Resurrection: Part One of the Macauley Vampire Trilogy (A Paranormal Romance)

by Rebecca Norinne

  Oh ... SHIT.

  “It is late,” I replied, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. Whether in fear or anticipation I couldn’t have said.

  I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t interested in meeting him, but at the same time I didn’t want him thinking he could call me up at midnight either to be at his beck and call. I was no man’s booty call. But damn if my curiosity wasn’t getting the best of me.

  I mentally calculated what it would take to make myself look presentable before meeting up with him. I didn’t have time to redo my make-up but I could throw my sweater and jeans back on, pull my hair up into a bun, and be in a cab on my way to … wherever … in just under 15 minutes.

  “I’m in the hotel lobby, if that changes anything.”

  It changed a lot of fucking things.

  Warning sirens went off in my head, telling me there was nothing normal about a man who shouldn’t know where I was staying, seeking me out in the middle of the night unannounced. And yet, while one part of me screamed not to go downstairs, another was convinced as long as we stayed in the hotel, I’d be safe.

  Self-preservation be damned. Daring and stupid won out.

  “I’ll be down in 10 minutes,” I said, ending the call.

  Chapter Four

  Olivia

  Oh my god, what was I doing? What kind of woman went downstairs in the middle of the night to meet a total stranger? Given that I’d dressed in mere minutes and looked the best I could on such short notice, apparently I was the type of woman who inexplicably did something like this. In fact, I was already well on my way down the staircase to the lobby below.

  No turning back now, I thought as I tried to steady my heartbeat and will myself into an emotional state of zen. Unfortunately, my attempt at calm, cool, and collected was for naught as my legs shook so badly they could barely carry me down the hall in a straight line. And the only way I could keep my hands from trembling was to curl them into fists so tight that my fingernails cut half moons into my palms.

  At the landing I inspected my face in the ornate, gilded mirror. Underscoring my trepidation, I could actually see the artery in my neck pumping blood through my body at the same rhythm as the heartbeat I heard in my ears. I pulled my hair from its untidy bun to frame my face behind a tumbling mass of red curls in order to hide the thundering pulse in my neck, a surefire giveaway of my extreme nervousness.

  Reaching the lobby, I was reminded just how late it was. Except for an overnight attendant lazily flipping through a magazine, I was the only soul in sight and the only sound I heard were my footsteps echoing on the white marble floors. I glanced around, wondering where William was, but I was alone in the room. I looked up and the exquisite chandelier cast a million sparkling rainbows on the walls around me, lending the room a dreamlike state. I sat in one of the chairs on front of the fire and waited.

  A few seconds later, a young woman approached on silent feet and directed me to the bar where she said William waited.

  Right, the bar. Great idea. I could definitely use a drink—or three.

  Thinking a whiskey was exactly what I needed, I steeled my resolve and walked in, feeling even less sure than I had before but hoping my trepidation didn’t show on my face. I scanned the room but save a bartender who was pouring a large dram of whiskey into a heavy crystal glass, I appeared to be alone. I turned in a circle and started as a man emerged from the shadows to stand in front of the blazing fire.

  William.

  I felt my breath catch, and knew my outward reaction had been obvious when he smiled knowingly. A smile of my own crossed my face as my body tingled with awareness and a thrilling sense of completion. I was inexplicably overjoyed to see him standing there. My insides a tangle of emotions, my overriding thought was what a beautiful creature he was. As he walked toward me, I could see photos hadn’t done him justice.

  I’d pictured a decently sized man of about 5’10” with a lean build—athletic, but not brawny. The man approaching, while clearly the same I’d seen in photos, possessed a vitality and presence that couldn’t be captured on film. William was much taller than I’d figured—closer to 6’4” with broad shoulders. Strongly built, his clothes fit his athletic frame perfectly: a black cashmere sweater falling like liquid obsidian over a firm chest and taut belly, the charcoal grey wool slacks showcasing long, powerful legs. His mouth was somewhat wider as well, that perfect bottom lip appearing stronger and more resolute in person. I’d had the thought that I could spend all day kissing it, but now I knew I’d been wrong. That mouth didn’t accept kisses; it took them. And his eyes. Oh god, his eyes. Poseidon himself would weep with envy, the deep cerulean rivaling the deepest depths of the ocean itself. His thick, jet black hair was just long enough to fall perfectly, carelessly, over his brow. No, those photos couldn’t come close to capturing the vibrancy of the man who stood before me.

