Resurrection Island (The Resurrection Series Book 1)

by A. K. Koonce

  Maybe happiness does exist here.

  “Welcome Islanders, both old and new.” A female voice carries over the laughter and commotion.

  A woman stands at the center of the crowd now, the flames of the enormous fire seem to recoil from her. The light of the fire and the moon surround her in a strange way, highlighting her immense beauty and sharp bone structure. It’s as if she appeared from thin air.

  A shiver runs down my spine, and I know who she is without being told.

  “We have new guests tonight on this very special evening. Choices have been made, acceptances have been given, and one lingering visitor has yet to make a decision.”

  A wide and knowing smile passes my way, and Remy shifts next to me, his strong shoulders now shielding my view of the Priestess.

  I stare up at him for a second, but his gaze remains focused on our speaker. Releasing a sigh, I take a step to stand beside him, the sleeve of his shirt brushing my bare arm slightly.

  “Two of our own have unfortunately left us tonight. Phillip Miles and Patricia White have left this beautiful life, choosing another path.” A sad murmur passes through the crowd, but nods of understanding follow.

  Remy tenses at my side, his arm brushing mine as his hands fist at his sides. I cross my arms tighter and hold myself as I did so often in the tower when I needed reassurance.

  “We wish the two of them nothing but the best. Of course, the best is already around us.” Laughter shuffles through the audience, and Felicity sends a controlled and pleased smirk back at them. “Enjoy the celebration and as always, enjoy your stay on Resurrection Island.”

  Immediate and adoring applause follows her speech, and I find myself simply watching, unmoving and unsure of everything that surrounds me.

  I look to Remy, and he doesn’t join the devout worshipping. His jaw tightens as he scans the crowd, his eyes locking on Lucas’ from across the fire. A look of worry crosses his friends face.

  Before I know it, his eyes are on me. I glance up at him, confusion settling uncomfortably in my chest and stomach.

  Flames reflect in his emerald eyes once again, bringing them to life with embers and anger. He seems to always be on edge, to always be worried. Why is that? There’s nothing but questions shrouding my mind, but one thing is for certain.

  The Priestess in this paradise is hiding something.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Broken Pieces

  Remy

  Lucas wakes me early, just as the sun rises against the calm blue ocean. Considering how late he stayed out, I don’t understand why he’s up walking around at all.

  But here he is, flinging the door of my cabin wide open until it bangs loudly against the wall. I shield my eyes with my palm against the rays of the sun bouncing through the window off the clear water.

  “Good morning, mate,” he says with a grin.

  God, does he love that word. Mate. Mocking my accent and heritage with a simple term. He says it as sarcastically as possible, whenever possible. Like it holds an entirely different meaning in his American, millennial mind. Maybe it does.

  “Just came from a meeting with the always lovely Felicity.”

  “Oh?” I say with zero interest, pulling my blanket back over my head, shrouding myself in complete darkness.

  “Please. Your enthusiasm is overwhelming, Remy,” he says with annoying seriousness.

  I feel him plop roughly onto the side of the bed, jostling me from beneath my warm blankets. I exhale loudly as I turn on my side, still clinging to the possibility of going back to sleep.

  “She said you would be taking some time off for an undetermined, but surely short, amount of time.”

  Lucas pauses for confirmation from me, but I remain as quiet as a groundhog within its burrow. He doesn’t need another person to participate in the dialog of his life, so he continues on without me.

  “She suggested I replace you. Did you hear that? You’re replaceable, mate. Not only that, but I’m replacing you.” His sarcastic banter continues without any encouragement. “Please, from now on, I’m going to have to ask you to refer to me as your one and only Savior, Lucas Haims. Not the title I asked for, but a title forced upon me out of the shadows of my awesomeness.”

  “You do realize you’re a temp, right? You can’t really be a Savior,” I tell him, sitting up in bed to finally face the babbling fool. “She threw you into this position because I’m basically out on holiday.”

