by S. L. Stacy
Reborn Series
Books 1-3.5
S.L. Stacy
Reborn Series
Books 1-3.5
Amazon Kindle Edition
First Edition
Copyright 2019 S.L. Stacy
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
Cover design by H.N. Sieverding
Table of Contents
Reborn
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part Two
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part Three
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Relapse
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part Two
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part Three
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Revenge
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Reclaim
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part Two
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Part Three
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Rectify
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
Apate’s Playlist
Afterword
Sneak Peek: Redemption
Pronunciations
About the Author
About the Cover Artist
Reborn
Part One
Resistance
“As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport.”—William Shakespeare, King Lear
Chapter 1
Six years earlier…
“We are Laurel High!” Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.
“We are Laurel High!” Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.
“WE ARE—” I shouted it at the top of my lungs one last time as I braced myself on the shoulders of my two bases, placing my right foot into their waiting hands. We bounced, and I felt like I was flying as they popped me straight into a full extension. At five feet two inches, I was the smallest flyer on the squad, so they thrust me into the air with relative ease.
“LAUREL HIGH!” My arms hit a perfect high “V” as I screamed the last word.
I beamed at the restless, lively crowd crammed into the bleachers. Above the thunderous rumble of voices I picked out an occasional “Go Ravens!” Sometimes I even caught a “Get ‘em goddammit!” from an overzealous football dad. Nestled in the rolling hills of western Pennsylvania, my hometown ran on Jesus and football, and back then I lived for Friday nights: The adrenaline, the streak of black and silver jerseys up and down the field, the roll of drums and whistle of wind instruments from the marching band.
“One! Two! Three!” My spotter and best friend Anna Wallace had to shout above the blare of the buzzer signaling half-time to guide my dismount. Together she and the bases cradled me and popped me back onto my feet. The score was seven to three, Ravens. We cleared the field to take a break while the band assembled to perform.
Anna elbowed me as I was taking a swig from my water bottle and pointed at an inky black patch of sky away from the field.
“Look! A shooting star!” she exclaimed. The stadium lights washed out most of the sky, but sure enough I could pick out the bright pinprick of light streaking across it.
“Make a wish,” I told her. Even as I said it, a wish of my own drifted into my mind:
I wish I knew where I belonged.
Now where did that come from?
Seconds later, the thought vanished along with the shooting star.
Anna tucked a lock of brown hair behind her ear. “There’s another one!”
This one was followed by yet another falling star—then another, and another. Anna and I watched the meteor shower with awe. I looked around, but no other heads were titled up to the sky. Their attention was on the visiting team’s band, which marched through formations playing “Eye of the Tiger.” And with the blinding stadium lights, they couldn’t have seen it even if they wanted to.
Just as quickly as it started, the meteor shower subsided as one last shooting star faded into the night. The sky was still again. Anna and I joined a few of the other squad members on the bench to watch the rest of the marching band performances. I forgot all about the strange light show we just witnessed except for a lingering feeling something extraordinary was about to happen.
The feeling stayed with me through the rest of the game. It poked at the back of my mind even as we watched the Ravens score the winning touchdown. In the ensuing excitement I managed to push it back, but it sprang up again in the car ride over to the post-game bonfire. Even the boys’ tipsy, out-of-tune rendition of Queen’s “We are the Champions” wasn’t enough to drown out my festering restlessness. I watched the celebration from afar as Anna and I sipped beers and chatted quietly at the fringes of the party.
“Let’s go Ray-vens!” a falsetto voice erupted from behind me. Anna’s brother Jimmy jumped in betwee
n us, facing me, the tassels of his band uniform swaying as he clapped his hands and shook his hips. “Let’s go Ray-vens!”
“You’re an ass,” I told him, but I giggled as I said it. His answer was a shriek from his trumpet that sounded like a dying elephant. He danced past us, but something stopped him as he approached the edge of the property.
“Hey, look at that!” He pointed into the woods.
Anna joined him and peered into the thick, dark trees. “I don’t see anything, Jim.”
“No, look! Something’s glowing!” He turned and gave me a lopsided grin. “Let’s go see what it is, kids!” He swung his arm in a sideways punch as if it were the 1950s and something was really swell.
“Ugh, come on, Jim,” Anna groaned. “Just stay here. Dad’s picking us up soon, anyway.”
