Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  Vampires were real.

  Vampires were the ones succeeding in the genocide of the Chosen.

  He damned himself and the Chosen for their presumption.

  Oh how wrong they all were.

  He wept.

  Chapter XXXV

  Jeanie’s mouth felt full of cotton. Smacking her lips, she tried to bring much needed moisture and found none. Head pounding, she carefully opened her eyes and wish she had not. The dim candlelight was enough to make her groan as she lifted weighted arms to cover her face. A rumble from her stomach added to the distress. Jeanie was hungry, but more than that she was incredibly thirsty.

  Arms flopping impotently to the sides of her head, she made another attempt to open her eyes. Slowly, she was able to take in the swirling patterns of the stucco ceiling. Violet’s bed was comforting to her weary body, but this did not look like Violet’s room at the Rose and Thorn.

  Memory crashed into Jeanie, causing her to gasp. The cold hand clamped over her mouth as an unknown assailant carried her bodily. The Angel’s destruction gored the front entrance of the mansion and his beautiful crimson eyes reflecting despair in defeat. Violet standing triumphant on the stairs as Jeanie was whisked past. The sounds of two shots and then being thrust into the grand room she now found herself in.

  Jeanie had first railed against the locked door, crying out to be released. Self-hatred boiled up at the comprehension that it was she that had brought about the Angel’s capture. The idea that he would be killed because of her stubborn selfishness made her slam against the door, pounding it until the wood split her knuckles and fingers.

  It was a shock when the door clicked and opened, revealing her friend in glamorous attire. Violet entered the boudoir and closed the door behind, all the while watching Jeanie’s blood well in the scrapes. It was all the more horrific what Violet did next.

  Grasping Jeanie’s hands in a vice like grip, Violet purring like a mother cat, licked the wounds clean.

  Jeanie tried to pull away, but could not. This was her friend. The one who always laughed at the penny presses that Jeanie brought back, especially ones about vampires; the one who had been so supportive of trying to find a way for Jeanie to be with the Angel; the one who lived down the hall; the one Alice always had misgivings about; the one Tom steered clear of – the one who was behind the poisoning of the Chosen.

  It all seemed surreal; this creature standing before her, with her blood staining Violet's lips.

  “Exquisite,” sighed Violet, running her tongue over lips. “Had I known how delicious you would taste I would have made you mine years ago.”

  Jeanie’s eyes widened and she stepped backwards until she ran into the dressing table, her body trembling. “What are ye?”

  A secretive smile pulled at the corners of Violets lips, her blue eyes sparkling. “My dear friend – do you realize you are the only one I call friend? No? No matter.” Black waves swelled and then settled on Violet’s shoulders as she shook her head. “I am that which all mortals fear. I am a Vampire.”

  Jeanie could not believe what she was hearing. “Ye’re...ye're poisoning yer own kin?”

  Violet was upon her faster than she could imagine. Their faces only inches apart, so close that Jeanie could smell her fetid breath and trembled at the fury in Violet’s face.

  “You mistake me for a Chosen?” roared Violet.

  Pain smacked against Jeanie’s back and head and she found herself being lifted off the floor, Violet’s petite hands bruising her upper arms.

  “The Chosen are nothing,” raged Violet. “It will be the Vampires who will rule.”

  Shocked and dazed, Jeanie fought to free herself only to give up at the sight of Violet’s smile. Normal appearing teeth gave way to the gruesome reality of the sketches found in her novels. Violet’s teeth grew into two long points and before Jeanie could react, sharp pain rendered her motionless as her once-friend bit deep into her neck.

  No sensations of pleasure. Only horror and pain as Jeanie tried to make non-functioning limbs fight against what Violet drew out of her until the blackness overwhelmed her.

  Supine on the silk, the scent of cooked meat and fresh bread drifted to Jeanie’s nose and she inhaled deeply, sending her stomach into a frenzy of rumbling. Blissful saliva flooded her mouth and she sat up, swinging legs over the side to dangle bonelessly. An upsurge of nausea and stabbing lights made her groan as she sat, gripping the edge of the gold coverlet in suddenly clammy hands. A few deep breaths steadied the spinning room and reduced the sledgehammer battering her brain to a dull throb. Turning her head in the direction of the delicious fragrance, Jeanie caught her breath as renewed pain flared in her neck where Violet had bitten her.

