Echoes in Eternity (The Pella Series Book 1) (2 page)

To protect his daughter, Marcus built a ranch in the middle of the desert where the 
Four Winds
 of time met to make her escape possible if and when the Fallen and the Punishers were to reach her. The Nephilim he saved through time were tasked to watch and protect her and the family she created with Alexander. But, her
enemies
caught up with her in 1802 on a starless night, covering the 
Four Winds
 with the 
Circle of Hades’ fire, Phlegethon
. Alexander lost all he loved in that dark night and buried his heart into the abyss whence he came from.

The story begins in the contemporary days in Southern California.

“To die, to sleep—

No more—and by a sleep to say we end

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to. 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep—

To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub!

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause—there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life.”

Shakespeare

CHAPTER I

AWAKENING

Elissa Cassandra Duncan

A gust of wind rushes
 the damp cold air into my bedroom through the open window causing me to shiver under my blanket. I crack my eyes open just slightly trying to orient myself. My hand automatically goes to the pillow next to me. Empty. Where is Alexander? I must have fallen asleep and he must have carried me to our bed. The air is damp and chilly which brings me back to my senses; I sit up straight immediately and glance around frantically. I notice an alarm clock atop a side table which displays 3:14 a.m. in dim green color. An alarm clock? Damp and cold air? My eyes look for the ornately carved walnut Swiss wall clock hanging over the wood paneling. I strain to hear its comforting, repetitive tick tock. No sound, except a distant whooshing. Why am I not feeling the warm, dry licks of the desert air? I scramble out of the bed in the dark as panic courses through me. Where the hell am I? What place is this?

“Alexander?” I whisper softly at first.
Outside of my own harsh breathing, there’s no answer. No sound except the soft noise of the billowing sheer curtain’s whisper in the wind. My eyes dart back and forth trying to find my bearing in this foreign place.

“Baby, are you back yet?
Alexander?” I whisper into the dark in a fervent tone, my panic’s growing. Realization dawns on me: Alexander might be at home, but it is 
I
 who isn’t there. Tears start streaming on their own volition as fear has risen in me. I clench my teeth as if that would help, but of course it doesn’t. Something is very wrong. Strength drains out of my body as if an unseen force just sucked an essential part out of me, leaving me a limp shell. I collapse onto the floor. I try to stand up, feeling my way around. Dim moonlight seeps its way through the open balcony door and I crawl towards it automatically gasping for breath, trying to get a feeling of where I am. I can see the soft distant haze of the dawn in the eastern sky. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, and rub them with my wrists as if to dig them out of their sockets to see a different reality, but the effort is completely wasted, because I’m still here.

The silhouettes outside look different, foreign.
Trees are tall and lanky, and the hilly landscape is a strange contrast to the large expanse of open fields I was expecting to see. My breathing increases, my heart beats like the jungle drum rapidly, my hands shaky, I hold onto the stone railing on the balcony and look westward hoping to see the Roman stone road winding down to the stables and the cowboy house, the 
Casa
, but all I can see is the faint glimmer of a large body of water. My heart sinks. It’s the ocean...I gasp a lungful of air shakily, buckling on my knees once again. I’m filled with utter despair. It had only been a dream. Alexander was just a dream. How can that be? I held him, I kissed him; I could describe every curve of his smile, every strand of his hair. When I close my eyes, I can still feel his caresses, touch, kiss, and that unwavering gaze that looks at me, through me, penetrating, desirous, and lascivious. The way his voice rises in a husky tone when we’re alone, making my entire body stand at attention, curling my toes with desire for him. I would know that voice anywhere, wouldn’t I? How could love be a dream? My knees buckle under me, and I roll into an infantile position on the floor, hugging my knees up to my chest, sobbing. 

When my
 tears run out, I feel completely spent and empty. I stumble my way into the bathroom, and glance at myself in the mirror. I look pathetic; red swollen eyes, with my nose running, color flushed all over my face, my hair disheveled, and the tops of my boobs showing over my tank top which has now doubled as my pajama top. I run the water as cold as possible in the sink and wash my hands with soap, apply the suds all over my face, and scrub hard as if I am scrubbing the dream out of my head. I fill my palms with cold water and splash my face with it over and over again. I smooth my hair back. When I look into the mirror again, I’m looking half decent. I have to get out of the house. I have to shake the feeling of being a stranger in my own life while my dreams are becoming my reality, trying to take over my existence. I have to reaffirm my life here and now, and can’t let my dreams overtake me like this. Surfing for a while will clear my head and give me a chance to gather my wits. Or perhaps running would do... Yes, I think I’ll go for a run, and watch the sunrise over the spewing arch.

It is
 still too early and the air is chilly, but I need to get out and shake this feeling of uneasiness. I open the double doors of my balcony as well as the adjacent windows as wide as possible. The balcony and the windows overlook the ocean, allowing the briny, humid, and cold Pacific air to rush in. I turn my stare into the twilight of the eastern sky. The sun would be rising soon which would mark the end of my dream of Alexander, and the beginning of a different existence. 

I’m Ellie during the hours I’m awake, a brand new college graduate.
But in the last two weeks, my sleep’s been carrying me somewhere else to a different time. Ordinary dreams have been evading me as if I’m now recalling memories of a time when I was someone else. Oh crap! What if I’m going crazy?

