Resurrection_Part One of the Macauley Vampire Trilogy

by Rebecca Norinne

  I continued my afternoon, taking a number of detours from the suggested route proposed by my guidebook, immersing myself in the sights and sounds of the city while stopping to take pictures of everything from colorful doors to old brick buildings and nannies out walking their wards.

  In the early evening, I spent an hour in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, listening to the organist prepare for an upcoming concert, the sounds emitted by the 4000 pipes mournful and joyous at the same time, a bellowing that echoed the conflicting emotions playing out in my head and heart as I sat quietly, absorbed in my thoughts. Leaving the Cathedral, I felt relaxed—good even—for the first time in a very long while. Here, in a city thousands of years old and an ocean away from home, I was free to come and go as I pleased and for once, the only person’s happiness I had to think about was my own.

  Arriving back at my hotel as the sun was setting, I felt tired and worn out, in a good way, I reminded myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d walked anywhere with no destination in mind, taking me where my whims wanted to go. Calling it a night, I decided to order room service and watch a movie on pay-per-view instead of venturing back out for dinner later.

  As I undressed for the night, I noticed my cell phone sitting on the table next to the bed. I’d been so caught up in sightseeing that I hadn’t noticed I’d left it behind. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone minutes, let alone several hours, without checking the device. Not that it would have mattered much, since the only two people I expected to hear from were my editor and best friend. Still, old habits died hard so I picked it up, surprised to see that I had three new voicemails.

  The first was from a sweet woman who ran a manor house turned bed and breakfast that overlooked a valley in the Wicklow Hills. There’d been a cancellation and if it worked for my schedule, I could stay at a reduced rate this weekend. While I appreciated the offer, I was nowhere ready to leave Dublin so I jotted down a reminder to call back and thank her but politely decline.

  The next message was from Heather, inquiring about my flight, hotel, and how I was liking Dublin so far. I opened my laptop to send an email that included images from my wandering that afternoon and to let her know I was well.

  The diversion distracted me and I forgot all about the third message waiting for me. With nothing else to occupy my time, I opened a blank document on my computer, not really knowing what I intended to write. For minutes I sat looking at the blinking cursor on the page and then decided to skip the movie I’d planned to watch to dive into the first few chapters of my book. Three thousand words later, when my character received a chilling phone call, I realized I hadn’t listened to my third message. Picking up my phone, I entered my code and put the device to my ear. The voice on the other end of the line was so surprising that I gasped out loud like a shy, intimidated little girl when a handsome boy deigns to acknowledge her presence. The reaction was so unlike me.

  “Hello Miss Donnelly, this is William Macauley returning your emails,” said the deep, husky voice, caramel over thick, rich, creamy ice cream.

  Heat rose to my cheeks as I recalled my fantasy from the night before. The intense, rich timbre of his voice matched exactly how I’d imagined: confident, strong, and in control. With a voice to go with the face, I could only imagine what dirty, filthy images I’d conjure tonight.

  “I’m sorry to have not gotten back to you sooner but I’ve been unavailable for some time and have just now learned of your request. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to accommodate it,” he said in clipped, cold tones. “I’m a very private person and I cannot allow my home to be dissected and regurgitated for your entertainment.”

  He didn’t bother to say goodbye before hanging up. I heard a faint click, and knew that I’d been summarily dismissed.

  And just like that, all of my desire for the gorgeous, virile man vanished as quickly as it had come on. In general, I wasn’t someone easily flustered by a cold word or condescending attitude. I’d been running in well-to-do crowds my entire life and had often seen people put down and degraded by those who considered it their right to treat those beneath them shabbily. I wasn’t proud of it, but at times I’d been one of them: cold, heartless, unconcerned about the feelings my words might incite. At home, among the San Francisco elite, this was the norm but I’d been told the people of Ireland were different—they were warm and they’d try to help you in any way they could. Clearly William Macauley had missed the memo.

  The more I thought about William’s message the angrier I became. To no effect, I tried in vain to remind myself the beautifully seductive, mysterious man didn’t say anything rude; he’d simply turned down my request. No harm, no foul. But that line of reasoning couldn’t lessen the sting of building him up into something other than exactly what he was: a rich, arrogant prick.

  So William was a rude asshole. Should I be surprised? Men did not become powerful billionaires by being bestowing warm fuzzies on every person who approached them. I knew when I’d made the request that he was a private person, not prone to public scrutiny, and yet I’d made it anyway because his castle and its idyllic location would be perfect for the story I wanted to write. Everything about the request would benefit me, with nothing in it for him.

  Oh, there’d be something in it for him, alright, I thought, as I pictured riding his cock with wild abandon. A different image followed: me on my knees in front of him, hands tied behind my back with his dick down my throat, his hips pumping in and out as he fucked my mouth. By the time I’m done with him he wouldn’t want me to leave his bloody castle.

  This was so unlike me.

