Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  Light headed, he knew that had he not awoken he would be forever with the white- faced demons. He trembled at the thought.

  “Gwyn, are you alright?”

  Jeanie’s distressed tones added to his turbulent mind and found he could not answer as he hugged himself in a vain attempt to get his shaking under control.

  A hot touch alighted on his shoulder catching him unawares. Instinctively, he pushed the offending touch away. It was too cloying, too demanding of his flesh, too reminiscent of cold dead hands clambering to use and abuse him. It was too real of the reminder of a promise yet unfulfilled.

  It was only when he heard Jeanie’s gasp of shock and a thump as she tottered over onto her rump from the force of his action, that he realized she was not part of the dream. Opening his eyes, he saw her beside him, green eyes staring up at him with surprised hurt that swept his breath away, leaving guilt to enter into the mix of obstreperous emotions.

  He could not let her know about the dreams that were not dreams. Not even Notus knew about them. He swallowed down a dry gullet. “Just a nightmare.”

  Jeanie just stared at him, disbelieving the lie because of the truth it hid. She had never seen anyone react like that from a nightmare and massaged the feeling back into her hand from his blow. “That weren’t no ordinary nightmare.”

  Abashed, he lowered his eyes, the dream and its effects diminishing but not forgotten. “I’m sorry.” He took a deep shaking breath, let it out slowly and felt control returning.

  Jeanie moved closer and tentatively placed her hand on his forearm that hugged his chest. This time he did not shove her away, but rather glanced up at her. Jeanie could feel him trembling beneath her fingers.

  “Do ye wish t’ tell me about it?” she offered, her voice soft and soothing.

  He shook his head, sending his long hair brushing over his arms and her hand. He could not tell her. He could not tell a soul.

  Made uncomfortable by her probing concern and her proximity, he stood, grabbing his trousers and quickly slipped them on.

  A glance at the curtained window and the tingling along his skin told him it was still day, but any thought of sleep became its own dream.

  Frowning, he realized that once the sun was down he and Fernando would be visiting Le Jardin. The sense of foreboding that had slowly relinquished its hold upon awakening slammed back into his gut, causing him to gasp.

  “What is it?” Jeanie stood up and went to his side. His erratic behaviour since he awoke confused and confounded her. She had never seen him so out of sorts. It begged the question as to what had happened to him since they arrived at the Abbey.

  A chill ran up his spine.

  “You can’t come,” he whispered, refusing to look at her. He knew in some deep recess that tonight would change everything and he was impotent to stop it. The only thing he could do was to keep his oath to keep Jeanie safe.

  “What are ye talkin’ about?” Confused, Jeanie tried to catch his distraught blood red eyes, but he only turned away from her.

  He took a deep steadying breath and closed his eyes. To keep his oath he would have to break a promise. “Fernando found the whereabouts of Le Jardin. He and I are going there tonight.”

  Jeanie could not believe what she was hearing. Events and facts seemed to be moving at lightning speed. One minute he was in the deep throws of a night terror and the next one he was informing her that they were further along in their quest than when they left Calais. Her mind reeling from the information, Jeanie did not know whether to be disconcerted or happy. “When do we leave?”

  “You’re not coming.” He turned and found Jeanie’s shocked expression questioning him.

  “What d’ye mean?” She shook her head in disbelief. He had promised her that she would go with him. The idea of being left behind rankled.

  Shoulders slumping at the spark that flickered in her emerald eyes, he sat heavily on the bed and gazed at his hands on his lap. The cut that had appeared to be healing was now ringed in red. Closing his hands into fists he gazed into Jeanie’s eyes, hating what he had to do.

  “I need you to stay here. I need to know that you are safe.”

  “But I’m safe when I’m with you,” bemoaned Jeanie.

  Unable to bear Jeanie’s stupefied expression, he flickered his gaze to the curtained window and then at his torturous bed and the promises that were made there. When he met Jeanie’s eyes again he knew that who she saw was the Angel returned.

