by A. K. Koonce
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty – Two
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Resurrection Island
Copyright 2017 A.K. Koonce
All Rights Reserved
First Kindle Edition: 2017
Cover design by Natasha Snow Designs
Editing by Varankor Proofreading and Editing & Red Ribbon Editing Services
The content of this book is protected under Federal Copyright Laws. Any unauthorized use of this material is prohibited. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without express written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales are entirely coincidental.
For James, for always catching me before I fall. Because I’m clumsy and he knows it.
.
Table of Contents
Chapter One – A Fantasy within a Nightmare
Chapter Two – The Void Between the Stars
Chapter Three – Resurrection Island
Chapter Four – The Grievance Grave
Chapter Five – The New Life Festival
Chapter Six – Broken Pieces
Chapter Seven – Valhalla
Chapter Eight – Vitally Cautious
Chapter Nine – What Does It Feel Like
Chapter Ten – Humiliation and Aggression
Chapter Eleven – The Villain and the Princess
Chapter Twelve – A Beautiful Reminder
Chapter Thirteen – Three Little Words
Chapter Fourteen – Love and Lust
Chapter Fifteen – Love
Chapter Sixteen – Checkmate
Chapter Seventeen – An Angel
Chapter Eighteen – You Should Leave
Chapter Nineteen – The Next Victim
Chapter Twenty – An Assassination
Chapter Twenty-One – Hellish Reality
Chapter Twenty – Two – We Deserve More
Epilogue – Ten Minutes Later
About the Author
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER ONE
A Fantasy within a Nightmare
The woman below understands me completely without even knowing me. Her tears wash into the night sky, drowning me in my guilt, as I look down on her beautiful, yet anguished face. Her crying has become incessant lately, pulling at me, nudging at the corners of my mind until it’s all I think about.
Never during the day does the trace of a grimace cross her face, but at night her emotions flood my senses, calling out to me while I toss and turn in bed until I have no choice but to check on her.
So here I am. Again. Looming inconspicuously above her in the starry night sky. A cool breeze gently sways the frame of my ship, suspended in the clouds, hundreds of feet above the earth. The magic coursing through the ship hums quietly, but I barely notice it.
All men on deck are fast asleep. Normally I would at least wake Lucas, but if I’m being honest, I can’t bring myself to tell the other men how often I come here. I’m starting to lurk above this woman’s tower night after night like some kind of pervert stalker getting his kicks off the sound of her pain.
Anger boils to the surface, my fist clenching the ship’s frame so hard my knuckles turn white. I know I won’t do a damn thing to help this miserable woman; the one whose pain fills my dreams until she’s all I think about asleep or awake. Here I stand with the ability to save her, but not the reasoning.
Because that’s the fault of being a time traveler. You truly know what’s best for someone because you’ve seen it. Even when you don’t want to. Even when it’s your own destiny.
I know how her story will end. Her knight in shining armor will eventually come. They’ll flee from this outlandishly high tower within the North Sea. The terrible queen will receive the punishment she’s due, not nearly as gruesome as she deserves, and it will bring a sense of justice. And my pained princess will finally live happily ever after.
But shit, could her knight have any worse timing? She’s only been wasting away down there her entire life.
And what could the self-centered little prick be doing that’s more important than saving this woman from her misery?
While she’s literally wasting away, living off of moldy bread and dirty water, freezing during the night in a less than insulated eighteenth-century tower, Sir I-spend-entirely-too-much-time-coiffing-my-hair has been taking a few language lessons for countries he will, in fact, never see. He’s been decently busy dueling hired guards who intentionally lose to him day after day, just to appease his self-esteem. Who has that job? Who wants to go to work and lose every day? And lastly, I’ve also come to notice he spends an interesting amount of time with various courtesans.
Sounds like a great guy.
She’s doing that thing where she bites her lip in an attempt to stop sobbing altogether. It works, of course. She’s great at hiding her feelings. Even from herself, I suppose. But like the creepy stalker I am apparently turning out to be, I find myself zeroing in on the gesture, intently watching the way her teeth rake over her full bottom lip. My heart’s pounding, and I have to look away. I exhale slowly, releasing pent-up tension I didn’t realize I’d been harboring.
My eyes flicker to the moon to check the time, an extremely old habit I can’t seem to shake. I’ll forever only be twenty years old, but I survey the hour with precision like a man who has seen centuries pass. Because I have.
It’s late. She’s fine. Of course she’s fine. I’ve seen her future. She’ll turn out more than okay. I should stop wasting my time here. There are other pulls I’ve felt over the last few hours; other people who actually need me. But instead, I’ve been here. Watching over a girl I’ll never meet. A girl who’s waiting for a different man to rescue her; a man who is not me. A man who can offer her more than a long, endless life on a ship; a life pulled apart at the seams between so many time jumps I’ve lose track of my age entirely; I’ve lose track of myself.
