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

by Rebecca Norinne

  Today

  I turned my attention to the long list of unanswered emails that had accumulated in my inbox while I’d been pouring over a business proposal for a wind turbine farm off the coast of Portugal. Finding among them another note from the American, I groaned aloud. When my ignoring her hadn’t seemed to work, I’d meant to ask Seamus to put an end to it once and for all. Clearly I’d forgotten.

  I wasn’t sure what prompted me to look into her background. Maybe it was because I’d been missing Elizabeth’s presence in my life, or because I’d been absorbed in my thoughts of Ceara, longing for the warmth of a female presence in my life, but instead of deleting the message, I Googled her name. If I’d had a beating heart, what I saw would have stopped it . As it was, I felt as if I’d been run over by a freight train.

  Olivia Donnelly was Ceara made real.

  A more modern version of my love, to be sure, but it was Ceara’s untamed curls, vivid green eyes, and tall, voluptuous body looking back at me. Another close-up photo revealed a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and one lone, stray freckle planted on her full, ripe bottom lip.

  I’m only seeing what I want to see.

  But why would I want this? This was torture.

  I became hell-bent on finding out more about Olivia Donnelly, spending the next several hours looking for proof of significant differences in their appearance. Unfortunately, nothing I found supported that hope. Photo after photo, website after website, the images were of Ceara—the same wistful smile, her gaze looking out into the sun while her right hand shielded her eyes, her untamed curls held back from her face in a low ponytail, crystalline green eyes, a smattering of freckles along bared shoulders.

  While one part of me believed Olivia Donnelly was somehow magically Ceara McBride, the saner, more logical part of me said there was no way it could be true. The cogent, reasonable side of me knew I’d buried Ceara in 1658. I’d lived hundreds of years trying to atone for the biggest sin I’d ever committed. Maybe I hadn’t needed to? Had my maker turned Ceara without my knowledge? If so, that was his cruelest joke of all. Or maybe this woman wasn’t a vampire at all but something else entirely?

  I tried not to discount other forms of immortality. Vampires existed so who was to say witches, demons, and other things that went bump in the night weren’t fairy tales either? While everything I’d seen tonight pointed to Olivia being among the ageless, I still had a hard time accepting it. When additional research didn’t reveal any other evidence of her over the years, I began to question everything. This woman didn’t just materialize out of thin air every couple of generations. She had an entire life from birth, through adolescence, and on to adulthood laid out for the world to see.

  In less than two hours I’d traced her life from start to finish right up to now. She was the only daughter of a wealthy San Francisco society couple who’d recently passed away, leaving her their vast combined fortunes. Even as a young teen, she’d rebelled against her station in life; instead of spending time among her moneyed peers, she hung out with musicians, actors, and other bohemian types. Since turning 18, she’d been a permanent fixture at gallery openings and movie premiers alike. Today she was a celebrated romance writer and had a huge following, but she hadn’t put out anything new in a couple of years. In fact, since her parents’ death, she’d practically fallen off the map. Was there something there I was missing? As I wracked my brain I couldn’t make the pieces of the puzzle fit. None of my research revealed why this woman had been brought into my life, and why now. Hadn’t I been tormented enough with my recent memories of Ceara? Now her doppelgänger wouldn’t leave me alone. It had to mean something!

  My imagination ran wild, but I knew there was more to Olivia Donnelly than laid out in her public history. Olivia and Ceara were physically identical if you accounted for the modernization of hair and clothing. There was too much evidence here for the two not to be linked. And yet, I didn’t want to get my hopes up. This wasn’t the first time I’d “seen” Ceara where she couldn’t have been. More times than I cared to admit, I’d seen her face in a crowd, heard the melody of her voice on the wind, felt her fleeting touch against my skin. And just as many times I’d thought I was going mad, succumbing to the mania that claimed many of my kind.

  Could those women have been Ceara reincarnated? Has my love been seeking me out through the ages?