  He wasn’t just handsome. He was stunning.

  And this stunning man hadn’t taken his eyes off me since I’d entered the room. I was amazed to realize he was as entranced as I was. I stood rooted to the carpet, my heartbeat drumming in my ears and echoing in my head. As if hypnotized, I couldn’t stop staring.

  “Please, sit,” he said, that whiskey voice flowing over me and settling in my very soul. Gesturing for me to take the spot to his left, William must have known I’d have stood gazing at him all night if one of us didn’t break the spell.

  Moving within inches of him, I felt a physical current run between us, something I had never experienced with any other man in my life. It was as if he was pulling me to him and I was powerless to resist. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to never let go. I had to remind myself, rather sternly, he wasn’t someone I wanted to feel these things for.

  Needing to rescue myself from an overwhelming tide of feelings, I broke the charged silence. “Hello William,” I said, barely above a whisper, as I extended my hand.

  William looked quickly toward the doorway, and then back to me and I got the impression he was making sure we were alone. My senses tripping, he continued to stare at me, then shook his head in bewilderment before his gaze traveled up and down my body, finally resting on my face.

  Rather than shaking my hand, he raised it to his lips and placed a soft, barely-there kiss across my knuckles. I sucked in a breath of surprised and pulled my hand from his.

  As William fought a smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, all I could think was I’d love to wake up to that smile every day, for the first thing I’d see to be his mischievous eyes sparkling like so many crystals in the firelight. I had no idea what he was thinking, but somehow I knew I’d pleased him.

  “Hello Olivia.”

  It was the second time he’d said my name and I liked it, would never tire of hearing the way the syllables danced off his tongue, with the deep timbre of his Irish brogue.

  I sat and curled my body into the corner of the sofa, expecting him to join me. Instead he remained standing, looking down at me for a long while.

  An article I’d read had discussed the traits that made William such an astute and formidable businessman. Chief among them was being extremely good at hiding his thoughts and masking his emotions. I scoffed, thinking the reporter didn’t have the first clue what he was talking about. I saw a multitude of thoughts play out in those crystalline orbs and knew, for all his arrogance, I affected him too and I took comfort in the knowledge that I’d disrupted his confidence.

  “Your eyes give you away.”

  When he flinched I realized I’d shared my thought aloud.

  I watched as some sort of inner debate took place behind those eyes. “You’re the first to say so,” was his eventual response. Consciously adjusting his stance, he canted his head and took me in.

  “I’m a surprise to you.”

  It was a statement, not a question. I’d seen it clear as day when he’d reacted and his response had said more than the mere words could convey. William Macauley was not a man who
was used to being surprised. He thrived on control and power and that I threw him off his game was something he didn’t know how to deal with. I got the impression he couldn’t tell if he liked it or abhorred it. Either way, he was—as he’d said—certainly intrigued. The feeling was completely mutual. There was a strange, magnetic attraction between us. Like William, I hadn’t yet decided how I felt about it.

  As lovely as it was to sit here basking in the glow of our mutual admiration, I needed him to tell me why he was here. What was so important, so completely urgent, that he’d needed to see me tonight instead of waiting until the morning?

  He broke under the weight of my scrutiny. Turning his back to me, he stepped closer to the fireplace, reaching his hands out to warm them by the flames.

  I let out a soft sigh, no louder than a regular breath. Nothing he should have been able to hear and yet obviously he had.

  “I’m sorry, I’m being rude again.”

  Sighing, he made his way to the sofa, but I noted he was careful to stay as far away from me as possible while still occupying the same space. He was on guard, I realized, and whatever I had thought might happen tonight—wished for, was more like it—nothing was adding up.

