Resurrection Island (The Resurrection Series Book 1) Page 2

  Just as I’m about to turn away, she does something that changes our lives forever.

  She jumps.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Void Between the Stars

  My body reacts before my mind can process what I’m doing.

  Hurdling myself over the edge of the ship without a second thought; my eyes never leaving her falling figure. The wind pulls at her dress. Long, pale strands of hair tangle around her face. With eyes tightly closed, her body aligns with the water below. She’s done, ready for the peaceful end at the bottom. She turns, her back facing the waves, her limbs spread wide, accepting whatever fate might await her.

  I extend my arms out toward her, the magic in my blood waking within me and burning through my veins. She’s out of my reach, falling closer and closer to the crashing waves with each passing second. I take forceful, uneven breaths and push faster through the whipping wind.

  Rough lace greets my fingers. The hem of her dress is just out of my grasp, and another push of adrenaline soars within me at the small achievement of almost reaching her. The touch is all I need to find the strength to push myself further. My magic roars to life, an electric feeling surges through my veins, but I ignore the sting as I fall impossibly faster.

  Just as the water reaches up to welcome her, my body slams against hers. I hear her gasp for air from the severe contact, but the harsh impact is a relief to me. I relax, tension no longer in my neck and shoulder blades. The electric hum within my body returns to normal as I pull us up and away from the clawing waves.

  I can breathe again.

  Her arms wrap around my neck, and her eyes remain tightly closed with her cheek pressed against my chest. Relentless shivers wrack her body. I hold her closer to me, an instinctive need to have her against me more so than to calm her.

  Her breathing is choppy as she buries her head into my shirt. A mixture of jasmine and dirt fills my senses, and I resist the urge to run my nose along her neck. I fly us carefully through the night air, my energy fainter now from the power I expended reaching her. Exhaustion seeps into me; the journey home tonight will suffer because of my poor judgment.

  With the dangerous waves now hundreds of feet below us, my ship waits above for my return. My gaze never leaves her face even as my heavy boots settle onto the deck. Even when Lucas appears before me as quiet as a shadow.

  His dark eyes look from me to the slender woman I’m holding in my arms. She might appear to be asleep if it wasn’t for her shivering limbs and her hand fisted in my shirt.

  Lucas’ eyes are wide as he raises a hand to gesture to her. He’s not sure what to say. Hell, I’m not sure what to say, but he waits for an explanation all the same. I’m guessing the whole “this is just a dream” thing won’t work here, either.

  He knows she’s an unapproved guest. All guests have a process, like internal paperwork Saviors and crew members have to complete before a pick-up is scheduled.

  It starts with the Savior – me. What a mock title that is. A pull is felt; a victim’s pain, like a shock to my heart. Once the victim has been found and assessed, we wait. For death. Once death has been established, the pain resonates in the victim for a few seconds before dispersing to the Savior. Then and only then does the pick-up occur. They are then deemed a Survivor. Again, it’s a mock title.

  The bitterness of my position wasn’t always there. There was a time I truly believed I was saving these people from the lack of life they were offered. Not everyone, myself included, is dealt a perfect hand. Not everyone enjoys life and living. Myself and other Saviors offer them an alternative destination after death. A place outside of space and time; a second chance of sorts. I used to think it was a gift, but over the last hundred years or so I’ve wondered if it’s not really a curse wrapped up in pretty paper.

  “What’s your name?” Lucas asks in a soft voice. He casually adjusts his slouching blue knitted cap over his ears for warmth.

  Lucas is younger than me by centuries, and due to the era he grew up in, he’s more empathetic. Survivors seem to like him. He’s my opposite of sorts. He speaks to her like she’s a scared animal. She looks like a scared animal. My heart aches for her, and I shift her closer in my arms, gaining another questioning look from Lucas, which I do my best to ignore.