  What was this man doing to me? Why was I behaving this way? Why did I even care about him? I didn’t have a reasonable answer to these questions which frightened me more than it should. Ever since touching down in Ireland, I hadn’t felt like myself and my reaction to him was the most startling part of it all.

  I had two choices: close this chapter on William Macauley and forget all about him and his hauntingly perfect castle, banish the dreams of him touching my body so intimately that it hummed at the thought of meeting him in person, or I could call him back. Logically speaking, I knew at the forefront of my mind this was not an option, but the places of my brain not controlling my ability to use reason, urged me to pick up the phone and hear his voice say my name again.

  Shit. I had it bad.

  Before sanity could stop me, I checked my incoming call list, scrolled to the most recent local number, and clicked on it. One ring, then two, and three rings trilled. I was ready to hang up when someone answered. All of my courage flew out the window and I stayed mute long enough for an irritated voice to ask if anyone was there. Panicked William would hang up before I could speak, I launched into a long, blathering attempt at an apology. For what, I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t really focus on my words since I was staring at my shaking hand and sitting down before my weak knees gave out.

  Get a grip on yourself, Olivia. He’s just a man like any other.

  “Hi Mr. Macauley, this is Olivia Donnelly returning your phone call. I wanted to apologize for intruding on your privacy and hope you would forgive me for my previous request—”

  “Ah, but you’re intruding on my privacy now, aren’t you?” he asked.

  Hell and damnation.

  “Um, yes. But I wanted to tell you I was sorry for assuming you’d be interested in helping me …”

  “Apology accepted,” he said, cutting me off again. “Now, was there anything else you wanted?” Irritation laced his words.

  I paused. Was there anything else? No, nothing I could say would make any sense and I couldn’t very well extend the conversation by filling him in on the fantasy I’d had where he’d made hot, urgent, demanding love to me while his body had pinned me up against a brick wall. Just thinking about how I wanted the reality of that image to happen had my stomach, and other places much lower, in knots.

  Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “I’d like to make it up to y
ou by taking you out to dinner. Coffee? Drinks? … Whatever.”

  After a lengthy pause in which I wondered if he’d hung up and I’d missed it, he finally spoke. “That’s a very odd request seeing as how we don’t know one another and the extent of our communications have been me turning you down. You’re a rather determined girl, aren’t you Olivia Donnelly? But tell me this, what makes you think my answer would be any different this time?”

  I didn’t know how to answer his question, and realizing he was right, I felt blood rush to my ears, face, and throat in embarrassment. Thank goodness I was alone because my humiliation was quite literally written on my face. Thankfully, I was only mortified for the briefest of moments. In a matter of seconds, I went from being embarrassed to sulking and then pissed off, and when I was angry I was a force to be reckoned with. William was about to find himself on the receiving end of the fury and frustration that I perpetually carried locked inside of me.

  What are you about to do? a voice I didn’t recognize asked and I told her to shut the fuck up and watch.

  “Mr. Macauley, you’re obviously a huge asshole so I won’t waste any more of your precious time. I was being polite—something your mother probably never taught you—by extending my apology. But just so we’re clear, you’re the one who instigated this phone call by insulting me. So before you think you’re the better person in this conversation, let me squash that notion. You may be an important man here in Ireland and you may think you’re above reproach, but again, you’re not. You’re a rude, arrogant, egotistical son of a bitch who can go fuck himself.”

  I hung up the phone, shaking with anger and wishing we used rotary phones since they slammed down so much more satisfyingly. I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. What the ever loving fuck had just happened? I was being ludicrous, acting like a sullen child. I didn’t recognize the emotions William brought out in me but I didn’t like them one bit.

  I didn’t know what was wrong with me but it was clear something was incredibly off.

  If I’d stopped to consider I was in a hotel and not in my own home, I might have felt badly for whoever slept in the room below. For the next 45 minutes I stomped back and forth across the suite, wearing a trail of footprints in the rug and screaming out a few choice expletives that would have made a sailor proud. Despite my display of righteous fury, my anger hadn’t abated. Instead it had morphed. Now I was pissed at myself.

  I found William the most sexually alluring man I’d never met while also being repulsed by his ego. And I was livid that I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I told myself any man so condescending to someone he didn’t know wasn’t worth my time, and yet time was exactly what I was spending obsessing over him.

  Once my indignation had burned itself out, I was worn out and exhausted. Every so often I’d glance around the suite with the vague notion of being productive, but I didn’t move. Instead, I clutched my phone in my hand and imagined for the millionth time was I would say if I ever got the chance to speak with the scourge again.

  When my stomach alerted me to the fact that I hadn’t eaten since lunch, I ordered room service and climbed into bed with my laptop. After an hour or so of reading blogs and newspapers, I checked my inbox before closing up my computer for the night. To my astonishment I had a message from William.

  To: Olivia Donnelly

  From: William Macauley

  Subject: Intrigued

  I’ve never had anyone call me an asshole to my face (or via phone, for that matter), although it’s probably not the first time someone has *wanted* to call me one. I find myself intrigued by you. I enjoy a woman with backbone and steely determination. - William Macauley

  My heart skipped a proverbial beat. I didn’t want to care what he thought of me, but I couldn’t deny not only did she care, but I did so far more than I should.