  “The lust in the Priestesses eyes says otherwise. It’s as if she’s been waiting centuries to get you out of the way so it can finally just be the two of us.” He lets out a breath before falling back on my bed like a love struck teenage girl. “Fuck is she hot, man.”

  I roll my eyes at his ignorance, pulling my legs up to rest my forearms on them. Dread fills me the more he speaks. Survivors can’t be Saviors. Period. End of discussion. They don’t have the single requirement needed to be a Savior.

  A soul.

  A soul is needed to hold pain and sorrow and emotion. Without it they’ll be able to hold a small limit of feelings, a dazed and diluted sense of real emotions.

  “I almost begged her to touch me.”

  “How very Savior-like of you,” I say, pushing out of bed and getting dressed before Lucas curls up beside me to tell me any more about his little obsession. “She’ll literally harness your soul if you let her. Saviors are free men.” Kind of. Almost. Barely. “Do not fall victim to her seductress act.” It’s the most important advice Johnny ever gave me.

  Lucas flings up from my bed to a sitting position. I glance at him, and he has stars in his eyes. Jesus, he’s a child sometimes.

  “And stick to the schedule. Do not meet a living soul under any circumstances!” I stress the single rule Saviors have as time travelers. We only interact with the deceased. Jumping through time and conversing with the living, picking up princesses out of towers, that shit has consequences.

  “I know. I know. Not my first time on ship, Rem,” he says defensively.

  “Don’t fuck up the ship while I’m gone, Lucas.”

  I lace up my boots in quick jerking motions, a little bitterness stinging my chest at the thought of not being here, of not leaving the Island from time to time. Left here to do nothing but worry about him.

  “I can’t do any worse than running into the Great Wall of China,” he says, arching an eyebrow at me.

  I blink at him in surprise. I should have known he’d find out about that eventually.

  “It was Berlin, and at the time it was a new landmark. It could have happened to anyone.”

  The door creaks as I push it open and walk out onto the busy deck, the sun instantly warming my face. The crew is preparing to leave. That’s why Lucas is here so early. They’re leaving, and I’m stuck here.

  I have to stop pouting.

  Exiting the ship, I stand at the port. The water laps under the boards and against the sides of the vessel like it’s pushing it away from me already.

  Lucas comes down to stand beside me, and we both tilt our heads back to look at the closed white sails of the Vela. Not a scratch on it. Through all the years, all the trips, all the wrecks, its pristine immortality shines like new against the pure blue sky.

  Voices are heard behind us, and both Lucas and I turn to see Alexandra and Johnny standing at the rocky shore. She’s wearing another long, thin skirt, the outline of her legs visible in the morning sun. Her shirt is loose and hangs off one delicate shoulder.

  Johnny’s boyish grin is smiling down at her. He’s young, but not. Judging by appearance, he’s probably only a couple of years younger than Alexandra. He’s maybe sixteen at the most but his mind is centuries beyond anyone here, and his confidence displays that fact. He touches her arm, making her smile when he leans in and whispers something against her hair.

  I start walking toward them without a word to Lucas, who doesn’t notice my departure right away. The shaking boards of the dock signal his long, heavy strides until he’s by my sid
e.

  “What is with you, man? Wipe the murder off your face,” he whispers, bumping his elbow roughly into my ribs a few times until he slows down my pace altogether.

  I take a breath and relax my features, trying to erase whatever look Lucas is referring to.

  We step up casually to Johnny and Alexandra. Johnny drops his hand from her arm, but his ever-present smile doesn’t budge. The collar of his black coat is permanently tipped up from fighting the winds of the sea for the countless years he’s worn it. The inky coat is a stark contrast against his pale skin and white-blonde hair.

  Alexandra squints her eyes against the dawn to look up at me, and I soak in her attention like the hot sun that warms my body.

  “I was just telling Alexandra how you’ve been pulled off duty to make her more comfortable,” Johnny says, his smile turning into a conniving smirk. “Didn’t know you were the hospitable type, Rem.”