I push my hand through my short black hair, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. The cold air fills my lungs. Show’s over; I need to pack it up and go home. Let her go.
My heart free falls at the thought. Will I really not come back for her? Hell, I’ll probably be here again tomorrow night, ready for the next agonizing episode of this poor woman’s miserable life. Watching over her, a twisted guardian angel who won’t lift a finger to help.
I’m as bad as her ill-timed knight. At least he doesn’t sit around eating popcorn as she pours her heart out to the moon, looking right at me.
Shit.
She really is looking right at me. She’s even more beautiful straight on. Her tangle of blonde hair blows in the night breeze, and her head tilts curiously to the side, her eyes appearing to study me through her tower window.
Still, I’m not sure what the protocol is when the victim sees a savior in a one-hundred-foot floating ship, sails set against the stars. There’s one rule; don’t interact with the living. Time travel is like a delicate pyramid of cards and the slightest alteration could cause the whole structure to come tumbling down. I don’t know how to fix this. So I do the only thing that comes naturally to me – I hide.
My shoulder leans into the polished wood of the ship as I duck down. I’m crouched down so low my head rests against the frame, the smell of oak filling my nose. I swallow hard as I try to think of the best possible solution to this one-man shit show I’m leading. Felicity is going to murder me. No, that’s not possible; I’m being rash. Death would be a kindness compared to what she’s capable of doing.
Okay, this isn’t a big deal. I could gust us the hell out of here in a breeze. The whole out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing doesn’t really work in this case.
I could wait. Check on her future tomorrow and see what harm I’ve done. I’m sure the longer I wait the more fallout there will be. What if she tells someone and the damage spreads, manifests, and ruins their whole lives?
I guess it wouldn’t be too bad if she ruined the queen’s future. She more than deserves it. But what about her? What if she thinks she’s crazy after this? Because let’s face it, seeing a floating ship … that’s a pretty good reason to be committed to a mental institution. Or worse. Especially in the erratic, unforgiving age she’s living in. Women can’t even so much as comment on the upcoming weather without being convicted of sorcery.
Face your failures, Remy. Admit when you’re wrong. Maybe I can explain this to her.
What year is this again? How can I make this make sense to her? Electricity hasn’t been invented yet, so that’s not helpful. Judging by the heavy urine smell in the air, not much of anything has been invented yet.
Nothing convincing comes to mind, so I decide to just do what I can. I’m charming, right? Hell, maybe I can just talk my way out of this. Hey, I’m Remy. That? No, it’s not really a floating ship. It’s just a dream. I’m just a fantasy. Obviously, I’m your mind’s wildest dream.
A woman locked away in a tower with only an abusive queen for company fantasizes about self-confident jackasses such as myself.
Damn. I start to shake my head. I’ve spent too much time alone. Even my ego can’t help but stroke itself.
A fantasy within a nightmare is a closer description. Everyone hopes for that light at the end of the tunnel, but they don’t expect it to burn them alive when they get there.
I smooth my jacket as I slowly stand. Maybe she really thought she was dreaming and went back to bed.
Nope. No such luck.
My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I realize that while she was waiting for me to stop hiding in plain sight like a dimwitted child, she took it upon herself to try and get a better look at the unidentified object drifting above her tower. The girl has balls, I’ll give her that.
I lean over the frame of the ship as she climbs closer and closer to the roof of the tower, her limbs reaching and pushing against the crevices of the old granite blocks. It’s a narrow, aging structure, probably built by the hands of slaves. I can only hope they put their livelihood into their work and the building doesn’t crumble beneath her thin fingers.
I will the ship closer to her, and the sails obey my internal force, drifting through the air dangerously close to the tower. I meet her gaze once she stands on the slate gray roof. She stands with confidence and grace. Every bit the true princess she is and not a hint of the caged animal I’ve watched for the past month.
“Good evening, love,” I say in a smooth voice.
Good evening? I’m an idiot. If I awkwardly say fine weather next I can’t guarantee I won’t punch myself in my face.
The ship’s frame is a mere foot from the edge of the roof. If she falls I’ll catch her, which will only add another item to the list of things I’ll have to explain to her when we don’t crash to our deaths in the murky water below.
Her crystal blue eyes narrow. They’re beautiful up close. She’s beautiful up close. Hell, she’s beautiful from a distance too, but here I am studying her beauty under a microscope for my own personal enjoyment at the worst possible time.
