethan was happy, even with his adopted family. I spent so much time hating Ethan for the first few years of my turning, to start again shortly after; and then to stop hating him up until about thirty years ago. I just got over it. He was after all my big brother. I was Twenty one when I awoke as a Dundine. Ethan was nineteen when he became immortal himself. I was his younger brother by four years, but now. I looked like his older brother by three. Why he doesn’t remember me, is strange, annoying and completely unfair. I remember everything before I was a vampire. I remember every crummy detail, though nothing like now. But I didn’t get sudden amnesia over my old life, as he did. I shrugged off the idea altogether and turned my attention to more important things. Perched on a tree branch, watching Stacy.

Two weeks ago, I was … under a spell, hell I don’t know. Three weeks ago, I was riding with Mavrick and his crew. They were not mine, even if I pushed em all around and had a say in what was and wasn’t. Hell, most those mutts wouldn’t know the right way to have fun even with fangs. Besides, there were only so many ways you can get pleasure from drinking blood and up until three weeks ago, I hadn’t thought much about it. I was getting tired of doing the same stuff, day-in-day-out routine. Go here, do this. Go there, do that. Bite this. Hurt that. It had it’s moments. And then some. But I was tired. Burnt out. Or maybe just looking for away out. I was… doing things on autopilot as they say.

Until Stacy showed up.

We’d caught her by surprise one evening. Wasn’t a real plan at the time. It was simple, I was a Dundine, my creator was a Strigoi, and therefore I was to come whenever a Master called. Word was, they needed us through a hidden means of mind thoughts. Stupid nit wit. Like a mind ache that didn’t have an explanation. Just a reason to do what was asked without questioning it. Not that you could hear the words in so many ways. It was like. Nothing made sense. You just did things. Bit someone. Went up and found some other vamp that was needed. Shit like that. Sometimes it was… just weird and I tried not to follow through. But a Master— they are all powerful and shit. So. I don’t mess with them. We grabbed random fleshers that night, girls mostly. Master had a thing for girls in late teens. And a thing for different racial backgrounds. Stacy was quiet from the start; she watched all things and rarely screamed. Rarely being only when one of the nits bit her. Cuz we could do that. Take a taste, now and then. That’s the idea of fleshers. Long as they were not killed. We could have fun. We—not being me. I watched her with small interest. She was cute, I guessed her age at twenty, and possibly the most acceptable of all that was happening; tolerable was a better term. Just not about to scream in hysterics about vampires and what not. Like most fleshers, I like to seek their minds, feel their emotions. It was her brown eyes that stopped me in my tracks. They weren’t quite chocolate and yet they looked sweet, and so round with lashes that drew me in. Just … perfect.

Vince, the idiot had taken dibs first night. He tranced her with little care if it was right. Sure, two years as a vamp and he still needed lessons. He couldn’t trance a duck to swim in a pond. Poor girl was tormented with constant pain that first feeding. The second night we were here, I’d had enough of watching him hurt her. All I intended on doing was telling him he was doing it wrong. That was when I kicked the crap out of him instead. Didn’t like her in pain, not that she screamed for long. She’d already suffered for too many days at his hands. Part of me thought it was strange, strange that I could feel that way. Hurting people was easy. Normal. Expected, for a vampire; a Strigoi, but I wasn’t one of em, I was Dundine. I didn’t much think anything about it up until the day before we got here. I didn’t think about what someone was feeling, or what pain was to them. Hell, I didn’t care much about humans and their overpowering emotions full stop.

It did no good to think bout that stuff. That’s what Mav would say. Though deep down, he was just as soft.

We were both Dundine, helping the Masters with the pack of Strigoi. Stupid bottom feeders, good for nothing, and best not bothering with. They follow orders real well when it comes to mayhem and disasters. Other than that, they were useless.

That night I saved her from another feeding gone wrong. The stupid nit Vince, was going to feed off her, hadn’t tranced her and I had enough of his gloating laughs. I wanted to trance her properly; I didn’t want her to suffer. Somehow, I was lost between trancing her and staring at her. Her pleas didn’t help either. Those emotional, begging, beautiful brown eyes staring at me with hope that I could—What!

Save her? Stop the pain?

It didn’t matter. I found myself kissing her—on the lips! She kissed back. Strangest feeling I ever did feel. Wasn’t much for kissing the ladies when it was feeding time. The trance took care of that. But here she was. Frightened, scared and brave—kissing a vampire. In my haste to shake the moment away, I forgot to trance her.

Brainless, foolish and stupid rolled into one.

I pulled from that kiss, and then bit her.

