Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  It was amazing that no matter how old they all were gift giving and, more importantly, receiving, still kept them young. Notus fondled the brown leather travel journal the Angel had given him, flipping through the decorated pages one by one, all the while the new point and shoot camera Bridget had bestowed, sat on his lap. The state of the art laptop, given by Fernando, lay by his feet.

  Fernando sat on the dark laminate before the tree reading the manual of the large projector and sound system that would be installed in his home before New Years. All his attention was honed onto the fact that he now had a home theatre. It also explained why Bridget had been adamantly against him purchasing one. The Noble glanced up from the print and smiled at her. Bridget beamed back, her fingers playing with the four-carat diamond ring on her left hand.

  The Angel unwound the white wires that ended in ear fobs and placed it in his ears. Manipulating the screen of the IPod he was surprised at the quantity of music listed. He knew it was Fernando’s idea for the device, but it had been Bridget who had filled it with his favourites.

  “Thank you,” He found a suite written by Hans Zimmer and pressed play. Soft melodious music filled his head before he turned it off and took out the fobs. Winding the wires around the device he looked up at his friends. He would listen to the rest of the powerful suite later. “Thank you both.”

  “Well, we figured you’d need a distraction on your long flight.” Bridget turned to face the Angel at the other end of the couch. “The Atlantic is the biggest crossing you’ll have ever made.”

  He grimaced at the thought. He had acquiesced to Notus’ desire to go into the Vampire-infested region for one reason – to protect his Chooser – but only if Notus agreed to stay the shortest time possible. This meant the scholar Notus was covering for had better heal damned fast. Notus had agreed. Now both would be traveling over deep water at high altitude and neither knew how the Angel’s differences would be affected. At least if he were to fall ill he would be in first class and it would only be eight or so hours – he hoped.

  Requiring a distraction from his worrisome thoughts, the Angel rose from the couch in one fluid motion. The three other Chosen halted in their admiration of their gifts, respective frowns forming on their faces. All knew the Angel well enough to recognize his agitation as he paced the length of the room.

  “What’s the matter, boy?” Notus gently closed the journal and placed it on his lap. His eyes never left the Angel.

  Halting in surprise, the Angel frowned. He knew it was not the concept of being in a giant steel tube propelled at high velocity and altitudes across the Atlantic Ocean that bothered him. He also knew it was not the danger presented by being Chosen in Vampire territory. He had proven his reaping capabilities over the last century. For the life of him he could not pin down the root of his anxiety when the trip to North America came up in conversation.

  The Angel shook his head in dismissal, refusing the attempt of a lie. Damp white locks were sent swinging against the nearly dry linen shirt. A distraction would be better. Taking the few steps to the front door he retrieved the case that held the sword. He needed to feel something solid, something tangible. Holding it lengthwise by two hands, the Angel frowned a moment. It had taken him months of painstaking effort to create the blade that slept in its case, but he never knew what to do with it until now. It was now or never.

  “This is for you.” The Angel stepped over destroyed gaudy paper and placed it on the floor before the Noble. The box thunked against the floor.

  Surprise lifted the Noble’s brows. Relinquishing the manual, Fernando eyed the long yellow wooden case decorated with four brass latches and then glanced up at the Angel. The two locked eyes for a moment before they broke away, one from embarrassment and the other shaken by the Angel’s intense scarlet irises.

  Fernando placed his sun kissed hands on the case and frowned down at the striations in the maple. “What is it?”

  “Open it and find out.” The Angel stepped lightly over the refuse and resumed his seat on the green leather sofa. A hint of a smile touched his eyes but not his lips, witnessing the concern on the Noble’s face. He did not doubt that Fernando was wondering what the catch was. For a brief instant the Angel contemplated relinquishing his controlled block on his abilities just to sense at this moment what Fernando may be feeling, but squashed it. Opening that door would probably ruin the evening for everyone.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Notus leaned forward so as to come closer to his son. He knew what was in the case and what it had cost the boy to make it.

