Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  He felt a world better and he knew his colour had returned along with the shape of his skull. The whores he let live. One did not salt the earth when it can be harvested from again. It was the pickpocket that was now nothing more than worm fodder. But before he set sail he needed to speak to Bridget, to warn her, to prepare her for the worst, whatever that may be. Something was out to see to the extermination of the vampires, and whatever they were, they were neither mortal nor Chosen. The thought chilled him to the bone.

  Gazing up at the large house at the end of the walk, he noticed that all the lights were on in Bridget’s home. They must have a full house tonight, he smiled.

  Having woken in that God-awful cot had made him wonder what sort of penance Notus was performing. He should have taken the sofa; at least he would have most likely had a more comfortable sleep. Either was less enjoyable than staying in Bridget’s bed, or worse, his own. But it was the hot-blooded scent of that damnable mortal girl filling the flat that drove him to retrieve his clothing knowing full well that the Angel was in the room.

  Had Fernando been in any state of normalcy he could have waited, but his own blood loss cried out for its replacement and he had a feeling that the Angel was more than a match. Seeing the Angel in the bath, the scar on his arm - and had he seen another on his leg? – Fernando knew that one did not get scars like that from anything but warfare. It substantiated Fernando’s theory that the Angel had fought, and often, before he was Chosen. It also brought up the question as to whether or not the Angel had continued the practice. If so, then Fernando knew he was out classed and that thought did not bode well, especially after that morning’s headache and swim.

  He touched the back of his head and let it drop. It was healing well. The knot in his belly, relieved somewhat by his indulgent feeds, did not dissipate. Fear was something that Fernando was not accustomed to experiencing and he pushed it away as he picked up the suitcase.

  The sounds of yelling reached his ears well before he placed one foot in front of the other. It was Bridget’s voice and it was clear to Fernando that she was either very angry, very afraid or both. But the question was why? Bridget was usually outwardly demure. He had seen her temper on occasion, usually directed at him, but always with good reason.

  A crash shattered the night and Fernando knew he had to do something. When Bridget started throwing things no one was safe. Speeding to the door, he dropped his luggage and wrenched the door open, yanking it off one of the hinges. In the front room, Bridget stood panting in fury, stray blonde hairs floated in a halo around her normally impeccable coiffure.

  “You see, I told you. He’s still alive!” Her voice slid dangerously. Her blue eyes held onto the intruders in her home. Along the staircase, Bridget’s ladies hung onto the rail. Some in anticipation for their madam’s legendary temper, others quailed in terror of what was to come. The ones in the parlour hid behind furniture. Only those that were her Chosen ladies watched with expectant expressions.

  So it was he who was the cause of this explosion. Turning to face the one whom Bridget directed her anger, Fernando’s fury sparked.

  “You snivelling sack of puke,” he rounded on Valraven who stared in dumb shock at the living ghost standing in the doorway. The two others with him Fernando recognized from his audience with Katherine – Roberta and Benjamin, two of the Mistress’ toadies. Vampires who should never have been sired, having not a brain cell between the two, yet desired to lick the boots of their Lady. It was Valraven he stormed towards as he entered the whorehouse.

  “You’re supposed to be dead,” blurted Valraven, completely caught off guard.

  “I am, am I?” Fernando’s fist caught Katherine’s lackey on the jaw, sending him flying into the cabinet with a satisfying crash that mingled with the screams of fear from the mortal whores. Splintered wood and shattered glass and china rained down on the fallen vampire. Roberta and Benjamin backed away, fearing they were next.

  Struggling to his feet, Valraven checked his jaw. “You were seen floating in the Thames just before dawn.” The explanation fell from his quickly healing jaw.

  “The reports of my demise are greatly exaggerated.” Fernando had enjoyed sending the greasy looking Chosen into the cabinet, but the obvious reason why they were here infuriated him. “Get the hell out of here, Valraven. Tell Katherine that the Angel and I are still on this and if I hear one iota that you have even dared to even breathe on Bridget or any of these lovely ladies here, I will hunt you down and use your putrid head for target practice. Do we have an understanding?”