  I’d never been a sucker for love, nor had I bought into that hogwash about love at first sight which made me reactions all the more startling. If I fell easily in and out of lust, this might be explainable but that wasn’t me. It was as if in cahoots my brain and my heart had decided without my consent to feel an overriding attachment to him.

  Of course other parts of me that felt things too.

  I could ignore the message—make him sweat it out a bit—or I could respond. I’d never been one to play games and I would have hated it if some man was sitting in his hotel room thinking about ways to make me squirm, and not in the utterly delicious way I eventually wanted to. But what would I say? I didn’t need his approval and part of me found his note even more condescending than my conversation with him. I didn’t need to prolong the inevitable here.

  Who was I kidding? Of course I was going to respond.

  To: William Macauley

  From: Olivia Donnelly

  Subject: Intrigued?

  Should I care you now deign to find me intriguing? Am I supposed to be flattered?

  My response sent, I sat staring at my inbox, willing a response to appear. After three minutes it did.

  To: Olivia Donnelly

  From: William Macauley

  Subject: I’m sorry.

  We’ve clearly gotten off on the wrong foot and it’s apparent I’ve offended you. My apologies. - William

  At least he wasn’t completely oblivious to his behavior, although I supposed me telling him to fuck off was probably clue enough he was an offensive human being.

  To: William Macauley

  From: Olivia Donnelly

  Subject: A habit of yours?

  Do you make it a habit to offend every new woman you speak with or is that behavior specially reserved for me?

  I waited several minutes for a response that never came. After waiting another 15 minutes beyond that, I accepted he wasn’t going to write back. Like a teenager waiting for a note to be passed from her crush across the classroom, I thought how pathetic I’d become in a few short hours.

  After watching my mom stand by my father through all the years of his infidelity, I’d promised myself I’d never let a man have the upper hand when it came to my emotions. I’d vowed to be the one who was cold, calculating, unfeeling—just like William Macauley seemed to be.

  When I powered down my computer and turned off the bedside lamp, I settled in and tried to sleep. Instead I lay in bed going over my conversations—both verbal and written—with William, thinking about what I should have said, what he could have meant, and what I would say if given another chance. Just as I was near to falling into what was sure to be an uneasy sleep, my phone rang. Sensing it was William, I lifted it to my ear, willing him to be the one to speak first.

  “Olivia,” he whispered, and then he went silent, that one word all he offered.

  Except it wasn’t all.

  The way he had said my name did things to me I couldn’t explain. To my ears, it sounded the way a man says a woman’s name as he’s about to make love to her for the first time, full of longing and desire. I wouldn’t ask why he was calling. I wouldn’t show how much I cared what he thought of me but unfortunately my hitched breathing gave me away. For certain, William knew his voice—his words—had power over me.

  Given how furiously my heart beat against my chest, I wondered if he could hear it too. The thump, thump, thump of it echoed in my ears as I forced myself to speak. “Hello William.” I tried to keep my voice cold and emotionless, hoping my desire wasn’t evident in those two words.

  As if sensing my need, he told me what I longed to hear. “I had to call you. I don’t know why, I just felt compelled to. I didn’t want to continue conversing with you in one to two sentence fragments over email. While convenient, I find it so impersonal.”

  Impersonal? Was he was looking for a connection with me? No, I wouldn’t read too much into his words.

  He continued, “I know you don’t care, but you are absolutely intriguing to me. A conundrum, really. You see, for as much research as you’ve done on me, I’ve probably done more on you. After all, you’re rather easy to
find online.”

  I hadn’t seen that one coming.

  Go on, I wanted to say, curious to know exactly what he found so intriguing about me, but my voice wouldn’t work. When I failed to speak, he broke the silence, the tone of his voice going from interested to terse and ... rejected?

  “Perhaps I’m wasting my time. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

  Before he could hang up, I sucked in a lungful of air and found both my voice and my courage.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit shocked you’ve called is all. I’m trying to figure out what you’re about,” I told him as matter-of-factly as I could. “We’ve hardly been cordial to one another so I’m lost. What is this about you wanting a more … personal … mode of communication?” As the words tumbled from my mouth, my courage grew. “Hell, I’m wondering why you want any communication, period. You made it pretty clear you aren’t interested in what I have to say, so I’m not sure what else there is to say.” I could hear the hurt in my voice and I cringed. I didn’t want to show an iota of weakness to this rude, domineering man.

  “My apologies if I have … hurt … you. It was ridiculous of me to have been so rude. Perhaps if you would allow me to explain, you might begin to understand why my initial reaction was so discourteous.”

  Okay, I thought, start explaining. I couldn’t have prepared myself for what he said next.

  “I know it’s late, but can I see you? I’d like to speak in person.”

  Oh shit. Oh shit.

  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.