  Her eyes open slowly. She looks up at me, searching my face, her cold hands still grasping the back of my neck and shirt. Only inches separate me from her scrutiny. Our hair mingles together, her blonde brushing into my black, like the sun sneaking into the night. I swallow hard under her judgment. All the shitty things I said to her swarm my mind, but I can’t look away.

  She takes a deep breath before pushing herself out of my arms, her delicate hands shoving harshly against my chest. Her bare feet brush against the deck under stumbling legs. She looks around the enormous ship without speaking. She doesn’t look in awe or in wonder like any of our normal Survivors do after death. A lot has happened to get her here, but death was not one of them. Maybe she wishes it was.

  “Alexandra,” she says in a whisper, her eyes finally meeting Lucas.

  Alexandra. It fits her. A name full of regalness. I often wondered what her name was. When I skimmed through her future it was a quick trip. It didn’t take long to realize how completely content she was once the knight swept her away. I didn’t stick around long to watch the relationship blossom.

  She puts as much space between us as possible, and Lucas' eyes drift to me slowly. I avoid his critical stare. My feet shift uncomfortably, and I take a deep breath to try and ease a nervousness in my chest I’ve never felt in my entire life.

  As second-in-command, Lucas’ opinion has weight to it. And boy does he have a lot of opinions in his eyes right now. He could report me to Felicity if he wanted. He and I are friends, and I outrank him, but if he was any other man on this ship, I’d already be in deep shit. Deeper than I am now.

  “Could I have a word with you, Remington?” Lucas asks calmly.

  A word. How vague. It sounds harmless enough, but lots of words sound harmless. Savior, for example.

  Lucas gives Alexandra a polite smile which she doesn’t return. She watches us, her back against a spar, the open sail straining against the wind. Her eyes shift between us, waiting and watching to see what might happen next. Waiting to see what I might fuck up next.

  My boots echo across the wooden ship as I walk alongside Lucas until we are a few yards away from her. She looks impossibly smaller with the short distance between us. Lucas gives her another charming smile before he speaks quietly.

  “What the hell is a live woman doing on the deck of this ship, Remy?” He raises his dark brows at me, still holding the mock smile in place for Alexandra. He’s entirely too good at his job.

  I stare at him completely defeated and unable to participate in his ridiculous everything-is-fine charade. I run my hand through my hair, trying to push away the start of a migraine that is sure to come. I’ve had a couple pulls nudge at my mind in the last hour since I’ve been here. None sting with an urgency, so we haven’t missed any Survivors yet, but we can’t spend the rest of the evening discussing this, either.

  She’s already on the ship; the Island has already taken her into account. The boards of the ships are tied like a lifeline to the Island they came from. The Island lives all around me. It’s always with me. Breathing life into my lungs and taking my soul as payment, piece by piece.

  “She jumped,” I say in a firm voice, intentionally leaving out the details that led up to her decision.

  Alexandra glares at me from across the deck; I know she heard me. Part of me wanted her to hear. Part of me enjoys the self-hate I subject on myself. Guilt strums through my chest at the lies and mistakes that fell into place for her to be standing here before me, glaring into my passive face.

  “Wow. She doesn’t like you already,” Lucas says with a smirk.

  “What do you mean already, like it’s inevitable? Like she would hate me anyway. You’re just surprised it happene
d so quickly.”

  He chuckles quietly, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Alexandra. Her face remains stern, but her attention shifts from Lucas’ smiling face back to me. Those deep blue eyes zero in on mine, and it’s difficult for my gaze to leave hers.

  “As their Savior, women are usually quickly infatuated with you, until you piss them off. You have a kind of Nightingale Syndrome effect. It’s nice to see the opposite for once.”

  I scowl at him for a moment, but he’s right. There was a time I would have slept with Alexandra just because she offered an escape from this strange reality. I would have used her in a desperate attempt to feel something more than the dull pain of the false afterlife I’ve been living.

  I’m not that guy anymore. I won’t lose myself in the beautiful women of Resurrection Island because I know it won’t fix me. It won’t change anything. We’ll all be stuck there in our pretend happiness.