  Valraven stumbled towards his assistants, his face taught with barely contained rage and humiliation. “This isn’t over de Sagres.”

  “No it isn’t,” hissed the Noble. “Now get out of here!” Fernando’s voice shook the house, sending Katherine’s followers into the night as fast as their supernatural abilities would allow. “And the rest of you,” he boomed, swinging around to face the entranced audience, “get back to work!”

  Squeals of surprise and the sound of bare feet on slated wooden stairs answered the order as the whores raced up the steps as fast as their legs could carry them. When the swirl of the silken rainbow disappeared to the upper levels, Fernando turned to see that Anna and Beth had come to Bridget’s side. Bridget was still fuming, but seemed to be calming as her fledglings spoke soothing words.

  “Anna, Beth, you two, go.” Fernando’s voice lost some of its anger, but the threat of not following the order was implicit. He watched the two seek askance of Bridget who nodded and then vanished in preternatural speed as they found the door leading to the basement and their rooms.

  Finally left alone, Bridget rounded on her fledgling. “Where the hell have you been?” Her blue eyes sparked dangerously.

  “Floating in the fucking Thames, thank you for asking,” snapped Fernando. This was not how he had expected this parting to go. Oh sure there would be some harsh words and maybe some tears on Bridget’s part, but Valraven had set a new tone that was carrying even after his departure. “And please don’t thank me from stopping Valraven and his minions from hauling your ass before Katherine.”

  The wind deflated from Bridget’s sails leaving her looking haggard. Collapsing into the burgundy velvet chair, she failed in her attempt to capture the escaped strands of hair, her hands visibly shaking.

  “They said you were dead,” muttered Bridget. “They wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Of course not,” spat Fernando. “You didn’t believe it yourself.”

  Bridget’s head shot up renewed anger flashing into her eyes. “And how could I know any different. You’re always closed to me, Fernando.”

  “It’s better that way,” he said, tightly.

  “Is that why you’re here?” Bridget stood, rearing for another row. “To continue this centuries old argument?”

  Fernando’s jaw clenched. As soon as Bridget had taught him to close himself off from her mental probing, he had severed that contact with her, separating himself completely. It was something that infuriated Bridget and led to some of their most passionate fights and their most erotic love makings. “No. I’m here to tell you I’m leaving for France tonight.”

  “France?” As quickly as the anger flashed, confusion filled its void. “Whatever for?”

  “The Angel and I have a lead.” Fernando began to pace the room uncomfortable about what he next had to tell her. “Someone neither mortal nor Chosen is behind this. We have a chance to find out who and possibly end the threat.”

  Bridget’s mouth fell open, her jaw trembling as her eyes filled with tears. It was the same. The same as when Sebastian last came to her before he was killed. They had taken away her sire and now they were going to take away her beloved. “You can’t go.”

  Fernando halted in his tracks and gazed upon Bridget’s fearful expression. It was enough to finally remove the rest of his anger. Coming to stand before her, he took her elegant hands in his.

  “Bridget, I have to go,” he said,
softly. “If the Angel and I don’t stop this thing then we’re all dead. It’s plain that even the rumour of my demise brought Katherine’s hounds sniffing at your heels. I won’t let you be next.”

  He was answered by a nod of her head. “Judith’s dead.”

  The news stunned him.

  “How?” he inquired and knew the answer before it left Bridget’s painted lips.

  “It was as you said,” she answered. “Judith had a client who was tainted. It happened after you and the Angel left. I hadn’t the time to warn her.” She looked up into Fernando’s eyes. “Oh Fernando, it was horrible. She screamed and screamed. Anna and Beth are terrified to feed even with the warning you gave us.”

  “That’s why I have to go. I have to end this.” Fernando tucked a loose lock of wavy blonde hair behind her ear, his hand lingering a moment on her cheek.