I just kicked the crap out of Vincent for doing it wrong, and here I was biting her; feeding off her, then and there with no care to her pain. Those few seconds were my power, my nature until I noticed the strangest thing—stranger than the kiss I gave her. She wasn’t in pain. She wasn’t suffering, she wasn’t tranced, but she was willingly allowing it to happen—relaxing herself to let me take her blood—meaning. Not pain for her. That was strange. No human had ever willingly given blood like this—to me. I had to trance. Always had to. Never one to get a free meal without asking—or trancing. But her blood. It was heaven. It was—perrrrr-fect. Her blood was sweet, running into my gums and filling my mouth faster than I could swallow. Hitting the dormant taste buds that were now relishing, and at attention to have more—so damn good.

That wasn’t the worst part.

No. Feeding from her wasn’t the worst.

Having her blood given to me willingly, wasn’t the worst part.

She was enjoying it .

She was actually enjoying my fangs in her skin, my moan of pleasure as I tasted her, feed of her and oh, wow. She was completely un-tranced and in bliss with it as much as I was. Such a pleasure, such a rush. She was so sweet and warm and damn, never gonna want any other blood in the world if I could just have hers. Okay, it wasn’t the worst feeling. It made me stronger and happy.

And then, it hit me. I can’t take from her. She—is all that she is. If I drained her. She’d be gone and I didn’t want that. She…wasn’t meant for feeding on to end her life.

What was I doing? I shouldn’t feed off her, she needs rest, she was wounded, tired. I should let her be.

I tried to stay away. But every night like an alarm was built into me, I was sitting next to her. I didn’t talk to her, just sat. Resting my elbows on my knees as I half bent, heeling the soil where we kept them in the damn woods—shit. Not even a nice motel, or a shed or shake—no. we were animals. Out in the open, didn’t care bout what the fleshes wanted. Or rather, never did before. Cold. Hot. Hungry. Who gave a shit. They were meals for the master. But with her. I wanted to … I don’t know. Make sure she wasn’t cold. I actually gave her a blanket and then… I found a pillow stashed in one of the mutts backpacks. And then, water… some chips and cookies too. Then I made the mistake of looking deeper into her eyes. It grew with time, strange that it would do that. She wanted me, she let me feed off her with no argument. No fight, no plea. She held her wrist out to me. She knew what I wanted, but I didn’t want it, did I?

I stared at her bound wrist; the bindings had dug into her skin, making them bleed which only tickled my concern. It was the first time I’d healed anyone’s wounds. My saliva was a strong healing agent. I’d never worried about healing others before, no way. They can bleed to death for all I cared. But there we were; she was hunched on the soiled earth, half pressed to the fallen log, the dirt covered blanket around her legs. The fire was too far from her for warmth. Her clothes were mattered, stained; her hair was tangled with leaves, and her wrist; bleeding. I brought her wrist to my lips without thinking. A simple press of my lips on the skin—and oh, that was nice. I could smell her. Essence and perfume and her. Running my tongue all over her wrist, had her gasp in surprise; and well, sure, freak a little. Vamps feeding one thing. A guy kissing her wounds better and they actually heal—totally different. Watching her get a buzz as her wounds healed; it was more enlightening than drinking. It didn’t stop there; I needed to keep going. I wanted to lick all her wounds clean, heal anything that was made by us, to wash them all away… I hated they had bitten her—I hated she’d been marked by them. I set out to remove the wounds—or to replace them with my bit—and she didn’t argue, or complain. Now I didn’t go to the extreme of taking her clothes off. That would be wrong. I couldn’t stop wanting to heal her. Stupid as it seemed. But then, that night came.

I don’t remember anything from when I found the stupid Master in the cave, and then. Bam! Waking up as my wolf form and a coven of vamps ready to rip me to shreds. Those lions think they know everything. Jumping towards me ready to fight. I wasn’t that frightened, confused and completely not ready to die at the hands of my big brother’s adopted family. So, I took off.

I went back to the cave a few days later. Found nothing but piles of ash and a gold ring with a black stone in the centre. I locked it onto my middle finger and took up residence in this tree as this bird.

Okay, not just this tree. There was one by her work, one where she met her friends for coffee and not to mention the park of trees that she likes to go walking in. I do steal into a house occasionally to shower and clean up. After all, I don’t want to smell and I didn’t want Ethan and his adopted family to find me. The last thing I need, is a twenty question beating to something I couldn’t remember.

To top off all that did happen, and what I don’t remember. They went and removed Stacy’s memory. She was left with nothing, forgetting everything, including the moment she spoke to me, to actually have her talk as though we were a something. Gone and obliterated her memory of me—I hated them for it. And kind of loved them for it at the same time—she didn’t deserve to remember those losers. And she definitely didn’t deserve to remember a vamp like me—one who fed of her, and okay. I kept her safe. Maybe in my missing memory I did something to her that was damaging. Damn. I hope I didn’t. that would be—so bad. So beyond bad. I should ask—but Mav didn’t say shit to me about anything like that—least, the last time I spoke to him. He just said I’d attacked Ethan. And that was a thought for later. My mind was lost with Stacy. And here she is … sleeping.