  He’s right about her hating me, too. She should. I might have ruined her entire life in less than an hour.

  Lucas becomes serious for a moment, something he rarely does. “I didn’t feel her death pull; I knew immediately she wasn’t one of ours. Usually it hurts so bad I have flashbacks of my own, you know. Did you feel her pull?”

  I’ve felt her pull for months. Her pain has become my existence; something I wait expectantly to feel.

  It stopped as soon as she was in my arms.

  “Get her some food. Lots of it. Nothing,” I pause for a minute trying to remember what year we’re in, “nothing weird. Just natural stuff.”

  He hesitates, confusion scrunching his features. “Like organic?” He’s already taken a few steps toward the galley, but he waits for my reply.

  God, I hate his generation. I clench my jaw at his simple question and level my gaze on him. He’s as tall as I am, we’re similar build, but total opposites. It’s strange how well we work together, really. For the last few decades we’ve been like brothers. And we fight like brothers, too.

  “No, not organic,” I say through my teeth, annoyed that organic is his first instinct. “Like food, food. Like regular fucking food. Apples and bread, and shit you don’t put in a microwave.”

  He nods in understanding, a smile breaking over his face. “Chill out, I was just fucking with you.” I cringe at the imagery. His generation’s verbiage is atrocious as well. “She already hates you. No need to go all Hulk on the staff and give her further motive.” He laughs as he walks backward, holding his hands out in front of him in a calm, surrendering gesture.

  His playful attitude roots under my skin and sets me further on edge. He’s right, though; I need to relax. The more stress I harbor, the worse it’ll be for both Alexandra and myself.

  Lucas pauses at the door, and I look over my shoulder at his hesitancy. “You should have let her die, Remy,” he says in a whisper, his back partially turned. “She’s as good as dead now.”

  ***

  We set sail through the night sky. The clouds are scarce, and it takes little exertion, or attention, to navigate the ship now. In my earlier years I had several embarrassing failures, almost sinking the flying thing into a harbor once and completely wrecking it into the Berlin Wall during my first decade. Not my proudest moments. I’m just lucky Lucas wasn’t there in those days, or I’d never hear the end of it. But now it takes next to no thought or physical energy to sail us home.

  Home. A word that used to cause so much pain now just causes dread. I feel a conflicting mixture of hate and impatience for our inevitable return night after night. Tonight, our tasks are complete. Two Survivors sleep below deck, and we have one cursed woman on board for an eternal stay on the Island.

  Everyone else sleeps soundly as we travel home. Lucas and I sit quietly with Alexandra as she eats a full plate of food. I’m impressed by Lucas’ choice of meal. A heaping mound of white rice, a dinner roll, a serving of salmon, a sliced apple, and for some strange reason, an all-natural fruit roll up for dessert.

  He almost got it right.

  Alexandra pokes at the red, sticky rolled up snack on her plate, but has yet to eat it. I arch an eyebrow at Lucas, but he’s oblivious to his strange food choice. She devours almost everything else within minutes. I offer her water, and she gulps it down with haste. She’s going to make herself sick, but I doubt she’ll take any advice from me, so I remain silent as she eats her fill of the first real meal she’s had in years.

  We’re ascending higher and higher into the dark sky. She has yet to ask questions about the ship, about Lucas or me, or about where we are headed. She hasn’t said one word, but she’s thinking a lot. A seriousness sets into her features, and her drifting eyes slowly take in the deck, making note of each polished board. Taking a careful inventory of every door and staircase, she holds her fork fisted tightly in her hand. Her eyes never meet ours, but I’m starting to get the feeling she’s plotting something and an uneasiness settles uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach.

  Lucas and I trade a quiet glance between ourselves, our minds on similar paths. We stand near the helm, the wheel self-turning effortlessly between us as we coast through the night. We’re trying to give her space, but we’re also running out of time to explain anything to her. Our exit is approaching, and she still won’t even look at us. She sits on the bench finishing her dinner, and I wait for her to take her last bite before I close the distance between us.

