Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  The Noble stared at him, brown eyes smouldering. The points brought one more to mind. “Being Master of the Chosen you no longer have dominance over me since I am no longer Chosen. I do not have to answer you.”

  He realized his mistake too late. Fernando stiffened his body tight in controlled rage. Bridget turned to face him, hurt and anger written across her delicate features.

  “No, you’re right,” she said cutting off Fernando’s response. Her voice was succinct as emotion threatened to overtake her. “We’re no longer your Master and Mistress. You are not beholden to us. I guess we were wrong all these years, protecting you from the other Masters and Mistresses from wanting to Destroy you because of your differences. That’s all they ever saw. They don’t know you. They only know the Angel, not the man behind him. Do you think we came all this way into Vampire infested territory because we were your Master and Mistress? We came here, searching for you, after finding out that you were no longer Chosen, not because of that, but because we thought we were friends.”

  He stared up in surprise into watery blue eyes, mortification twisting his guts. “I – I did not realize,” he said lamely. He dropped his gaze.

  “No, you didn’t,” said Fernando through clenched jaws.

  “And that’s the shame of it.” Bridget sat down beside him on the couch, taking his scarred and bruised hands into hers flawless ones.

  “Why the fuck do you think we came here?” accused the Noble.

  Guilt and confusion flowed through him and he pulled his hand back, not wanting to see the effects of his thoughtlessness on her face. Now he was mortal, and stripped of that identity he did not know who he was.

  Closing his eyes he could not believe how low he felt. Patterns of behaviour over centuries had taught him that there was only one reason for his worth – the Angel. He believed Notus had cared about him for himself. He was wrong. Notus had said so, denying him to be Chosen again by the man who had been more of a father to him than anyone in his life. Now he was mortal again and the truth had shown him the real reason. He had been an obligation due to a broken Oath. The truth of it slammed home and he had trouble forcing the tears back down.

  He had used the word friend to describe Bridget and Fernando, but only now did the true extent of its meaning strike him. Where Notus had abandoned him, they had left their safe home to travel to a dangerous place to help him in the name of that friendship. “I’m so sorry,” he said, opening his eyes to look at his friends.

  “You bet your sorry ass you are.” Fernando shook his head, a slight smirk marking his lips. “Now, if you’re done with your standard melancholy, I’d like to get past the mushy parts. It’s bad for my digestion.”

  Bridget smiled in agreement and brushed stray white hairs from his face with her cold hand. “Let’s see what the damage is.”

  “I hope it hurts,” muttered Fernando. “Too bad you left your paddles at home.” The last was directed at Bridget.

  “I didn’t have room for them in the suitcase,” countered Bridget, a golden eyebrow lifting.

  “No, of course not. Shoes are more important than toys.”

  “We don’t need toys,” purred Bridget.

  Fernando grinned back, his pointed Chosen teeth in full view.

  He was not so sure whether or not it was a good thing when Bridget returned her attention to him. “Let’s get you out of that,” she said, helping him as he shrugged out of his shirt.

  He did not know what to think when Fernando’s brows lifted and Bridget’s eyes went wide at the sight of his bare skin.

  “Finally, you’ll have some real colour,” jovially remarked the Noble.

  “Fernando!” admonished Bridget. Returning her attention to her patient she continued as she took in the scope of his wounds, “You’re arms are going to be black and blue. What did they hit you with? A crow bar?”

  “And red, don’t forget red,” commented Fernando.

  “And is that the burn from the lightning strike?” she said, a look of awe across her face. “That’s healing fast.”

  He knew they were just trying to lighten the mood but at the sight of the large welts running the lengths of his arms he was secretly impressed at how well he had defended himself against two creatures who were now stronger and faster than his mortal body. It was a miracle he had not broken an arm, or a leg. It was when he prodded the blossoming swelling down the left side of his ribcage that he realized he may have not gotten off that easily. “I think I have a broken rib.”

  “Let me see,” ordered Bridget as she began her own palpations.