  Alexandra looks shyly away from me, tilting her head up to Johnny before directing her clear eyes to the horizon.

  After my less than charming display at last night’s celebration, I wouldn’t be surprised if Alexandra agreed with him. However, she doesn’t seem to hate me. Yet. So that’s a good sign, I suppose. I should be a better host to her, because the alternative is men like Johnny will play host to her; men who appear kind on the outside, but are toxic on the inside. They will play along until they get what they want.

  “I’m not.” I take a breath, unable to think clearly in her presence. “Hospitable,” I add, keeping my eyes on Alexandra. Her head angles toward me slightly, her big eyes hanging on my words. “But I believe broken pieces tend to stick together, even if they don’t perfectly fit.”

  Have I mentioned I’m an idiot?

  Alexandra’s lips tilt up in a smile at me, making me feel like a winner in a race no one else ran. I hear Lucas release a loud, annoyed sigh.

  “How adorable,” Johnny says, rolling his eyes. “Well, the rest of us non-broken pieces have work to do.” His accent clips against every word, desperate to fall back into his German heritage. “Try to pull your pieces back together so the rest of us aren’t pulling your weight.” He walks off to board his ship, his boots sounding heavily against the dock.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” Lucas says, clasping me on my shoulder before walking away.

  And then we’re alone, surrounded by massive ships filled with people and noise cluttering the silence between us.

  “That was sweet,” Alexandra says, walking slowly along the rocky coast.

  I join her. Our pace is leisurely, but there’s really nowhere to go. Locks of her soft hair blow in the breeze, and the ends of her skirt trail behind us against the wind. I push my hands in my pockets, suddenly unsure of myself at the sound of her compliment.

  Why does that happen? Like I’m so desperate for her reassurance it’s making me second guess even the simplest of gestures. I’m hundreds of years old, but a pretty girl says something nice to me and I turn into a frantic puppy begging for scraps.

  “Did you mean it?” she asks, folding her arms against her chest, keeping her eyes on her footing as she walks.

  I peek at her from the corner of my eye. Blonde tresses curtain her features from me. Her head, which is normally held high, is doing the opposite, searching the ground like she can’t bear to look at me when she speaks.

  I’d do anything to see that self-assured confidence she has wrapped up in a soft smile and shining eyes.

  “Of course I did. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

  Everyone needs a friend from time to time. Alexandra needs a friend.

  “You mean everything you say.” She releases a short hum, as if she’s thinking out loud. “So, you think I’m broken?”

  I nod slowly.

  “And you think you’re broken?”

  Again, I nod.

  “And you think two broken pieces might make something whole?”

  I’m quiet as I think about her words. We’ve both stopped walking, and she waits for my reply.

  That’s not what I said. They could; of course they could. But not with me. Not when one piece is so deformed and jagged it’d be too painful for the other to try. It’s easier if I carry my broken bits around with me, helping the others from a distance so they’ll never get hurt on my edges. Always from a distance.

  And yet here I am for some unknown reason, literally catching her when she falls. Screwing up my own life just to save hers. And I’d do it over and over again.

  ***

  The quietness of the captain’s cabin is my home within this hell of a false haven. I waited all night for Lucas’ return. He didn’t save anyone, which isn’t unheard of for a Savior’s first time, and I told him so, but his lack of Survivors didn’t take away from his excitement. He’s happy, and I’m anchored to Resurrection by my soul while Alexandra decides if she wants to stay for eternity.

  She’s so beautiful, innocent, and full of pain. Now she’s here to suffer with a smile just like everyone else.

  I’m a first class fuck up.

  I hate how solely responsible I am for her life now. If I could have left her alone, ignored her pull within me, she would be fine. Well, as close to fine as an eighteenth-century prisoner of a British oceanic tower can be.

  A board outside of my room groans under the pressure of a footstep, and my gun is in my hand before the brass knob on the wooden door turns.

  “Remy,” a whisper says. The door is cracked, but not entirely open.