  “Do you have any questions, Alexandra?” I ask, trying to hone Lucas’ calming nature. Instead, my words are edgy and uneven with awkwardness. I’m usually not a kind, soothing host to our guests, but I feel solely responsible for her. The effort I’m putting into being a decent person is both ridiculous and exasperating. I should really get some more practice before I try to go all decent-human-being on people.

  She raises her chin and stares into my eyes with confidence. She’s quiet, but observant. Something I both like and dislike in this moment. What does she see when she looks at me with those deep eyes? Something good?

  Doubtful.

  “What will you do with me?” she asks in a whisper, her wide eyes shifting to the floor.

  Her question leaves a foul taste in my mouth, and I now notice how her hands shake despite how tightly she’s holding her plate. She thinks we want to use her? Shit, she thinks we’re going to use her.

  Lucas shifts uncomfortably on his feet. I blink down at her, a look of astonishment filling my face. Anger floods my veins as I realize it’s what she’s familiar with. She’s not used to people helping her. She’s not used to people in general. She boarded this ship without argument thinking we would use her. What kind of life was she living if she would go willingly with us with that thought in her mind?

  “That’s not our intention,” I say softly with earnest. I take a seat next to her, keeping space between us in an attempt to make her comfortable. “We’re here to help you. We rescue people who have lived harsh lives, and we offer them something different. Something more.” It’s a partial truth. A line I’ve said thousands of times before.

  Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t speak immediately. She glances from me to Lucas. I hate that she thought we wanted to keep her for our own benefit. She thinks through my words; her intelligent eyes constantly assessing.

  “What took you so long?” she asks in a breath, a small laugh following her words. The sound shoots a spark of happiness through the pain of the Survivors I’m carrying within me.

  I smile at her, unable to stop myself, allowing her happiness to fill my lungs for just a moment before the emotions of those I have saved obliterates the small, warm feeling she just gave me.

  “Where are we going?”

  Her eyes are big with anticipation. I want to hold onto her excitement because it has an expiration date. I should just throw her overboard right now and save her from her fate.

  “We’re going to Resurrection Island. It’s like Neverland,” Lucas says after a moment passes and I haven’t answered.

  “What’s Neverlan
d?” she asks, her brow scrunching as she tilts her head at him.

  “It’s a world unlike yours. It steals your pain away and offers you more to life than you could ever imagine possible.” His words are spoken quickly and animatedly.

  Aside from his weird obsession with Neverland, Lucas has become better at explaining Resurrection Island. He still believes in it. He is still mystified by the air and the feel of it, the euphoric nature it gives off.

  “And you like it there?” she asks, looking at my somber face for confirmation.

  The question catches me off guard. Her innocent eyes send guilt spiraling down my throat, exploding like shards into my chest. She trusts me for some fucking reason. I can’t lie to her. I’m the reason she’s here. She had an amazing life in her future, and I flipped it upside down in an instant. It can be restored. If she rejects the Island’s offer, I can bring her back to this point in time and tell her to never look for me in the night sky again.

  Because even if she goes back to her life, I’ll still be there. I won’t stop watching over her until she leaves that prison of a tower and lives the life she’s meant to have. The life she deserves.

  “I’ve lived there for centuries,” I say in a smooth voice with a small smile, a smile I can barely keep in place.

  It’s the most honest answer I can give her. Do I like the Island? No. Would I leave if given the chance? Everyday. Will I get the chance? Absolutely not.

  So there’s no use in spewing my bitterness. Everyone is entitled to happiness. And if she can find it in the Island for just a little while, then I won’t stop her.

  I won’t encourage it, but I can’t stop her.

  “Where is this island if it’s not of this world?”

  I stand, walking away from her, needing once again to put distance between myself and this innocent woman before I confess all my sins and the sins of the world to her.

  The smooth, polished wheel pushes against my palms like it refuses to take our course home, mimicking my feelings exactly. I guide the ship into place. The bow is angled toward the darkness within the sky.