  William canted his body toward me, but I saw his eyes weren’t actually directed at me. He looked past my shoulder as he absentmindedly ran his hand through his hair and then down the nape of his neck, which he gripped tightly. Bringing his eyes to mine, I saw he was nervous and that made me feel better because I’d been a wreck. On a slight upturn of his mouth, he said, “Do you feel as awkward as I do?”

  I raised my eyebrow imperiously, as if to ask, “What the fuck do you think?” Instead I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is all completely normal.” I rolled my eyes to try and bring levity to the situation.

  Chuckling under his breath, William turned his head a fraction and, his eyes never leaving mine, motioned for the bartender.

  Yes, good. Booze.

  “Do you come here often?” I asked once the bartender acknowledged the unspoken request. I didn’t think the hotel would open up the bar at midnight for just anyone.

  “Often enough,” he answered vaguely.

  “So they’re used to you commandeering the place for late-night trysts then?” I asked jokingly.

  His eyes bored into mine. “No. I’ve never done this before. Like I said on the phone, you compel me.”

  I had a momentary flash of the scene from The Exorcist when the well-meaning but bumbling priest tried to cast out a demon from a little girl while shouting “The Power of Christ Compels You!” I stifled my nervous laugh. Given the way I’d been acting, I might have to give his brethren a call because it certainly felt like my will was no longer my own, as if something dark and needy urged me on and would only be stopped through exorcism. I didn’t think I’d been possessed by a demon, but it didn’t feel like that was too far off from reality.

  My nerves taut like never before, I almost cried with relief when the bartender delivered two crystal tumblers of whiskey. He bowed to William and left the room, closing the heavy wooden doors behind him. My heart sped up, if that were at all possible, the realization driving into me that we were finally, truly alone.

  And, I realized, I was afraid.

  Not of him however; afraid of my wanting him.

  Afraid that I was willing to do just about anything to have him.

  Like I said, I wasn’t myself anymore.

  Swallowing down my fear, I hoped he didn’t notice my hand shake when I raised my glass in salute. “Cheers,” I said as liquid smoke wafted from the amber liquid to tickle my nose.

  “Slainté,” he answered, raising his own glass.

  The whiskey coated my tongue and as I took it into my mouth and swallowed it down, heat licking along my senses. Suddenly, I was assaulted by a fierce longing in my heart, an aching in my belly, and a throbbing between my legs. I closed my eyes and savored the feeling as I slipped into an almost dreamlike state. Instead of fighting it, I let it wash over me before an unexplainable visions descended. A long life with William unfolded in front of me: the two of us walking hand-in-hand through a field of green, down to a lake at the bottom of a hill covered in clover; a dog loping after me while William sat on a blanket laughing at the pup’s boundless enthusiasm and awkward gait; then me sitting naked in a large, battered antique copper tub, William washing my hair.

  A strange sort of peace descend, but as I settled in to the fantasy, the happy images morphed into nightmarish thoughts of death and destruction: William walking toward me with hate emanating from his very being, fury and evil looking out from his normally tranquil eyes; me standing in the middle of that field, begging William for my life; and finally, our beautiful home turned to cinder and ash as it burned to the ground, my lifeless body lay broken and ruined on the bank of the water where we had frolicked.

  In a deep trance I couldn’t break free of, I couldn’t will the visions away and I couldn’t bring myself back to the present. My body went clammy and pinpricks of light danced all around me. The weight of the couch gave way beneath me and I slid to the ground, the glass in my hand crashing to the floor in a thousand tiny shards next to me.

  “William,” I moaned before everything went black.

  After what could have been minutes or hours—I had no way of knowing—my mind went deeper into the black haze and it felt like it was being ripped in half, a searing, painful sensation taking over my limbs. In the back of my mind I recognized I was thrashing about, fighting the burning flames incinerating my mind, but the torture was greater than I was, the pain worse than anything I’d ever experienced.