  My eyes search the darkness, but nothing is revealed to me. My shoulders and arms tense, but I don’t lower my aim. I don’t even breathe a reply to the stranger.

  The hinges creak a little more, and blonde hair cascades around the door as fingers grip the side. Alexandra peeks into my room, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the weapon pointed at her. I lower my gun, close my eyes, and release the breath I was holding.

  She pauses in silence, not entering the small room.

  “Come in,” I say, scooting up the bed to lean back against the polished headboard.

  She shuffles inside, her hesitancy making her look less like the royal princess I brought here. She closes the door behind her and leans against it, her hands at her sides, flat against the smooth door. She’s providing as much space between us as possible as she looks around the shadowed room.

  “Is there something you needed?” I ask after a few minutes tick by.

  “Yes. Well no, not exactly.” She takes a breath, still looking around the cabin, seeming to avoid me. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I can see she’s wearing the same clothes from earlier. She must be freezing.

  Standing, I walk to the wooden chair in the corner. I pick up my thick jacket and hold it out to her. “It gets severely cold at night. You shouldn’t be out walking without a coat.”

  Her fingers close around the coat slowly, timidly.

  “I can’t sleep,” she says, still looking down. “During the day I can feel the hum, like lightning pulsing beneath the Island, but at night I can hear it. It’s all I hear.”

  I nod, understanding the description exactly. For whatever reason, once the Survivors accept the Island and the ritual is performed, the noise and the feeling disappear, like your ears popping and adjusting to a new altitude. But for the living, the noise is always there in the background of our thoughts. Always thrumming into our minds, making us crazy.

  “It goes away after the ceremony.” She lifts her hopeful eyes to mine. She’s tired. But even exhaustion can’t take away the restless sound of Resurrection Island.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you. I guess I just like talking with you.”

  Her confession startles me. “Why?”

  She blinks back at me as if my question confuses her. “I suppose … you’re easy to talk to. You’re quiet, but not in a thoughtless way. In a contemplating way. As if you’re always thinking. Always worrying, maybe.”

  She tilts her head at me, studying me, until I have to loo
k away. I can’t hold her gaze while she dissects my personality.

  “It’s just nice to know someone. I’ve been isolated a long time, and you seem to understand what that feels like.” She takes a small shuddering breath, like it’s hard for her to explain her feelings.

  I wish there was more I could do for her. I could explain things to her here. Things that are spoken off the Island aren’t heard by our lovely Priestess. Even docked just a few yards off the shore is safe. But I can’t tell her everything. It’d scare the hell out of her. The Island is a living thing all on its own; I couldn’t shut it up any more than I can Lucas’ incessant babbling. At least Lucas sleeps. The Island is always alive with noise.

  “Do you want to see something amazing? A place where the energy of the Island falls away?” I ask, not understanding what I’m suggesting until I’ve already said it. The need to help her is always too strong to ignore. I shouldn’t spend too much time with her, even if Felicity demands it. But I want to help her. I want to make her comfortable here, because God knows I’m not.

  In the small amount of moonlight falling into the room she searches my face once again, her head nodding slowly. Her eyes trail down to my bare chest for just a second before swooping quickly back up, a faint redness tinting her cheeks. I can’t help the smirk that pulls at my lips. It’s been a long, long time since I cared about what people see in me, and for whatever reason Alexandra trusts me. Shit, she might even like me, and I don’t want to ruin that.

  I take the coat from her small hands and wrap it around her shoulders, then pull on a long sleeve shirt and an old jacket from the small closet near my four poster bed. Tugging my boots on as I walk, I open the door for her and can’t help but allow my fingers to brush against the small of her back as we leave. My heart hums from the simple touch.

  The wind blows her hair around her face, and I try not to study her too much. It won’t matter soon enough.

  “Do you trust me?” I ask, standing a few inches from her.

  “Considering how long it took you to catch me last time I fell …” She pauses, a teasing smile on her lips as she pretends to consider my question.