I came up on Jimmy’s other side, the distant flicker of a white flame catching my eye. “I see it.” I didn’t know what it was, but there was something mesmerizing about it. I took an involuntarily step forward and looked over at Jimmy.
“Let’s go.” I smiled. Jimmy grinned back, his eyes alight with mischief. Anna sighed, and I sensed a frustrated inner eye roll.
“Fine.” She looked back at our drunken peers. “No one’s even going to notice we’re gone. If something happens to us—”
“If we realize it’s too far, we’ll turn around,” Jimmy assured her. Sometimes it was hard for me to believe that cautious Anna and impulsive Jimmy were even related, let alone twins.
We crept into the woods, our feet crunching over fallen twigs and leaves. Even though it was late and dark, I wasn’t afraid—maybe because I was with Anna and Jimmy, or maybe that one beer I drank instilled me with false confidence. The white glow really wasn’t as far away as it seemed from the yard, and it grew steadily larger and more luminous. A cool autumn breeze caressed my face, bringing a blend of sweet scents to my nose, like someone was burning a honey vanilla candle.
“It’s a fire,” Jimmy whispered. We stopped a few yards away from it. But it wasn’t like any fire I’d ever seen—it was yellow-white and lapped at the ground without burning it. It stayed inside an almost perfect circle a few feet wide, only the curling tendrils of sweet-smelling smoke escaping it.
“You came.”
All of us went completely still at the sound of the weak, hoarse voice. I looked wildly around but didn’t see anything.
“You saw my signal, and you came to help me.”
Then, I saw him, sprawled against a maple tree beyond the strange fire.
I looked away quickly, my face flushing in embarrassment. I got enough of a glimpse to realize he was mostly naked, muscles rippling down his marble-white chest and abdomen before disappearing underneath a black loin-cloth.
“Siobhan.”
My head snapped up again when he whispered my name. This time I couldn’t look away, my eyes drinking him in. Even in as vulnerable a position as he was, his presence permeated the forest, seeping into every crevice of every tree trunk, saturating every pore in the dirt floor. And he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Tousled dark hair brushed his shoulders framing high cheekbones and a sensuous mouth. A pair of magnificent, black feathered wings protruded from his back, crushed against the unforgiving ground. He reminded me of a fallen angel, but if angels existed, I didn’t think they had his kind of sinister, carnal magnetism. But what shocked me the most wasn’t his perfect body, his handsome face or even the wings.
He was the man from my dreams.
“Siobhan.” This time it was Anna saying my name as she fearfully watched me tiptoe around the fire to go to him.
His thick eyelashes fluttered open, and underneath his eyes were a deep blue whirlpool sucking me in even further. His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear him, so I leaned down closer.
“Psyche. You came back to me.”
What was Psyche? And what did he mean, “You came back to me?” With the exception of my dreams, I’d never met him before in my life.
I didn’t pull away or snap at him. In his final moments of life, he was feverish and confused. “I don’t know you,” I reminded him gently, “but I will help you if I can.”
His eyes pleaded with me as he raised his hand into the air, palm facing me. In a trance-like state I extended my own and brushed my palm and fingers against his, which were warm and slick with sweat. I almost jerked away, but I took a deep breath and maintained the contact, all the while staring into the dark pools of his eyes.
“Siobhan, you’re it.” At least I thought that was what he said—his voice was so small and weak.
“Let’s go back to the house.” Anna’s insistent voice was shrill with anxiety. She pulled on my arm while Jimmy pried this strange man’s hand away from mine. Jimmy didn’t let go of my hand immediately, instead clasping it firmly in his.
“Anna’s right,” he said, although I barely heard him as a flood of nausea suddenly seized me, waves of it coursing through my stomach and back.
Wait—my back?
I slipped my fingers out of Jimmy’s and brought both hands to my stomach.
“What’s wrong?” Anna asked and took a step toward me, but I staggered away from her. I didn’t know what was happening to me. All I knew was the urgency crashing down on me. I had to get away from them before it happened.
“Wait! Siobhan!”
Their panicked voices followed me as I took off deeper into the woods. Frenzied footsteps picked up behind me, but a burst of adrenaline pushed me forward so I outran them even in my delirious state. I made it to the muddy bank of a stream before tossing the orange sports drink I’d drained at the game all over the matted grass.