  “I need you here, where it is safe,” he reiterated. “If Fernando or I don’t make it back by dawn, you are to take the money I have in my suitcase and return to England. If Fernando is with you, go and try and free Notus with what you’ve learned. If you go alone, take what money is left and go back home to Scotland.”

  Jeanie could not believe what she was hearing and shook her head in denial. “Ye sound as if yer never comin’ back.”

  It was the flicker of admission in his ruby eyes that caught her breath and irked her. She could not let him go without her. “I’m goin’ with ye,” she stated plainly, her anger rising.

  He had a feeling that this would happen, as it seemed to happen over and over throughout this horrid quest. This time he could not allow Jeanie to dissuade him. “Not this time,” he said, slowly rising to his feet to stare down at her, the full countenance of the Angel upon him.

  “How dare ye? Ye said –”

  “I know what I said and I know what I promised.” He countered her growing fury with cold control. Jeanie no longer rattled him. “I also know the Oath I swore on my sword.”

  Jeanie’s head snapped back as if slapped.

  Pressing his advantage, he stepped into the gap. Wide green eyes met his. “If I have to, I will tie you to this chair.”

  “Ye wouldna dare,” hissed Jeanie.

  He hated seeing such emotion on her beautiful face, but he had no choice and matched it with the full force of the Angel. “Try me.”

  Jeanie’s choler fled at the presence of the Angel and for the first time fear of him grasped her innards, making her legs weak. Taking a step backwards, she turned and fled the small room they shared, sobbing as she slammed the door behind her.

  The loud crash of the door making contact with the frame resonated through the room and shook his bones, leaving him weak and despondent. It was done and he hated how it had gone. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her and what that meant to him, but the chance was irrevocably gone.

  Turning to his suitcase that sat on the floor against the wall, he knelt, opening the latches and lifted. Everything he needed was here except for the sword that lay on the floor beside the case.

  Black leather boots, soft and supple in his hands were but a pale imitation of Jeanie’s touch. Slumping in self-defeated victory, he prayed that Jeanie would understand and forgive him if he survived.

  Chapter XXXIII

  Silently he slipped behind the sculpted coniferous hedge. Shadows engulfed him as a treacherous gibbous moon threw off her cloudy veils to the impassioned breath of the western wind. Crouched down, his hands sunk into the cold loam purchasing his balance. The only evidence of his presence was the slight wisp of breath that the wind whipped away.

  A rustle of fabric and a scuttle of jostled deadfall behind and off to the right sagged his shoulders as he shook his head at the Noble’s noisy approach. He was starting to wonder if he should have left both Jeanie and Fernando behind and gone alone. Unfortunately, he could not tie Fernando to a chair.

  The Noble hunkered down beside the Angel and noted the disgruntled expression. The Angel had seemed out of sorts since they had met up outside their rooms just after sundown, and Fernando did not need to be a genius to figure out why. The lack of Jeanie’s presence and the slamming that had awoken him was enough to tell him what he needed to know. It was the Angel’s raiment that was a surprise.

  Crouched beside his partner the Noble noted the soft matte black boots, the fine knit black turtle-neck sweater tucked into black
cotton trousers, and how the worn black leather straps crossed in the middle of the Angel’s chest while securely holding the sword on his back. Even the Angel’s long white hair was given to contrast with the black suede headband holding stray white strands while the rest was interwoven in a single long braid.

  “You’ve done this before,” stated Fernando in a quiet voice.

  The question caught the Angel off guard and he pulled his gaze from the large villa to land briefly on the Noble who was ill attired for what they were about to do. It was clear to him that whatever knowledge Fernando may have had early on in his immortal life was no longer remembered after centuries of relative civilian comfort. Returning to his study of the sparsely illuminated building, he gave a curt nod.

  Fernando followed the crimson gaze to the large estate wondering what the Angel was looking for. He was not surprised at the answer, but it begged another question. “You do this sort of thing a lot?”