Oh, she rolled her head, brushing her cheek with the back of her fingers. I like how her lips twitch just before she wakes. That perfect cupids bow, the plum sugar colour that was kissable and tasted so … so good. The flutter of her eyes before they open. The way those think black lashes could rest on the top of her cheeks, and then flicker like butterfly wings. Intense and beautiful. Oh, how so much got me feeling chuffed. So amused and completely dazed. I still didn’t understand what I was doing here. I should leave. I should.

But I didn’t.

It was right around now, right at this moment, I try and fly away. Up until a few days ago, I’d manage just that. Only to return moments later. It’s been hard and getting harder to stay away from Stacy Gilbert. She was waking, stirring to complete awareness as her eyes fluttered opened. My pulse quickened at the sight of her tiny slim form in the light grey tank top. Pink and white spotted shorts that had small frilly-lace on the ends, showing the perfect curve of her supple buttocks. Her five foot form was petite and perfect in a way that she was—Stacy Gilbert. She scanned her room as she yawned with another rub of her eyes and her fingers frizzed her already messy bed hair. As I studied her actions, taking in her perfect movements. She was so … human. What was I doing, staring at her, gawking at her? I thought it was strange she moved back to Kenneth, we’d taken her from a big city over five hours travel from here. Why she stayed here in this house was annoying. Though it was her mother’s. An old biddy woman with a fast jab of her walking cane and shrill on her words too.

As Stacy headed into the small bathroom, I didn’t pry. No. Picking feathers, sure are a good thing, oh, and look, a grub. Crawling along the branch in front of me. I fluffed my feathers mildly at the thought of eating it for the sake of being a bird. Mostly because I thought it strange that I would not pry on her washing in the shower room. To pry on her nudity. I imagined what she was like without clothes, oh, and I wanted to see. I was all for making people uncomfortable. Looking where they don’t want you to be looking. It was only recently that respectfulness seeped into my mind, though along with mindful, considerate and even understanding.

Unlike Ethan, I remember our father and the way he raised us. Alexander Coffer was not a man to be reckoned with. But a gentleman and a modesty of women was something he drilled into us constantly along with schooling and knowledge. Maybe that’s what’s happening to me. I was finally understanding all I was taught. Took a century and a bit, didn’t it.

I scoffed at the thought alone and instantly distracted with the shower ending.

She emerged, wrapping the towel around her form. Her black hair hung in tight curls to her shoulders, while it was wet; it napped to her collar bone. She flicked her small headband on her wrist, testing its elasticity power as she took a seat by the desk with the mirror. She prettied herself in seconds, don’t know why. She was already perfect, the powders just enhanced her beauty. Once she was done, she gathered clothes from her cupboard. I didn’t pry as she dressed. Peeking, very little at all. Once she was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that had lilies splashed across the front. She took a deep breath and started to dry her hair.

Here’s my cue.

I leaped from my perch and glided effortlessly to her windowsill.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

She turns from her reflection with a wide smile, showing her perfect white teeth. My head goes all fuzzy with that one look.

Oh, why do I keep torturing myself? That’s it. After today, I won’t bother her anymore.

Hey there, Big Guy, she cooed.

I didn’t want to get this close, but after last week, I couldn’t help myself. She slipped the window open with a small grunt as the hard wood disagreed to allow me entrance, but she didn’t take it as a sign. Her slender hand came to my head, gently scratching my feathers like a pretty kitty. Yep, I wanted to be held in her arms. That was one thing I’d considered turning into until I realised she was allergic to them.

Is that better? she asked as I tilted my head in all areas as her nimble delicate fingers tickled and scratched behind my ears, along my beak, across my forehead … if birds have foreheads. It’s all the same body parts right. Under my chin was the best spot, why it made my heart beat faster, I don’t know. It felt good. Better than good. And to return her touch, I made one of the noises this bird made when it was content. A very gentle sound, not quite a chirp or whistle, maybe a purr. Watching her smile wide with more coos of delight only increased the sound.

Yeah, course you like it. It feels so good to get a scratch.

I had to agree. What with all these feathers, no grooming partners around and not to mention the lice.

Oh, here you go, Big Guy. I got you some leftovers.

She pulled a plate from—who the hell knows where, and placed it on the windowsill beside me. She had taken upon herself to feed me left over meats. Part of me rolled my bird eyes at the small chunks. I wasn’t at all interested in the yucky lumps of beef, but it was how she coaxed me out of the tree, last week. So I pecked at the stupid things. It’s like eating dirt, no flavour. Now blood, well, there are all kinds of flavour with blood. Just the thought of it made my mouth water. As Stacy turned her back, I threw several chunks over the ledge. Yeah, let the real birds find it.

I have some bad news for you, Buddy.

Another nickname. She turned, waiting for an answer. I made a sound that resembled a whistle, and a click for effort.

She tilted her head to the side, rolling her eyes. It’s not that bad. Just, I have to go away for a few days. Got to get something’s sorted.

I almost pined at her absence. I ruffled my