I felt better after throwing up, my stomach settling, but the unfamiliar rolling underneath my jacket persisted. Bone and muscle liquefied as two jagged edges knifed through my skin. I tore my jacket off to the sound of splitting seams as they exploded out of my back, leaving the vest of my cheerleading uniform in strips of sweaty polyester.
Panting, hands still at my stomach, I sat unmoving for a few beats to calm myself. Once the hammer of my heart in my chest dwindled to a patter and my breathing steadied, I crawled to the bank and looked through bleary eyes at my reflection in the roiling dark silver surface on the creek. My violet eyes glanced at my face, white with shock, and the blonde hair sticking to my cheeks and neck before coming to rest on the butterfly-like wings looming behind me, shimmering midnight blue and indigo in the dark.
“Siobhan!”
I lifted my eyes at the sound of Jimmy and Anna calling my name—closer this time. Just as quickly as they emerged, I felt my back reabsorb the wings. I shrugged on my jacket and turned around to see my friends stumble into view.
“There you are!” Anna rushed over to me, helping me to my feet and brushing off my jacket. “What happened to you?”
“I—I got sick. What about that angel guy?” I asked quickly to change the subject.
“What about him?”
“You guys just left him back there?”
“We were worried about you.” Jimmy’s tone reminded me this should be obvious.
“But he was hurt! We need to get help,” I insisted.
Anna looked like she wasn’t so sure about that, but all she said was, “She’s right.” I stalked ahead of them back the way we came, Anna and Jimmy trailing along reluctantly behind me.
“It was here, wasn’t it? He was here.”
I stopped at the tree where I knew he lay minutes earlier, but now there were only rough, old tree roots jutting out of the forest floor. Kneeling, I desperately searched the ground, feeling around with my hands, but there wasn’t even a dent in the black earth or a scrap of cloth to tell us he had been there at all. His signal fire had been snuffed out, too, but no ash, smoke nor stench of burning lingered behind. I got to my feet and faced Jimmy and Anna expectantly, but both sets of hazel eyes darted around the woods in confusion.
Anna shook herself as if coming out of a dream. “It must be really late. We
should get back.” She and her brother turned to go, but my feet remained glued to the ground.
“But where did he go? We need to get help!” I shouted after them, this time jogging to catch up with them.
Jimmy ran a hand through his longish hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “We need some sleep. And possibly some antipsychotics.”
“I think we must have had more to drink than we thought,” Anna added. “That’s why you threw up.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but only a strangled croak came out at first. No, I wanted to scream, I threw up because a pair of butterfly wings tore through my back—wings that angel guy gave me somehow. Like the wings nudging my back, I got a similar stabbing feeling when I realized my own friends probably wouldn’t want to hear it—would probably tell me I was just too tired or drunk or something.
So instead of protesting, I mumbled, “Oh. Right,” and followed Anna and Jimmy out of the woods, looking back over my shoulder the entire time.
Chapter 2
Present day
I shudder awake to a blaring alarm clock. I squirm, tangled up in forest green sheets, and squint against the sunlight streaming through the open blinds. I don’t remember where I am. Then, I feel Max nuzzle my neck, running his hand underneath my red tank top so he can massage my breast.
“Morning,” he murmurs in my ear, his voice still husky with sleep. His facial hair tickles my face. I try to bat him away.
“What time is it?” I groan, still shielding my eyes from the sun. “I have class at ten.”
“Eight,” Max tells me. His hand travels to my back, the pressure of his fingers making slow, gentle circles over my shoulder blades. “We have plenty of time.”
“Not now, Max. I just woke up from a bad dream.”
His fingers pause. “About what?”
About what happened at the bonfire six years ago. “I don’t remember,” I tell him.
“Poor Tink,” he murmurs just as he’s lifting my shirt up and bringing his lips to my breast. “This will make you feel better.”
“M-Max,” I stammer, but the protest is weak, the caress of his tongue against my nipple dissolving the lingering image of the man from my dream—the man from the woods—burned onto my retina. Max’s fingers resume their delicately firm massage. I moan in objection when his lips leave my breast, but Max captures my mouth in a long, deep kiss. I hope my morning breath isn’t too bad.