  The Angel met his Choosers gaze. “I do.” The sound of four clicks in rapid succession brought his attention back to the Noble. “It’s too cumbersome for me to handle. Fernando would do better with it.”

  Notus did not need further explanation. Ever since the boy’s torture at the hands of the Vampires his ability to use the heavier European blades was near impossible. Any attempt, even after all this time, could cause the Angel to lose his grip on the blade as a spasm took hold and thus have disastrous results in a fight. Only the lighter Eastern blades could be used and that had taken nearly a quarter of a century for the Angel to master without suffering from the paralysing spasms.

  Even still, the Angel worried that he would drop the blades at the most inopportune moment and so devised that the pommels of the blades be connected to his bracers by a thick steel linked chain. It was an ingenious invention by the boy; one that saved his life several times and required him to develop a new form of swordsmanship.

  “Holy Mother of God!” exclaimed Fernando as he lifted the hand and a half sword from its case. He laid it by the flat of the blade across his left forearm as his right held the grip so as to ensure no fingerprints etched the mirror sheen of the steel.

  The Angel’s smile reached his lips as he watched Bridget slide down from her end of the couch near the tree to kneel beside her Chosen. Both were held enraptured.

  Lifting the blade to point towards the plastered ceiling, Fernando held the grip in both hands, testing the weight. The steel guard extended well past his curled fists, ending in identical teardrops of jet.

  “This is what you’ve been working on, haven’t you?” Bridget relaxed her pose to sit before the tree, her pale legs curling around her. A smile lit up her face.

  “You made this?” Fernando lowered the weapon and settled it back across his arm, his brown eyes never leaving its sheen.

  The Angel nodded. It was not often that he was able to surprise the Noble in a positive way and his smile broadened. “I hope you like it.”

  “Like it?” Fernando stared incredulously at the Angel.

  Bridget laughed. It was a rare occasion when her Chosen was made speechless and it was even rarer for the Angel be the cause. “Like it? He loves it!”

  Fernando turned his attention to Bridget and growled at her amusement. Placing the hand and a half back into its case, he gently closed the lid, keeping one hand on the case, his thumb stroking the smooth wood. This time he forced himself to meet the Angel’s disturbing eyes. At least this time there was laughter in them rather than the boiling dark emotions that resided there. “Thank you.”

  Hitching a shoulder, the Angel leaned back and broke eye contact, suddenly uncomfortable at the intensity of the Noble’s reaction.

  “I hope that you wield it with honour and purpose,” said Notus. He was always intrigued at the friendship the boy had made in the Master of Britain. It confused him to no end since they always seemed to distance themselves from each other the closer they seemed to get.

  “Of course.” Fernando offered a mischievous smile.

  Talk shifted to ordinary topics as the night wore on. Finding his eyes closing on their own accord, the Angel could no longer suppress his exhaustion. He enjoyed listening to the rolling conversation, establishing his standard role as observer rather than participant. A gentle thumping against the couch at Bridget’s end caused him to open his eyes.

  The Mistr
ess smiled and tapped the couch seat again. “It’s alright. Stretch out.”

  He did as he was told; his feet came to rest in her lap. A sigh escaped unbidden as Bridget applied her hands to his feet, rubbing them with a strength belied by the daintiness of her digits.

  “You never do that for me,” whined Fernando. He sank down in his chair.

  “You never ask,” countered Bridget. The corner of her lip lifted a fraction.

  “You never offered.”

  “I offer plenty.” Bridget’s smile widened.

  Fernando returned it but added a suggestive glint in his brown eyes. “That you do.”

  The conversation that followed was lost on the Angel as he slipped into sleep; the padded armrest became his pillow. Contentment and the warmth of friendship became his blanket.

  “He’s asleep.” Notus did not need to state the obvious. The sudden wave of fatigue that washed over the three Chosen was enough proof that the Angel had released his conscious control over his empathic abilities.