  Bridget nodded. A tear escaped and was brushed away by his strong hand. “How will I know whether or not you…”

  Fernando rolled his eyes. It was the same circular argument, but this time Bridget had a point. If she could sense him, even across the Channel, then maybe Katherine would leave her alone. He hated the idea of opening himself up to anyone, even Bridget, but the risks were too high and he had to keep her safe.

  “Okay,” he sighed.

  Blue eyes widened in shock. It was the answer she had hoped centuries for but always expected the usual answer. To hear Fernando acquiesce now stood testament to the seriousness of the situation.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, but you’re right.” Fernando led Bridget to the sofa and sat down. “I’m going to agree to this for the duration of this contemptible quest. When our enemies are crushed it’s back to the way it is now. Agreed?”

  “You’re word on it, Fernando?” she asked, sceptically.

  Fernando nodded solemnly. “As the last heir to the Fidalgo de Sagres, you have my word on it.”

  Rewarded with the smile he loved to see, Bridget placed her hands on either side of his head and stared deep into his eyes. Uncomfortable with the intensity of the gaze he knew he had to match it. His eyes bore into hers. He did not want this to happen and resisted out of habit. The pressure grew causing his temples to throb in time with his quickening heart.

  It was not a matter of being able to read her. He could do that if he wanted. He chose not to. It was the matter of letting Bridget in. For centuries the wall that he had built to keep her out had remained impregnable, now he had to let her in. That was something he did not know how to do. The pressure built and he groaned. He could see the strain on Bridget’s face and then quite suddenly, as if an audible pop rang through the room, the pressure was gone.

  Can you hear me?

  Fernando inhaled a shuddering breath.

  Yes, he replied. He hated this. He hated being so open.

  I know, love. Bridget smiled warmly. She knew what caused him to shut himself off from her, from everyone.

  “Stop Bridget.” Fernando lowered his head, covering his eyes with his hand. I can’t go there again. He felt her sweep his dark curls aside.

  “Alright.” She lifted his chin and took away his hand. “I have what I want. Maybe when this is all over you will realize that this is what you want too.” She leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

  The sense of her passion swept through him, threatening to overload him. Under it, buoying the physicality of her desire was what he knew was there for so long but was afraid to acknowledge, or even allow for its return.

  Breaking the embrace, he leaned back. “I have to go now.”

  “I know,” she said sadly. “Just promise me something else.”

  “What now, Bridget?” Exasperated and shaken, Fernando stood and walked to the skewed door hanging limply in the frame.

  “Come back to me alive.”

  Fernando turned to face his sire. Concern fought with fear for prominence on her beautiful pale face, and in her heart. “I will,” he nodded.

  Picking up the suitcase sitting on the stoop, Fernando stepped into the night. Bridget’s touch on his body, mind and soul still lingered.

  Chapter XXIII

  Side by side they walked down the street. The beautiful day had turned into a jewelled night that brought with it the cold kiss of winter to come. Jeanie’s breath steadily puffed light clouds as her shoes clicked quickly along the cobbles.

  He slowed the pace. They had plenty of time to reach the ship and it was too easy for him to forget that his strides, even at a mortal pace, could leave many a person running behind. Even Notus would complain on occasion.

  Shifting his grips on the suitcases, he bumped his sword strapped to his hip under the cloak. They had not conversed much since they had left the restaurant. Then again he had hardly said a word over dinner, allowing Jeanie to divulge the secrets of her life in Scotland. It was nice hearing her stories as he twirled the wine glass half full of Merlot between his hands. Every so often he would fake a sip and place it back down. He could not understand what was so appealing of the dark red liquid. It would have been nicer had he been able to wear his cloak.

  He was sure that Jeanie was aware of the stares he received even if she could not hear the comments that his sensitive ears picked up. He had wanted to look up and gaze into eyes the colour of new growth, but he dared not lest he see the looks on the other patrons.