  While I battled these dark images, I heard a voice in the distance calling my name and felt myself being shaken into consciousness, the heavy burn fading to thin smolder. When I opened my eyes, emerged from the terrible trancelike state I’d fallen into, William was there, his face hovering inches above. When my eyes focused on his—too bright, too blue—I released a blood-curdling scream, terrified of the man I saw in front of me.

  No one answered my horrific call; no one came to save me.

  I could taste the fear and bile at the back of my throat, the hollow, metallic flavor you get when you bite your tongue. I remembered William advancing on me with malice in his heart, a man hell-bent on taking my life and my screams were replaced by sobs, all of my hope for the future—bright, bleak, or otherwise—lost the second I’d agreed to come downstairs and meet this monster.

  I’d known he affected me in ways I couldn’t possibly explain or understand. I hadn’t been able to stay away from him, to force myself to forget him, but I never would have thought he’d be my undoing.

  I wanted to run from him but physically I could not. I was grounded there, unable to flee. My brain yelled at me to crawl if I couldn’t run, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I sat there hyperventilating, convinced I was looking death incarnate square in the eyes. William dropped my gaze and his legs spread, hands hanging between his knees, he hung his head in reproach.

  Chapter Five

  William

  I could pinpoint the precise moment my powers been overridden her fear and she’d settled into an uncertain calm, her gut-wrenching sobs giving way to stifled cries, which turned to silence.

  Too much silence.

  Confusion marring her features, it was clear Olivia didn’t know how or when she’d gotten here. When the whole terrible reality washed over her and the memories struck, she rocked back and forth in front of the fire, a low whimper in her throat the only sound she made. Rushing to her side, I rubbed her back, petted her hair, and whispered to her in Gaelic. The feel of her tresses wrapped around my fingers entranced me, the silk of the strands something I’d mourned in my sleep.

  Too warn out to protest, Olivia didn’t fight me and I guessed she’d resigned herself to what she thought of as her fate, wrapped in the powerful arms of a man who in her nightmares would sooner killed her than love her.

 
That was something interesting I’d learned about Olivia Donnelly. I hadn’t lied when I told her I’d done my research. I’d read everything she’d ever written, listened to every interview, called in favors to business associates in San Francisco who might have known her through her family connections. The thing that stood out more than anything else was Olivia had two obsessions: love and death. That the two were intermingled so tremendously now was an irony I hated.

  Chapter Six

  Olivia

  My thoughts were a jumble, but one thing was certain: I hadn’t been dreaming. Somehow, against all odds, I knew the horrible images that had flashed through my mind weren’t visions or hallucinations. They’d been memories from a time hundreds of years before. I didn’t know who—or what—William was, but I knew that I had loved him and because of that love, had died a painful, terrible death.

  Remembering all I’d seen, hysteria tried to fight its way back but I pushed it down with all the mental force I had left at my disposal. If I was going to die, I vowed to at least be dignified.

  As I moved out of his arms, William didn’t fight me but his fingers lingered as I slid away, as if he was trying to hold onto something cherished and adored. Taking him in—really looking for the first time—I could see he was no ordinary man. I didn’t give much credence to stories about angels or demons, heaven or hell, but I figured there were too many unexplainable things to think humans walked this earth alone. William wasn’t human, that much I gathered, but he wasn’t a ghost either.

  “Who are you?” I asked, my voice barely audible above the logs crackling in the fire.

  “You know,” was his anguished response.

  How could I respond to that? Even though I hadn’t been able to shake the strange notion that I somehow knew him, I would have sworn I’d never seen him before in my life. But that wasn’t true, was it? I had seen him—us—while I’d dreamed on the flight from San Francisco. I’d witnessed him lying with me, touching the most private and intimate parts of my body. And I’d fantasized about making mad, passionate love to him outside, under the stars, and it had felt so, so real. Realer than anything I’d ever felt before. Now I knew I hadn’t made up those feelings—my body knew him, had made love to him before, perhaps hundreds of times. And just as true, I knew his body, what he liked and how it liked it. Oh yes, I knew him. But more importantly, I realized, I didn’t know myself. If William was a demon, what did that make me?