  The implications were astounding.

  I realized with a start I had her phone number! The simplest way to end this agony was to hear her voice. Once I did, I’d know whether my eyes deceived me.

  But what if?

  What would I do? What if Ceara had been actually reborn in this woman? What if the only person I had ever loved could be mine again?

  As much as I hope for these things, I was afraid that way lay madness. Ceara was bones and dust in the ground and no amount of longing or longing for it to be different would bring her back. I’d proven once already I wasn’t worthy of her love. I must learn to accept our story did not have a happy ending.

  But what if?

  I swung from hope to despair and back again as I dialed the number. Three rings sounded before I heard the unmistakable click to voicemail. It was at that precise moment I realized I’d had been holding my breath—not that I needed to, but some habits died hard even after hundreds of years. And then the breath I’d been holding rushed from my body, leaving an empty shell of a man in its wake.

  “Hi, this is Olivia. You know the drill.”

  In those eight words I knew my past had come back to haunt me. The room went black as all of my memories of Ceara flooded my brain—from the first moment we’d met as children to the hour, minute, and second I’d left her lifeless body on the banks of the lough. I let out an agonized cry, bringing Seamus rushing into the room.

  “William!” he hollered, his voice barely reaching my ears through the pounding of the blood through my veins.

  It was folly to approach a vampire in such a state, but Seamus cared for me as he would his own brother. I held up my hand, stopping my friend and confidante from entering. Seamus stalled his approach, but wouldn’t leave.

  For what seemed like an eternity, I stood looking out into the starry night sky, trying to put my emotions in check. In reality it had been merely seconds.

  “Please go, Seamus. I’ll talk to you when I can but right now is not that time.”

  “As you say,” he answered and I heard the shuffle of his shoes across the fibers of the carpet as he left me to my thoughts.

  I needed to see this woman like I needed blood to live. I had enough circumstantial evidence at my disposal to confirm my theories, but needed to see with my own preternatural eyes she was truly Ceara reincarnated. But … I was reminded what happened the last time I’d seen that lovely face and over the years I’d become an even bigger monster than the man who’d taken her life. I didn’t want to risk harming her again.

  Sitting alone in a room lit only by the glow of the full moon, I silently argued each point until I’d exhausted every plausible scenario and its outcome. Vampires were inherently selfish creatures who sought their own satisfaction first and foremost and it was those urges I fought against all night. I wanted to see her but I didn’t know if I could be trusted. I’d killed her once and there was no guarantee I wouldn’t do it again, centuries of practice controlling my urges notwithstanding. Where Ceara was concerned, I’d never shown restraint. Human and monster alike.

  Before I could change my mind, I re-dialed her number. When the call went to voicemail, I did what had to be done. Before I could say any of the words I longed to—instead of telling Olivia I needed to meet her, to hold her in my arms, smell her hair to see if she was real—I informed her there was no way she would be allowed on my property.

  Ever.

  I sat at my desk, not moving so much as an eyelash, going over the events of the past few hours. For some bizarre reason I came to the conclusion that my recent spate of dreams and memories had been
preparing me for this moment. For years I hadn’t thought of Ceara and then out of nowhere I’d see her face when it wasn’t there, hear her voice in crowds, or the tinkling of her laughter, and then I’d remember our life in my dreams. I couldn’t explain it but I was certain my mind had been preparing me for Olivia Donnelly. While this realization should have comforted me, it didn’t.

  With nothing but my obsessive thoughts for company, I almost didn’t hear my phone ringing. When I looked down to see who was calling at this hour, my misery began anew. Olivia was on the other line. Clearly not thinking straight, I’d forgotten my number would be recorded in her device.

  Hesitantly, I answered the phone, feeling as if I had no choice but to confront the situation head on. I heard her voice, but not her words, and pain washed over me anew. This was proving to be one of the worst nights of my life which was quite a feat since I’d lived through thousands of them. When I didn’t speak, Olivia’s non-verbal signals of panic made me realize she thought I’d hung up on her.