  Each touch made him flinch eliciting more stabbing sensations. He tried to endure the examination with gritted teeth and was only able to relax his jaw when she finally removed her hands.

  “At least two are broken that I can feel,” she announced. “We can either go to a hospital to see what’s really going on with an x-ray, or I can bind them and hope for the best.”

  “You do it,” he replied. He gazed into blue eyes. “I trust you.”

  She rewarded him with a smile as she stood. Walking over to the stand next to the couch, Bridget picked up the mobile phone, punching numbers as she walked towards the window.

  Left effectively alone with the Noble, he turned to see a thoughtful expression cross Fernando’s face and was surprised when the Noble came to sit beside him on the couch. Uncomfortable with Fernando’s proximity, he tried to back away only to have his left hand caught in a cold grip. A dagger with a white dot in the centre of a black teardrop decorated the pommel of Yin, one of a matching pair of blades Fernando was never without, pressed against the back of his pale hand. Anger blossomed at the attack and tried to pull away only to find himself in an iron grip.

  “What are you doing?” he asked when he realized Bridget was out of sight.

  “You’re an ass, you know,” stated the Noble.

  “I thought that was reserved for you,” came the automatic reply.

  The pressure in the vice grip tightened and he felt his bones grate against each other causing him to wince.

  “Were you like this before you were Chosen?” sneered Fernando. “Or because of being Chosen? Shall we find out?”

  “What are you talking about?” His heart sped up.

  Fernando leaned closer, his voice turning sultry like a snake oil salesman. “Didn’t it occur to you that you could find out if the differences that marked you for Destruction as Chosen were because of an aberration in the blood you exchanged with Notus or because of something about you.”

  The query stunned him. It was not something that had come to mind since his return to mortality. He had had too much else to contemplate. Now with the question before him he frowned, staring at the bruising scars along the arm Fernando held fast. He did not recall having such reactions when last mortal, but could it be possible and if so what would that mean? Meeting Fernando’s gaze with determination he nodded once. “Do it.”

  An eager grin lifted the corners of Fernando’s lips, sending a chill to dampen the need for the truth. Before he could voice his concern Yin bit into the back of his left hand.

  Searing pain spread up his arm as the scent of burning flesh wafted to his nostrils. He watched in growing horror the cautery the simple dagger had caused. It was the sight of thin black tendrils slithering up his wrist to his forearm that widened his eyes. Without warning the room began to spin and the bottom of his stomach dropped.

  “You okay?” asked the Noble. Releasing the wounded hand, interest mixed with concern in his brown eyes, colouring his tone.

  No, he was not alright. Perspiration dotted his forehead and he felt his gore rise. “Washroom,” he croaked, scrabbling off the sofa. Somewhere in the background he heard Bridget call out to him as he managed to find the bathroom fixture before it was too late.

  The poison in his body shook him, expelling everything from his gut. He felt a blissfully cold hand on his forehead, supporting him, and one on his back. Another spasm rocked him and he f
elt the cracked rib give way with a snap. Agony stole his breath and his consciousness.

  Bridget caught the Angel before he could add insult to injury by falling onto the toilet. Just as she hung up on the concierge she watched the Angel race on unsteady legs to the bathroom. Calling out to him garnered a sick reply and she raced to follow. She supported him as he vomited, his skin blazing at her touch. It did not make sense. One minute he was fine and the next she was holding him as if he were one of her prostitutes having had too much to drink. It was the audible pop and the intake of breath that confirmed the broken rib. The sudden unconsciousness alarmed her.

  Standing up, the Angel’s weight easily managed, she found it was his bulk that made things difficult. “Fernando. Get in here now!” she shouted.

  “What? What did I do?” Fernando appeared in the doorway none too pleased about being called over. Fernando had been pleasantly surprised that the Angel decided to go along with the experiment. What had shocked the Noble was that the Angel’s differences had nothing to do with having been Chosen. It was not what he expected, as well as witnessing Bridget’s hand around the Angel’s slim waist while her other hand held his arm across her shoulders. Never before was it so apparent the size difference between the two. It would have made him laugh, if not for Bridget’s furious expression.