  Fernando and Bridget yawned in unison, gazes snapping to one another. Glancing the time on his Gucci, Fernando levered himself to stand. “We should get going, Bridget.”

  She nodded, slipped out from under the Angel’s bare feet and came to stand next to the Noble. “You’re right. We may have stayed too late already.”

  Notus rose and watched the Angel sleep. “Though I would have to say you could never outstay your welcome here, it may be time to wish each other a good morning. If you remember, there’s a storm outside.”

  “Oh, I forgot.” Fernando’s shoulders slumped.

  Bridget yawned once more as she walked to the window. Dawn was at least an hour off, but the storm outside was proof that neither the sun nor the Mistress or Master of the Chosen would get through this storm unscathed. She groaned at the sight of Mother Nature’s savage attack on Christmas morning as She threw more and more snow at the trapped populace.

  “As I mentioned earlier, you are most welcome to stay the day.” Notus took the drape from Bridget, closing it, cutting off the white frosted blur. “The Angel will be fine on the couch and you two can take his bed.” The monk turned to face both his guests. “The only thing you need to know and do is to barrier your minds, if you can, while you sleep.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Bridget, blonde brows furrowing.

  “Nightmares.” Concern darkened Notus’ gentle features.

  “Still?” Fernando scowled.

  “Always.”

  There was no need to say anything more. They had all witnessed the Angel in the throes of a nightmare, and after over a century the fodder for them had only increased. All knew which angel he was named for. There was only one person who took it harder than the rest – the Angel himself.

  Notus signed, glanced one last time at his sleeping son, and walked up the stairs to the bedrooms above. The Mistress and Master of Britain followed closely behind.

  Chapter VI

  Darkness encompassed him.

  It was not the gentle buoyant void that precipitated his visits with the Three Ladies in the Grove. This was harsh. Cold. He could not move.

  He tried to curl into a ball but was held spread-eagle. Anything to hide. It was not the white faced demons he hid from. He would have been happy had they came to surround and embrace him. He was their master now and fear had turned to begrudging acceptance.

  Here was a place where memories unfolded, twisted and pulled him to a past he refused to resolve.

  A nodule of pain ignited in the centre of his wrists and began its pulsating fire outwards. Its tendrils snaked up to blossom in his hands, setting them ablaze as the flow of fire cascaded down his arms to mix with the inferno that was his back. Attempting to draw his arms closer to his body only excited the flames to burn brighter.

  A shock of fire sliced across his back forcing a grunt from his throat. He knew where he was. He knew when he was. He was in his self made purgatory for the deaths of those innocent he could not save as he slew those who attempted genocide against the Chosen. It was his self made Hell for the death of Jeanie. He whimpered, refusing to release himself from damnation.

  Light sparked in the distance. A pinpoint ahead steadily grew an explosion of brilliance with each increase of diameter. With each nova a slice of pain slashed through his back until the void brightened.

  He was back, hanging by iron shackles facing a wall littered with strangely shaped steel instruments. All appeared deadly and well used. Bits of dried flesh and splatters of congealed blood marred the mirror sheen. He had returned to the chamber that had scarred him body and soul.

  A cold metal rod stung his chin as it lifted his head up, forcing his eyes to meet with blue ones so pale that they were violet. Raven black hair spilled around a white heart shaped face, locks curling on shoulders clad in crimson.

  It was the eyes that held his soul prisoner as the shackles held his body in fiery torment. A sinister smile split her bloodied lips, revealing canine teeth extended to deadly points.

  “You are my prisoner, now and for always,” she purred. “In death I have become more than I ever could have in life. For that I thank you with a kiss.”

  She leaned forward, pressing her corseted clad breasts against his sliced chest. Even through the layers of blood red cloth the chill of her undead flesh extracted the inferno of his fevered flesh, sending him trembling. Cold kisses trailed down from his jaw to settle on the great vessel in his neck. It took all his effort not to vomit. It took everything else to stay perfectly still.