Her long, blonde hair falls in waves past her shoulders, and her pastel pink dress hangs loosely over her thin frame. Her defined collarbones peek out from under the fabric, and a flush tints hr cheeks from the cold night air. Her lip is split. Dried blood coats the corner of her mouth, and my fists tighten at my sides. Another gift given to her by her stepmother, the queen, no doubt.
If that asshole would have done his job and rescued her already, I wouldn’t be in this mess. And she wouldn’t be living a life of suffering.
I give a small half smile while I wait for her reply. Best to see how much trouble I’m in before I talk myself into more.
In my life, time passes quickly, like lightning in the sky, but in this moment time halts entirely as I wait for her response. Her gaze searches my face, lingering on the scar at my neck. My heart sprints in my chest just from her small amount of attention. Her eyes trail over the frame of the ship, noting each sail.
I wait.
Sweat forms on my brow under her assessment of this dream I’m eager to explain to her.
I wait.
Then, to my surprise, a hesitant smile forms on her dry lips. Her eyes start to water a bit, but only for a second before she reins her emotions back in. She takes a breath, her blonde brows raising slightly.
“Are you here to finally take me?” she asks, her voice a little uneven.
The breath is knocked out of me. Of all the things I thought she might accuse me of – again, sorcery – my true intent was not one of them.
I open my mouth and then close it. Keeping my attention on her, on how little space her feet have from the edge of the roof, how hard the wind is blowing against her thin body, and how the long locks of her blonde hair fly around her dirty face. Soot and dirt stain her torn dress. How does she survive another five years in these conditions? Of the queen's merciless beatings? Of the poison she eats for food? Where does she find the strength?
“You took it upon yourself to meet me halfway. How can I say no?” I ask, gesturing with my hand to the disintegrating roof she stands on.
What the hell am I saying? Where is the dream explanation I was putting together in my head? I guess it went out the window when she did.
A smile engulfs her delicate features, a gasp frees from her lips, and my heart crumbles in my chest. How can something so broken be so beautiful?
“If you can climb so well, why haven’t you rescued yourself, love?” I ask, looking away from her, needing distance between us.
Bending slightly, I lean my arms against the glossy railing of the ship and clasp my hands in front of me. The feel of the wind whipping at my jacket and hair spikes worry through me at the thought of her standing atop a roof.
A few seconds pass, and I feel my mind clear a little without her hope-filled eyes staring up at me. I bring my attention back to her, and her smile has been wiped away at my words. Her blue eyes glance down, down, down to the lapping waves of the water surrounding us below.
“I can’t swim,” she says.
“You’ve tried?” I ask in astonishment.
She nods, her arms folding tightly over her chest, fighting the cold wind.
She really is more than she looks. It takes strength to recklessly test waters that deep with no land in sight. Strength or insanity. Or desperation.
Her confession makes my chest heavier with the realization that she’ll still be here tomorrow. And all the days that follow, until her knight comes for her.
She can’t come with me.
“I
–” I pause, hating what I’m about to say. “I’m no savior, love. Find some other poor mate to rescue you because it won’t be me.” Indifference fills my features as I take a step back from her.
I’m an asshole.
Her eyes narrow at my harsh words, her mouth parting just a fraction, embellishing how swollen the bottom one is from the small split in her lip. The crushing sadness I thought would consume her is not what I get. Anger washes over her beautiful face, and for a moment my mask slips, my eyebrows rising in surprise at the sight of her fury.
“I know I’ve seen you here before,” she says in a loud, even tone. “I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me the first few times when you vanished within the clouds. But you’re here; you’re real. I’m real.” Her voice sounds small at the end, lifeless.
Her words hit me hard in the stomach, and it takes effort for me to remain impassive. I stare down at her with a bored expression, like I wouldn’t sell my soul again just to help her.
“Why are you here then? What do you want from me?” she asks in a commanding voice.
The strength and confidence she has surprises me even further, but I have the ability to keep my features uninterested. Her words have a proper British lilt to them. Different from my own, more refined but also similar. What I have to say kills me.
“Just passing through, love.” I pull the ship back slowly from her. The wood groans with the shift of our path. “Maybe the next ship will pick you up,” I say with a sarcastic smile.
I hate myself. More so than usual.
I’ll remember the look she gives me for the rest of my endless life, the look of abandonment sinking into her. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Her bright eyes are misty, a single tear finally slipping down one cheek; the façade of composure falling entirely. Her posture drops, her hands hanging at her sides. The rightful sovereignty that resides within her bones becomes meaningless in her defeated stature. She bites her lip to stop the tears, but it doesn’t help this time.
I can’t look away, even as several yards now separate us. I want to make sure she gets back to her room, but I know I should leave. I don’t want to watch her fall apart because of me.