  Clamping a hand over the wound, the pressure dulled the sharp pain. Jeanie carefully stood and stumbled towards the dressing table. Hand trembling, she pulled out the red and gold embroidered cushioned chair and sat down with a sigh.

  In the mirror before her, Jeanie barely recognized herself. Dark circles bruised her eyes and tainted the corners of her mouth, starkly contrasting her wan face. Even her lips had taken on a tinge of blue. Swallowing down the fear reflected in her green eyes, Jeanie cautiously lifted her hand away from the wound on her neck and gasped. Two scabbed over holes were surrounded by blackened flesh.

  Tears welled and dripped down. A part of Jeanie’s mind was amazed she had enough moisture for that. Tilting her head, she brushed errant locks from the bite mark. They were so unlike what she had experienced with the Angel. This was neither soft nor pleasurable.

  Tentatively, she touched her fingertips to the holes and moaned.

  Lowering her eyes from the mirror, she dropped her hand to the red stained surface of the table and the silver tray that contained a plate of rare steak, new potatoes and greens. A small loaf sent wisps of steam into the air, while condensation dripped down the silver pitcher filled with ice water.

  Despair flooded through Jeanie, forcing the tears to flow faster. Everything had gone so horribly wrong and her fears for the Angel clenched her belly into knots. Jeanie knew she could not live without him and she picked up the knife left for her to cut the meat. Its silver gleamed in the candlelight. It would be so easy to plunge its serrated edge into her abdomen, but she remembered what he had asked of her to do if he never returned and she dropped the knife with a clatter against the table.

  She had to find a way out of here and escape back to London with what she had learned. Maybe it would be enough to purchase Notus’ freedom and then they would be able to grieve together, but to do that she needed sustenance.

  Picking up fork and knife in tremulous hands, Jeanie cut through the juicy red meat, its appearance sending a flood into her mouth in expectation. She had no doubt that everything was spiced with the poisonous herbs, but she had to eat. The first bloody mouthful vanquished any rational thought as Jeanie rapaciously tore into her meal, washing large chunks down with gulps of water.

  Bit by bite, Jeanie felt her strength returning, yet the pervading fatigue still ached her joints and muscles. Sopping up the red juices left from the nearly raw meat, Jeanie settled back against the rod iron backing of the seat and sighed. She hated the fact that it had been the most delicious meal she had ever had.

  Strength returning, Jeanie stood and walked to the draped windows. Sweeping the red velvet curtains proved her entrapment. Shoulders slouched in defeat; Jeanie went to the other window covering and pushed them out of the way.

  A glimmer of hope flushed through her and she knelt down to peer through the small space left at the base of the window that allowed the night to creep in through a badly painted job.

  It would be a tight fit once she figured out how to break the glass. The only hesitation was that the ground was far below. A sigh shuddered through her and she knew what she had to do, there was no choice except for what she would use to break the window. She could not remain here.

  Groaning as she stood from her crouched position, Jeanie paced the r
oom discovering what item would be best to shatter the glass when she heard voices outside her door.

  Frozen with renewed fear, Jeanie placed the tall silver trifurcated candlestick back down on the night table. It was when she heard Violet’s voice that all thought fled her mind and she felt herself being drawn to the door. A sudden desire to hear her friend speak again welled within as she touched the dark oak.

  A tremor passed through her with Violet’s soft tones.

  Stunned at the sudden craving to do the Mistress’ desires, Jeanie’s eyes widened and dropped her hand from the wound on her neck.

  Her breath came in short gasps and Jeanie tried to school her feelings. She knew something was wrong and shook her head. Thinking was becoming hard to accomplish. All she could do was to stand there, pressed against the door, listening intently.

  “Here is the letter, Gustav. Please make sure that Mr. Vale receives it before he sails tonight.”