  He closed his eyes and huffed out his exasperation. Maybe there could have been a way to keep Fernando at the monastery. The image of a raging Fernando bound and gagged momentarily flitted a slight smile to his lips. There was only one way to get Fernando off his back, just for this evening.

  “I will answer you, but only on one condition.” His voice slid into the night, mingling as if one of the natural nocturnal sounds.

  It was not what Fernando was expecting for an answer. “What condition?” he drawled, squinting in suspicion.

  His hard eyes fell onto the Noble. “It is clear that you have never done this before. I will answer your question if you will follow my orders. If not, then turn around and go back to the monastery. I will take care of this myself, unhindered.”

  Rage broiled up in the Noble. He began to splutter indignantly when a white hand covered his mouth, stilling his immanent outburst. Fernando could feel the Angel behind him, tense and focused, and wondered at the swift silent movement that took him by surprise.

  A whisper of warm air tickled his ear and he realized that the Angel was speaking so softly that he had to strain to listen.“For the last seven hundred years Notus has never once needed to earn a single penny. Do you understand my meaning?”

  He hated being pressed against the Noble, breathing in his dark scent, but it was only when he felt realization sink in that he released his hold to gaze into shocked brown eyes.

  “Shit,” swore Fernando. It explained so much. Irritation tickled the surface. Finally comprehending how truly dangerous his partner was needled him as pride and ego fell a notch. No longer could Fernando say he was the most knowledgeable in the killing arts.

  Oh he had bested his skills with dagger, sword and western fighting forms with other Chosen who kept up their mortal practices, but it was plainly obvious that the Angel was his superior in this, and it rankled.

  “Good,” stated the Angel matter-of-factly. He turned to peer over the hedge at the seventeenth century three-story manse.

  Made of grey stone, each large block was carefully crafted. Around the arched front double oaken doors, sculpted stone flowers created a trellis of petrified foliage. Over the vaulted entrance a magnificent stone canopy hung upon Roman columns, promising refuge on the rainiest of days for carriages and visitors alike. On the southern facing wall to the left, from his vantage point, defoliated ivy climbed, promising the greening of life back into stone which tentatively reached out to begin the process along the front facing. At regular intervals, precisely spaced on either side of the door, eight large arched windows faced towards them. It was the large plate glass windows on the second floor south side that piqued his interest.

  Flickering lights emanated from several windows on the main floor. Only two illuminated the second floor north wing. The third level was completely dark.

  The distant sound of horses’ hooves crunched the loose gravel of the road, leather and wood creaked, and iron shod wheels shushed over stone alerted him of a new presence to the seemingly unpopulated estate. Signalling Fernando to hunker down, they carefully spread the branches to watch the canvas covered wagon, driven by two men and pulled by four horses, as it passed through the iron barred gates. Only the soft sounds of sleepy draught horses pulling their heavy load flitted to the Chosen’s ears.

  A chuck of the reigns and the horses headed south of the great fountain in the centre of the circular drive. The cement goddess with stone flowers in her hair, cradling a large jug, stood bereft of water. Only brown and golden leaves filled the basin.

  With a whuffle and a snort the horses came to a halt, giving leave for the two drivers to effortlessly leap off the cart and land heavily onto the drive.

  “Oy,” called out the tall heavyset man who had held the reigns.

  The shorter, yet broader man, stood languidly with his arm supported on the side of the bench. “D’ye think they heard?”

  The tall man turned to his partner with a feral grin. “They had better or they won’t see dawn.”

  “Lucky them,” chuckled the broad man. He turned to the sound of two pairs of feet running along the path that led off the drive to the south of the property.

  Noting the distraction, the Angel sought to gain a closer approach. With a tap on the Noble’s shoulder he silently left the shelter of the shrub’s shadow. It was easy to keep to the shadows, but the time it took required patience. Each movement was timed with the wind whisking new veils around the moon, only to be blown away no matter how hard the lady tried to cling.