  At first I worried she was afraid of me, but then remembered she had no way of knowing what I was. No, I was the one who needed to be afraid. Before I could say anything, Olivia launched into an impatient diatribe. Hearing the anxiety in her voice was torture as it reminded me of the skittish young girl Ceara had been and how, during all the time we’d spent together as children, she’d been anxious and shy with others, but never with me.

  As Olivia babbled on, her words brought forth memories of Ceara’s nervous laughter as I’d surreptitiously come upon her playing alone in the meadow, or as I’d approach her once she had blossomed into her womanhood, walking along the road to the village. I’d been so preoccupied with those last nightmarish moments with Ceara that I’d nearly forgotten all the small, seemingly inconsequential ones that had taken place before we’d become lovers. I’d developed a physical longing for her that knew no bounds. I loved her of course and knew I’d marry her someday if her father allowed it, but I needed to make her mine. One day when she was sixteen, Ceara suddenly became nervous around me in ways she’d never been before. The jittery tone her voice took on with each sentence we spoke signaled something primal in me, a need to protect and care for her. When we’d said goodbye that day, she’d kissed my cheek—something forbidden between two unmarried people—and I’d known she felt something profound for me as well.

  I pulled my thoughts from the past to bring my attention to the here and now. As Olivia rambled on, I wanted nothing more than to end the conversation. I had no idea what inappropriate thing I might say, but I didn’t trust myself to find out. “Apology accepted. Now, is there anything else you wanted?” I asked, ice coating my words.

  Instead of giving up as I’d hoped, my rejected only seemed to spur her on. No matter what I said, she had an answer that challenged me. Our repartee should have annoyed me, but I found myself smiling, my blood fizzing with something that’d gone dormant inside of me years before. I recognized it as enjoyment. But this one call was all I could have, all I could take from her. Before I could forget it, I cut her off. I was being rude, but for self-preservation’s sake I had to be.

  Eventually she paused and I thought Olivia was going to say goodbye. I should have known better. Ceara never backed down from a challenge, least of all from me. Apparently that confidence had extended throughout the ages and had taken root in Olivia as well.

  As I listened to her tirade, I was astonished to hear her call me an asshole. The words rushed from her mouth as one long, provoked set down. I could picture her standing taller as each successive word passed through her lips and I knew her face would be flushed with exasperation and rage and her eyes would shine the most brilliant green as tears of anger threatened to fall to her cheeks. It broke my heart and thrilled me all at once.

  When she told me to go fuck myself, something in me tightened. I’d never claimed to be an angel, but my reaction to her verbal tongue-lashing was anything but appropriate. As my fangs descended, I leaned my head back and moaned, giving voice to my desire.

  My god, I’d forgotten that fire.

  In that second, I changed my mind and decided against all wisdom that I wanted her and whether she was Ceara, Olivia, or whoever else she might have been made absolutely no difference to me. I wanted all of her. Needed the woman as a man craved a lover, as a vampire craved blood to sustain him.

  I let my mind wander and soon enough I was remembering—quite vividly—how passionate our lovemaking had been from the very first time, how Ceara would beg for more and scream my name, her sweat gliding over the goose bumps covered her flesh as I moved in and out of her with a fierceness borne of wanting to know every inch of her. I let myself remember what it had been like to taste the warm, salty flesh between her legs and I knew I would do so once again.

  I was doomed.

  Part Three

  Chapter Fifteen

  Olivia

  Neither of us spoke for a long while as William navigated his car out of the city. With no one out at this time of night, we had the road to ourselves. As the moon bathed the landscape in its luminous glow, I watched the city gave way to suburbs and then to fields of rolling green. I didn’t know what to say, where to start. How did you go from learning you were the reincarnated soul of a woman who was killed in the mid-1600’s? And oh, by the way, your husband from that era was sitting next to you today because he was a fucking vampire!