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” I admonish myself
 pacing my room, taking deep breaths. I stop in my tracks... These dreams started again two weeks ago after three years of...nothing! I thought I was rid of them. Why now? For the last two weeks I’ve been dreaming about a man I’ve never met in my life. Last night’s dream was by far the most intense, so palpable, felt so real, I’m still shaking with its intensity and it is scaring the hell out of me. What a way to start my twenty-first birthday! 

My
very own personal insecurity rears its ugly head with pity – ‘
poor sap is pining after someone who only exists when she goes to sleep
,’ she says tutting. I shut her up. Alexander! That name stirs passion and yearnings in the depths of my soul. Dreams about a man I’ve never met with unbelievable blue eyes, so deep, one look at them could get you lost in the depths of his soul, shoulder length dark wavy blonde hair, half curved smile, lean, and always in well-worn riding boots. My heart pains as if someone took an irreplaceable piece of me and left me empty. 

Tears stung behind my eyes, and I refused to let them out again. This is ridiculous! I’m not going to cry for someone my mind created. But then, two nights ago... The dream felt so real, so scary, and left me so horribly empty. No matter how much I try, my insecurity rises like a tidal wave and goads me again saying ‘
keep thinking about it and your ass will be dragged back to the shrink!
’ 

I check
 the clock on my night stand. It is finally 5:28 a.m. I change into my running shorts, put on my jogging bra, and top it with one of my well-worn white cotton t-shirts with the cutoff collar; the one Sarah hated because she said that 
‘it positively diminishes our social standing!
’ not because of the collar I ripped off but because it was not purchased at Neiman Marcus. I put my running shoes on, tie them up, and do a few stretches. I then pull my hair into a pony tail and tuck my iPod into the right side of my jogging bra, and my smart phone accompanies my left boob. Stella, the only real mother figure I have in life, the nanny who raised me since infancy indelicately calls my iPod the “boob Pod” after she observed me a few times shoving the iPod into my bra. The memory makes me smile. 

I come down
 running to the foyer where I meet Andrew, my uncle’s butler who had just retrieved the morning paper. “Good morning Miss Ellie,” he says, bowing his head slightly. “Will you be joining your uncle for breakfast this morning?” 

“Yes, I
will Andrew,” I say as I run out. 

I place my dark sunglasses
on even though the sun isn’t up yet. I fix my ponytail catching a glimpse of my reflection on the glass and wrought iron entry door, give my ponytail a tug and pace myself towards the steps which leads down to the beach for my morning run. Running is extremely therapeutic. I solve most of my problems while running, riding or surfing. It is strange that my mind likes to multi task, and it functions best when I’m doing more than one thing.

I love the sunrises, it renews me inside; aids me to start fresh. I run down the whitened steps made of driftwood planks counting one hundred and seventeen of them. The tide is low; perfect day to run to the spewing arch. When I reach the bottom of the steps I remember to turn my boob Pod on, and shuffle it to my favorite song, and put it on repeat turning the volume up. Keeping my pace steady, I start listening to the
 Kings of Leon singing “
Closer
”. Somehow this song speaks to the depths of my soul. I’ve listened to it many times, but the moment the crimson lights of the sunrise reach over the mountains painting away the darkness, an image of Alexander coming behind me and kissing my neck calling me “angel,” invades my mind.

When the Kings of Leon start singing,
 “
Do you think of me? Where am I now? Baby where do I sleep? Feel so good but I’m old, 2000 years of chasing’s taking its
 
toll,
” I feel the wind knocked out of me. My eyes darken, I try to catch my breath in short gasps, my body heats up clenching my groin, and the realization of Alexander’s non-existence leaves me with an empty feeling and weakened knees. To steady myself, I lean down trying to catch my breath, my hands clasping my legs right above my knees. I can’t let my dreams cross into the daylight hours. I hear someone’s steady footsteps running and sidling up next to me. 

“Already exhausted?” asks
 a husky male voice in a sophisticated tone tinged with a slight accent I can’t place. He’s not Californian.

I find myself staring at a pair of Ecco running shoes which my friend Melie described as, “
The
 
price tag will induce motion sickness and severe wallet cramping in runners!
” My eyes slowly rise over the well-defined, Roman-god statue like calves. His well-toned legs are barely concealed under his running shorts which hang low on his hips in such a way to showcase his flawless hips and waist. I think Rose and Melie would just drool over his 
loins of Apollo
, not that I’m not myself at the moment. His biceps and forearms are sporting thick veins, and for some reason I imagine him as a sword wielding warrior of the past, and shake my head to clear my thoughts. When my gaze reaches his face, it’s shadowed as a silhouette against the orange canvas of the dawn painted in the eastern sky. But I can distinguish the waves of his short dark hair. That husky voice uttering just two words, calls to me like a litany. Even if I had a single digit IQ, I could easily tell that this man is sex on legs.

My brain and mouth lo
ose connection for two whole minutes and I blatantly stare at the specimen of a man before me unable to take my gaze away, or blink for that matter. I swallow and after taking a deep breath I manage to string a few coherent words together.