  “Do?” barked the Mistress. “That’s exactly what I’d like to know.” She stepped forward. The Angel’s lower legs dragged behind. An amused grin lighted the Nobel’s features. “Don’t you dare laugh,” she sneered.

  “No, of course not,” chuckled Fernando. “I would never do anything so disrespectful.” He broke into chest rattling laughter that brought tears to his eyes.

  Petering off, Fernando wiped his eyes and cleared his throat, noticing Bridget’s carefully contained fury. He was about to burst into new laughter when Bridget yelled and Sent, “Don’t you just stand there. Help me get him on the bed.”

  The double onslaught rang painfully in his head, causing him to wince. “Alright. Alright.” He stepped in to assist, taking the Angel’s other side and was surprised at the heat radiating off of him. The touch of the Angel had not been this hot since Fernando released the Angel from the manacles from Violet’s dungeon. “You didn’t have to shout.”

  Bridget shook her head in resignation and led the way out of the washroom and into the suite’s magnificent bedroom. The soft beige continued, blending with a soft rose and gold. The sand stained headboard was simple but lent austerity to the room. Simple brocade drapes, made from the same material as the sofa and chairs, hung to block out the night’s jewelled lights.

  Carefully laying the Angel on the king sized bed, Bridget rounded on her Chosen. “What did you do to him, Fernando? I turn my back for one moment and … What’s this? You cut him! I can’t believe you did that? You know better than anyone how iron affects him!” She placed the Angel’s wounded hand back onto the bed and scowled at the blossoming bruise around the fractured rib.

  “No, actually, we didn’t,” replied the Noble, dryly, his arms crossed over his chest. “He’s mortal now, if you’ve forgotten.”

  Bridget frowned and studied the charred edges of the cut and the receding black poison twining up his arm.

  “He agreed to it,” he continued. “It seems that which marked him for Destruction had no bearing on the Angel being Chosen. In fact, being Chosen probably kept him alive longer had he been left to his own devices.”

  A knock at the suite’s door raised Bridget to her feet. Jaw clenched, she did not realize she had moved preternaturally fast to the door until it loomed before her. Shaking her head, she knew she was angrier than she thought. The young man from the chemists appeared startled, his grey eyes wide as he handed her the shopping bag with one hand and a slip of paper with the other. Taking the paper, she signed it and gave it back with nary a word.

  Gently closing the door lest she slam and break it, Bridget turned around and tossed the bag onto the table next to the door. “But cutting him?” She shook her head, sending blond locks bouncing. “You couldn’t think of another way? One that wouldn’t cause his broken ribs to fracture even worse?”

  “I guess I could have, but where’s the fun in that?” Fernando’s grin melted into a scowl at how Bridget’s disgusted expression twisted her beauty. Collapsing on the sofa he glared at her. “And pray tell what would you have done?”

  “I would have waited until he healed.” Bridget stood her fists on her hips.

  Fernando snorted and rolled his eyes. “He’s mortal now. How long do broken ribs take to heal? Bridget, be real about this. I’m surprised he hadn’t checked this himself before now. Now we know and so does he.”

  “But you cut him. Doesn’t he have enough scars that you have to give him one more?”

  “Give me a break. How else could we have determined this?”

  “You could have suggested having the Angel call his—”

  “No. Absolutely not.” Fernando repressed a shudder that threatened to rock him. The thought of being in the midst of the Angel’s demons made his blood run cold. The Noble was not a fearful man, but having several times witnessed the mass murder those creatures caused, proved to him that the Angel was best under the control of the Chosen. That meant keeping the threat of Destruction away from his friend. If mortality did not change the Angel’s abilities, then the Angel could be even more of a danger, but at least easier to kill if necessary. “It’s all moot. The Angel’s differences are not dependent upon being Chosen or mortal.”