  Methodically crossing open spaces with preternatural speed and uncanny silence, he found the vantage point he had hoped to reach undetected. In the darkness beneath a bush creatively styled to look like a nesting swan, he lay on the cold ground, the damp grass soaking his sweater. Near him, the gravel track to the stables led to the two men and the wagon.

  “Well it's 'bout time the two of you showed up,” declared the driver in obvious irritation.

  The Angel shot a glance over his shoulder to where Fernando waited beside a hedge and raised a hand indicating for him to stay where he was until the two pairs of legs ran past. He ignored the scowl and turned back to the action around the cart.

  Two younger men, barely out of their teens, arrived and skidded to a halt, kicking up stones. One bent over huffing in an attempt to regain his breath. The other, hands on his hips and taking huge gulps of air managed to gasp, “I'm sorry, sir. We weren't expecting you back tonight. The Mistress told us it would be tomorrow evening.”

  “Well, things change,” snapped the passenger, annoyed by the impertinence of one beneath him.

  “I want these barrels taken inside.” The driver thumbed in the direction of the hidden contents of the wagon.

  The two younger men's eyes went round as their jaws dropped. “But where, sir? The Mistress didn't say anything about you bringing it here.”

  The driver, his ire up, took a threatening step towards the two who cowered and trembled.

  “If the two of you wish to see the dawn,” snarled the driver, “you will take it down to the basement.”

  With the four men distracted, the Angel waved the Noble over, hoping that the raised voices would mask any sound Fernando made.

  Sliding onto his belly beside the Angel, the Noble firmly regretted the attire he had chosen. A fine Italian suit and the cape were proving more of a hindrance, and not to mention, Fernando fully doubted seeing this suit clean ever again. He was about to say something when the Angel shot him a cold glare.

  Jaw clenched in anger, Fernando turned to watch the interplay between the carters and the haulers and nearly jumped out of his skin when the Angel's breathy voice tickled his ear.

  “Did you bring your knives?” whispered the Angel. He knew they had to find out for certain if what he suspected was true, and that meant looking in those barrels before they were taken away.

  “Always,” replied Fernando, wondering what the Angel had in mind.

  “Do you think you can take out the two that just arrived, without them, or you, maki
ng a sound?”

  Fernando's eyebrows shot up. “You mean kill them?” Maybe taking directions from the Angel would not be too hard to swallow.

  The Angel nodded as he calculated the best way to take down the other two if Fernando managed to do what was expected of him. Killing the driver would be easy. It was his passenger, on the far side of the wagon that he would have to stop from running to the villa and that meant he would have to go down first. Rolling slightly onto his side, the Angel slipped his fingers between the wide leather baldric and his chest and pulled out three shuriken, their points glistening.

  Eyes wide at the deadly metal disks, Fernando glanced at the Angel's cold eyes and shuddered inwardly.

  In another time, in another place, the Angel would have enjoyed finally seeing fear on the Noble's face and knowing he was the cause. Now he had only the present and his immediate future required dispatching these four unsuspecting individuals. He could easily do it without Fernando's help, but the chance of one setting off an alert would be greater.

  Sliding the shuriken over each other, careful not to slice himself with the sharpened poisoned tips, he nodded his head, indicating to Fernando to take out his blades.

  Reaching to the hidden sheaths at the small of his back under his suit jacket, Fernando pulled out Yin and Yang and tested their balance as his elbows dug into the soft lawn. Over the silver and gold of the pommels, Fernando watched the younger men walk towards the back of the cart. It was now or never. Once they were in the confines of the canvas it would be near next to impossible to take them down silently. Timing was everything.

  With a quick glance at each other, both the Angel and the Noble exploded into action. Bolting up from under the swan, Fernando let fly the two daggers with supernatural speed as the Angel snapped the shuriken into the air.