  “I know it’s a lot to take in right now but talking about it will probably make the drive pass more quickly,” William said, interrupting my thoughts. “Of course, I could just listen in to your thoughts but I try not to do that unless I absolutely have to. Like you,” he continued, “I’m out of my depth here, and every second you don’t tell me what’s on your mind is one more second I’m left agonizing over what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling … why you’re still here.”

  When he put it like that, I could almost understand his inclination to “tune in” to a person’s thoughts. If I had the same abilities, I would probably do the same. Still, even though it made me a hypocrite, I didn’t like the idea of him invading my private thoughts; we’d need to set some boundaries if we were to continue on. My mind was the only completely private place I had and I needed to know he wouldn’t intrude on my solitude or go looking for information I wasn’t ready, or willing, to share. My mind needed to remain a safe haven because otherwise I’d be left with nowhere else to go when things got dark. Because yeah, there was darkness coming. I didn’t know why I felt so strongly about it, but it was a sense I couldn’t shake.

  “Okay, let’s start with you,” I responded, turning it back on him. “Tell me about yourself William Macauley. From the magazine articles I read, I’ve deduced you’re some sort of tech investor and you’re very successful at it.”

  “I have a number of business ventures,” he answered, “but yes, technology innovation is at the forefront of my interests. Specifically, I’m interested in clean energy technologies and biotech.”

  “Why those two sectors?” I asked. “Is that something unique to Dublin’s talent or does it stem from personal interests?”

  Being from San Francisco and having been surrounded by movers and shakers from the tech world for years, I knew enough about the industry to hold a conversation. Even if I didn’t understand everything I’d heard over the years, I couldn’t deny the impact tech visionaries had had on our global landscape, whether it was creating a whole new way to interact and communication with one another via social media platforms or data storage and infrastructure, or pioneering a whole new era of robotics or ushering in electric vehicles on a mass scale.

  “Most of my investments are based on sound business models and the potential for both monetary and societal impact. A few are personal.”

  “Can you give me some examples?”

  “As you can imagine, I’ve seen a lot over the years. Going from a world where people had to rely only on what they could produce from land they tilled by hand, to the indus
trial revolution, to the expansion of gas pipelines and big rig oil drilling, I’ve watched the world evolve and how that evolution has impacted our planet. Since I’m going to be around much longer than those who are either run the companies responsible for how we power the world or the men and women who legislate the laws around them, I want to do my part to keep the planet healthy. Or at the very least, try not harm it any further. I can afford to play the long game whereas most can’t. I don’t need to see immediate profits so I can invest in technologies that might not otherwise be invested in.”

  Ah, so he was a humanitarian.

  “That sounds fascinating. Do you have any specific pet projects going on you’re more excited about than others?”

  He paused before answering, as if considering how to respond. “Yes.”

  That was all he said. One word. He’d been so eloquent before and now he may as well have grunted like a caveman when answering. Well, he had another think coming if he thought he could get away with that. If I’d taken anything from being raised “in society” it was how to keep a conversation moving.

  “And can you tell me about them?”

  He scratched his nose and his eyes darted to mine before jumping back to the road in front of us.

  I swiveled in my seat to face him. “Listen, you may as well tell me. Considering everything else we’ve shared tonight, how is me knowing what technologies you fund any more dangerous than me knowing you’re a vampire? If I was out to harm you, I don’t think I’d do it through your investments. Not that I know any vampire hunters, mind you, but they might be the first people I’d call if I decided to do you in, not Bloomberg or WIRED.”

  “You read WIRED?”

  I scoffed. “Of course I read it; I live in San Francisco. I think they pass out copies to everyone when you land at the airport.”

  He rubbed his hand along his jaw for a few moments. Without looking at me, he admitted, “I’ve invested in a handful of companies that study blood disorders.”