  Jeanie had talked and enjoyed and tried her best to make him feel as if they were the only two in the restaurant and he deeply appreciated her attempt, but it was when she clasped her hand over his and said that they could go if he wanted that he released the anxious breath he had been harbouring. Noticing her mostly eaten plate and her empty wine glass, he had matched her eyes and nodded. Fishing out what he figured was more than enough, he dropped the notes on the table and they left. He had never felt so grateful for the camouflage of his long black cloak.

  The special something Jeanie had bought had stunned him when she had come out of the bathroom wearing the forest green dress he had dreamed her in. Even down to how she arranged her hair under the lace and green hat held with a long dangerous looking pin. She looked the Lady. No evidence of her housekeeper self remained. And then she did the unexpected – she smiled at his reaction. Every part of her glowed and it was all he could do to stop himself from devouring her right then and there. He had to satisfy himself with a deep lingering kiss that stole her breath away.

  Noticing that Jeanie had fallen back, he halted at the turn that would take them to the harbour.

  A frown pouted Jeanie’s lips. “I’m sorry. I dinna realize that it would be that bad.”

  His thin sculpted brows drew together, not understanding what she was referring to.

  “It’s just that I guess I dinna see what the other’s see,” explained Jeanie, reading the question on his shadowed face. “I just see you.”

  Finally comprehending what Jeanie was alluding to, he sighed and placed the suitcases down. Relieved of his burden, he took the couple of strides to stand before her. Taking her green velvet gloved hands in his, Jeanie looked up. “You and a very small number,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting subtly in a sad smile.

  “But how can ye stand it?” implored Jeanie. A tear escaped, leaving a glittering trail in its wake. “I couldna hear all that was whispered, but…”

  “You knew,” he finished with a sigh. He had heard every word, from the malicious and cruel to the curious and dubious.

  Jeanie nodded.

  He gazed over her head into the night unable to match her forlorn expression on his behalf. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I never have and, most probably, never will.” He returned his view to her beatific face and hitched a shoulder. “Why do you think I wear this cloak? I learned long before I was Chosen how different my appearance is and the reactions it creates in others. It’s safer this way. It’s okay.”

  More tears spilled down Jeanie’s freckled face and she threw herself onto him with a fierce hug.

  “Oh Gw
yn, I wilna let that happen again. Ye dinna hae t’come with me.” Startled at the low rumble of a chuckle, Jeanie pulled back to stare up into his crimson eyes alight with amusement.

  “Jeanie, you have to eat,” he smiled, wiping away the tears from her face. “I’m not going to let you go and enjoy a nice dinner while I lurk outside. I’ve tolerated this and much worse over the centuries, I think I can endure the glares and comments if it means I spend time with you.”

  Sniffing away her tears, Jeanie’s eyes grew serious. “But ye need to eat too, aye?”

  The seriousness of her question made the air heavy between them and he nodded.

  “I do, but not as often as when I was first Chosen. In any case, if I do have to feed, you’ll be the first to know.” He trailed his hand down the side of her face to her neck until his fingers thrilled at the rhythmic dance beneath them. Feeling her pulse shoot up, he saw in her eyes the same need that pulled at him and he bent down to find her mouth inviting him to discover more had they not been in the middle of the walkway.

  “Great. I did not need to see this.”

  A deep accented voice broke the mood, tearing them apart from one another still unsatisfied. Turning they witnessed Fernando striding towards them, his dark cape fluttering back from his broad shoulders.

  “Then ye dinna hae t’look,” snapped Jeanie, rounding on the Noble’s intrusion.

  Fernando came to an abrupt halt at the vehemence in her voice and raised his brows in annoyance before darkening with fury. “I thought you were going to keep her under control.”

  “I’m not her master,” whispered the Angel, not hiding the acrimony in his inflections. “I believe I made that clear.”

  Clenching his jaw, Fernando glared at each before stepping forward to the turn that would take them down to the harbour and the ship.