  “What are you saying, Fernando?”

  “Since his reaction to iron is worse, if these differences are consistent, then he can call those things. The question we have to ask ourselves as Master and Mistress of the Chosen is what to do about the Angel.”

  Bridget relaxed her arms, the anger seeping out of her face to be replaced with horror. “You’re talking about killing him.” She sat heavily into the opposite chair.

  Fernando huffed through his nostrils. Normally he would have followed up with an impertinent reply, but the concern on her beautiful face made him reconsider. “What happens, Bridget, when a mortal finds out about the Chosen?”

  “They’re given the Choice – death or become Chosen,” came the automatic reply.

  “Not all are given the Choice.”

  Bridget stared at the coffee table between them. “No. Most are killed.” She looked back up at her Chosen, piercing him with her gaze. “But he was Chosen.”

  “By an accident,” countered the Noble. “Let’s not forget that. He was never given the Choice.”

  “And because of that he should be killed?” Bridget leaned forward. “Let him have the Choice. Now. He can’t continue like this. If he stays in the Americas he will eventually be killed by the Vampires.”

  “And if he returns to Europe, as a mortal, he will be killed by the Chosen, or worse, he’ll be forcibly Chosen by someone who would want to control or abuse him,” countered Fernando. “He’s not under our protection anymore, Bridget. If he can still call those things then we’re all at risk.”

  “So, he has to be given the Choice,” she responded matter-of-factly. “We both know what he’ll Choose.”

  Fernando steepled his fingers, index fingers pressing his lower lip, and nodded. “But should he be Chosen?”

  “Fernando! I can’t believe you’d say that.” Outrage twisted her features and raised her voice.

  “Listen to me,” he countered, seriousness darkening his tones. “It’s clear that Notus won’t Choose him – why? If, Notus won’t, then who will? Who will tie their immortality to the Angel’s and place their head on the block? Only Notus has ever done so.”

  “We’ve done so.”

  Fernando scowled. “As Master and Mistress, yes, but that can change. It has changed.”

  “We have to find out the real reason why Notus won’t Choose the Angel.”

  “And if he still doesn’t Choose him?” queried the Noble.

  Bridget le
t out a huff in resignation. “Then he must die or one of us must give him the Choice.”

  “I won’t do that,” said Fernando, darkly. “If it comes to it I will kill him, mercifully if you will, but I will not Choose him.”

  “Fernando, you’re his–” Bridget’s statement was cut off by a slicing gesture from her Chosen.

  I will not have another’s thoughts in my mind, he Sent. One is already too much. “Besides, after your shared kiss at Christmas you would be better suited.”

  Bridget frowned. It was unlike Fernando to be jealous. She could not deny her desire for the Angel, but she did not love him. She loved Fernando. “Fine,” she agreed. “But find Notus first and see what he says.”

  “And what are you going to do?” Fernando rose.

  “I’m going to treat the Angel’s wounds,” she sighed. Rising to her feet she followed Fernando to the door. “Bring Notus back so we can show him what mortality has done to the Angel. Maybe that will convince him if nothing else does.”

  Fernando nodded and opened the door, halting only when Bridget laid her hand on his shoulder, their cool touch separated only by a breath of silk. Turning around, he gazed down into two pools of water. He ran his hand down the side of her face, gold strands sliding between his fingers. Bending, he caught her lips in his and drove his tongue between them. She gave way as he pressed hard, her moan vibrating through them. Breaking off as suddenly as his stolen kiss had started, he caught her wavering body by her arm, steadying her.

  You’re mine, he Sent. You Chose me, but you’re mine. Don’t ever forget that.

  A playful smile lifted her moist lips. “I love you too.”

  Fernando returned with a wry grin and a shake of his head before walking out of the suite and down the hall to hunt an immortal a thousand years older.

  Closing the door, Bridget turned and leaned against it. She stared at the shopping bag filled with supplies to heal a mortal Angel and wondered if it was worth the effort.