  A rustle of paper, and then silence.

  “Yes, my lady. What should I inform my Lord in regards to the Chosen?”

  Violets laugh weakened Jeanie’s legs, sending her sliding down the door. “Tell Mr. Vale that de Sagres has been dispatched with the dawn. As for the Angel,” stated Violet, possessively, “he is mine and he will continue to be mine until I bore of him.”

  Jeanie’s eyes popped open at the sudden realization that he was still alive and pressed her ear against the wood.

  “Of course, my lady,” replied Gustav. “Do you desire to keep the Angel in the entertainment room? Or shall I make alternative arrangements?”

  “The entertainment room is just fine, Gustav,” smiled Violet as she walked down the hall.

  “Master Vale will not like that, my lady,” replied Gustav.

  “I know that,” snapped Violet. “France is mine. She said so. While Mr. Vale is here, he is under my authority.”

  “Yes, my lady,” cowed the servant.

  “Good,” said Violet, brusquely. “I want that letter sent so that Mr. Vale has it upon awakening at sunset; a copy is to be sent by telegraph to my Lady. Return with Mr. Vale's reply.”

  Jeanie pressed harder against the wood as their voices faded.

  “Prepare my crypt, Gustav, The sun is near to rising.”

  Gustav’s reply descended down the stairs and out of Jeanie’s hearing.

  Pushing herself away from the door, Jeanie stood, elated with the knowledge that the Angel was still alive. The news changed everything. If she could get out and find some help she could come back and rescue him. It would be difficult. Her reaction to Violet’s presence unnerved her, but Violet would be asleep with the dawn and Jeanie was relieved that the Vampire would not be sleeping here.

  Strengthened with renewed purpose, Jeanie picked up the candlestick and went to the window. It was now or never. Crouching down, with the drapery cloaking her presence, Jeanie waited for the first hints of dawn and the realization that with it, Fernando de Sagres would be dead. Closing her eyes, she was surprised to feel sadness at the Chosen’s passing.

  The night turned to a dull grey and then to the return of colour. The sun still had not peeked over the horizon but there was enough light for Jeanie to see how far up she truly was. It did not matter; she had to make the attempt. Turning her face away, she smashed the glass with the candlestick.

  Shards flew across her hand, lacerating it. Ignoring the stinging pain, Jeanie smashed again and again until the opening was large enough to squeeze through.

  Dropping the bloodied candlestick onto the floor beside her, Jeanie took a deep breath, prayed that the rest of the window would not slide down on top of her, and pushed her head through.

  The descent was precarious, but she found what she had not expected to find, a trellis buried beneath rose stalks. Ducking her head back in, Jeanie knew going out head first would not give her the purchase needed to climb down and she turned around. Carefully, she stuck her legs out and hissed as her stockings caught on the glass shards, ripping the fabric and scraping her skin. Disregarding the pain, Jeanie pushed herself backwards, her skirts snagging. She knew she must look ridiculous but she pressed on until she was balancing precariously on her stomach. Floundering with legs dangling and feet slipping, Jeanie managed to find purchase on the trellis, and with a sigh began the descent.

  It was slow going, her hands and knees punctured over and over by vicious thorns. Jeanie sighed in relief when she finally came to stand amongst a monstrous garden. Shadowed from the first rays of dawn, she watched the colours return. She knew she was at the back of the villa and to find her way to the monastery she would have to go around to the front.

  Sucking at one of the scrapes in her hand, Jeanie stepped out of the sleeping garden only to jump back with a squeak at the sound of shattering glass.

  Gingerly, she peered up at the window that had not fallen and wondered what had made the sound. A streak of movement flashed in the corner of her eye and she turned towards it in expectation of being caught.

  Trails of smoke leading directly to a smaller building on the south end of the property confounded her. Heart hammering in her chest, Jeanie followed in desperate hope, constantly alert for any pursuers.

  The seam between the two wall length mirrors was firm and unyielding to Fernando’s prying fingers. Since awaking, he cursed his throbbing head and surveyed the room. There was no furniture to cast shadows, no candles to create light, only the ambient illumination from the external world showed the bleak future of what would happen come the rising of the sun.