  He knew what would be next and even knowing it as a dream he would not stop it. Hot tears spilled from his eyes, making trails in his blood bespeckled face. A scrape of teeth against his skin precipitated the biting cold as her Vampire fangs ripped into skin and meat to create the fount of blood flow.

  He cried out against the pain, against the ecstasy that her kiss elicited from him. Tears of humiliation and loss flowed faster as convulsing sobs shook him.

  He did not know when she had ceased feeding, but her body stayed pressed against his. Her putrid breath tickled the quickly closing wound. It was the change in her voice that snapped him from his torment and settled a boulder in the pit of his stomach. A chill washed through him, extinguishing the blazes of his tortured form.

  This was new. Reliving the torture at the hands of Violet had become par for the course, but this, this was new. He tried to turn away, ignoring the shocking pain through his wrists and arms. Pain erupted across his back and chest but the shackles held him firm. He needed to flee. He could not take what was to happen. Locked in the misery of his own making his ruby eyes widened as the woman pulled away.

  No longer was her hair a black curtain. Now it flowed, twisting and curling with cinnamon, auburn and chestnut. No longer were her eyes the blue of flowers. They had become the green of grasses and leaves in summertime. A dash of freckles across cheeks and nose replaced a cold porcelain face. The only thing that remained the same was her mouth. Vampire fangs dripped his blood as she smiled triumphantly. He desperately desired to scream but terror closed his throat. He could not believe whom he saw.

  Jeanie stood before him, dripping his blood from her chin. Jeanie, whose smile had torn down the walls around his heart and had taught him how to love. She was the only one in all existence whom he had fully opened himself to and had been returned in kind. She was the woman of his heart whom he had failed so miserably, for she lay six feet under in a grave Notus had refused to reveal.

  Jeanie was over a century dead. Her corpse was nothing but rotting flesh and mouldy bones, but here she stood, in his nightmare, dripping his blood from a mouth he longed to kiss. Now it was twisted with rage and loathing.

  “Ye broke yer Oath,” sneered Jeanie. She leaned in close and brushed back his long white hair to whisper in his ear. He failed in his attempt to squash his tremors. “Tis time t’ pay.”

  A shaft of pure molten pain shot into him just below his left ribcage and exploded through h
is body. The last image to fill his vision before the scream tore his throat was Geraint’s sword impaled through his body, the hilt held fast in Jeanie’s hand as she laughed.

  “No!”

  He did not know if he heard the shout or it was a product of his nightmare, but it had bolted him upright. Shudders rocked him and he allowed his waist length white hair to veil his face. He could not bear to see the cheerful Christmas decorations mocking his torment. Tears flowed unhindered and he buried his face in his hands, pausing for a fraction of a second to glance at the old silver scars ringing his wrists and the starburst pattern in the centre that was mirrored on the other side. He bit his lower lip in an attempt to keep his pain silent. He did not want to wake Notus yet again.

  Another bone wracking sob tore through him. He had brought so much pain to so many and the worst always befell the ones he loved. He knew Notus worried about him but nothing could be done to relieve the guilt and sorrow he used to rebuild the wall around his heart.

  A hand alighted on his shoulder, startling him. It moved down his arm as a weight settled on the sofa beside him. It was too light to be Notus and the concern that radiated towards him was too intense. Wiping the tears from his eyes with his fingers he felt the curtain of hair part and he gazed down on Bridget’s beautiful face. Sky blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

  He gasped at the realization that she and Fernando were witness to the nightmare. He could feel the Noble’s worry mixed with annoyance coming from upstairs and Bridget’s feelings flowing beside him. It was not right what his dreaming had done to them and he failed miserably at his attempt to place the blocks on his newest abilities.

  Bridget’s hand cupped his cheek, thumb wiping away the moisture with her gentle touch. He closed his eyes, releasing a new wash of tears. He could feel her need to alleviate his self induced torment and what it cost her not to be able to help.