  Turning his back on the glass, Fernando leaned heavily against it with a hiss. All three external walls were glass, and though the floor was of white marble streaked with black, the walls and ceilings were solidly mirrored. Once the sun rose there would be absolutely no place where the sun would not shine.

  If he could find the hidden door, Fernando might have a chance of escape. Returning to his search, he began to feel the first changes that would herald the sun’s rebirth and moved his hands along the seams in desperate hope to find the one that would lead to darkness.

  Completing the circuit around the room, anger swelled at his failure, sending his fist to shatter the mirror in front of him. The tinkling sound as glass hit marble did not relieve his anger, nor did the wainscoting directly behind the shattered mirror.

  Fear born hate seethed within him and he stomped over to the southern facing window trying in vain to ignore the rising prickling feeling along his skin. He was in time to watch a rider remove his mount from the stables and gallop out to the road.

  There was no comfort in the knowledge that he had been right about the mortal girl. Jeanie had proved to be the liability Fernando had expected her to be, but he did not know whom he should be angrier with, she or the Angel. Instead he chose both equally.

  Gazing over the southern yard, he could see the stables and their blissful darkness within. It would not be long before the sun kissed the sky and set his flesh aflame. Jaw clenched, Fernando knew there was only one option left and threw a punch to break the glass. Instead he was only rewarded with a spider web of cracks. Somehow the glass was reinforced.

  Swallowing down his rising panic, Fernando tried again, stumbling when his fist got stuck in the hole he had made. Thick glass sliced into his skin as he freed his hand, to heal instantaneously.

  Fernando peered through the hole and tested the glass with a finger. He had never seen such glass before and then he realized why the two inch thick window portrayed the world differently than it should. Expelling a shaking huff, he glanced to the east, through the leaded pane, to the rays sneaking into the sky. If he did not act soon, he would add to the streaks of black on the marble tile.

  Stepping as far back as possible from the hole he had made, his back touching mirror, Fernando took a deep shaking breath and did something he had not done since he was a child - he crossed himself. If God was listening then maybe there was hope, but Fernando doubted it in any case.

  A roar rumbled
deep in his throat and he pushed off from the mirror accelerating with preternatural speed to the hole in the window. Sunlight flooded into the room the instant his shoulder made contact with the glass. A rain of shards sliced into him, his blood igniting as his skin smouldered, and then he was falling.

  Blinded, burning agony ripped through Fernando, his body combusting as the full power of the sun poured over him. The impact onto the dewy grass expelled all his breath, leaving him unable to scream. Skin charring, eyes blinded, Fernando stumbled as fast as his roasting muscles could carry him towards the scent of horse and the promise of bloody healing.

  It was a blessed relief when darkness embraced him, extinguishing the flames as he stumbled into the stables. Only the burning pain and the violent hunger filled his being.

  Reduced to a mindless hungering beast, Fernando blindly grasped the mane of the horse in the closest stall. He acknowledged the bite of the terrified beast with a grunt, his sole attention on the blood scent.

  Trapped in its cubicle the horse reared. Fernando stepped close, ignoring the stabbing hooves, yanked the horse’s head down and found the fount. A victorious growl shook him as he sunk his teeth into the struggling beast. Life giving blood exploded into his mouth, filling him faster than he could manage. Drops of blood welled in the corners of his mouth to drip down his chin and onto his bloodstained shirt.

  A shudder stabbed through him as he suckled the wound, holding the horse still in an iron embrace, driving his teeth deeper when he felt the flow begin to slow. He felt the horse stumble to its knees and still Fernando held on, nursing the rejuvenating fluid until the heart began the stutter. The horse whinnied in terror and then convulsed, its body going slack.

  Fernando lifted his head from the velvet neck with a gasp and closed his eyes. Energy pulsated through him, heralding the beginnings of his body’s reparations. Eyes opening, he found he still could not see. There was only one thing he could do. Standing up, his joints creaking, Fernando laughed and turned to go down the stable intent on feasting on each of the panicked beasts.