by Karen Dales
“Fernando! Stop!” shouted Bridget. “I’ve already given him a piece of my mind.”
“That’s not good enough,” spat the Noble. He leaned forward until he was a breath apart from the stunned Chosen. “You’ve lost the Chosen the only weapon we’ve ever had against the Vampires and worse you may have turned him against us.” He dropped the monk and turned away from him.
“What happened?” Bridget came up to him, horrified concern etched her face. “Fernando. What happened?”
Glancing over his shoulder at Notus who had slid to the floor and was rubbing his quickly healing bruised throat, Fernando replied, “It seems that the Angel is still the Angel, Chosen or not. Not only does he still react adversely to iron but he still fucking controls those fucking demons of his.”
Notus’ eyes popped wide at the revelation.
Disgusted at the monk, Fernando turned his attention to Bridget. “I found him. And I’ll tell you this. I have never seen him so enraged. I tried to convince him to come back, as you wanted, but he would have none of it. The air chilled around us and I could see a fog swirl up around our feet. Needless to say I let him go.” Without glancing back at Notus’ stunned expression Fernando added, “Well done, monk. Your lies have left us in great danger.”
He could feel Fernando’s burning gaze on his back as he stalked away. Fury shook him and clenched his pale hands into fists. How dare he! he fumed. The thought of going back and seeing that man, let alone talk with him, disgusted and fuelled his rage. Some part knew that Fernando was just trying to help, probably on Bridget’s behest, but he could barely keep his anger in check, especially when the Noble grabbed him.
He did not recall ever speaking so to another the way he had done to Fernando. If he was not so hurt at the whole situation he would have felt bad for how he had talked to the Noble. Instead he ignored the glare and was relieved when its presence disappeared. He did not want to hurt the Chosen.
There was no going back, even if he wanted to, which he did not. Instead he strode under the dark canopy of trees, Ontario’s capital a red and black monument far away. Everything that he was was now gone, stripped from him with the lies from a Chosen who had sought only to control him. That realization burned his heart. Even if Notus came crawling back, begging for forgiveness and offered him the Choice, he would throw it back into that little man’s face.
How dare he keep me from my family! he silently raged. His whole existence was a search for belonging and acceptance, to fill the gaping void of loneliness encapsulated his heart. He had only found true release from that existence with Jeanie, but Vampires destroyed that, sending him back into darkness. No doubt remained that Notus would have done everything to ensure she would never be Chosen, even to the extent of erasing her memories of her love and time with him like Notus had done with Tarian’s granddaughter. To discover that the Monk purposely kept him away from such connections over and over, especially with his blood family, destroyed all the trust he had ever had in the man. To have it revealed that he had once had a father and a sister was a childhood fantasy come to life, one that Notus would have always know was something he desperately wanted. The fact it came fifteen hundred years too late blurred his eyes with unshed tears. Geraint, Eira, Auntie, why did you never tell me?
Because they needed to protect you.
He halted in mid-stride as the chorused voice of the Three Ladies filled his mind. Astonishment turned his anger into a simmer for a brief moment before flaring higher. Where have you been? he silently cried.
No answer.
Aren’t you going to say anything to me? he demanded, staring at the trees above.
Again he was met with silence.
Their abandonment added fuel to the fire. He shuddered in unreleased fury and closed his eyes. The image of his father’s sword filled his mind and he knew that no matter what he must get it back from the Vampires. It was the only thing in his life that never let him down. And if he was killed, so what? He had lived long enough to learn that there was nothing left except lies and deception. It was true; cold steel was the only thing a man could trust.
Opening his eyes he allowed the burning anger to cool, stilling his body, until cold wrapped his heart. No longer would he be the tool of someone else’s revenge. No longer would he leave life changing choices in another’s hand. No longer Chosen, he was released to seek out the Vampires on this continent, to kill as many as would get in the way of recovering what was his, or die trying.
He knew where the Vampires could be found. Now only if he could get one of them to tell him the location of his sword. With long purposeful strides pulling at his broken ribs he continued through the park. He would get his father’s sword back, and once he did he would ensure that the damnable Chosen would leave him alone or suffer the same consequences as that of the Vampires.
The sound of a stick breaking behind drew him up short. He turned in time to see a blur dive at him. Centuries of training controlled his movements and with a side step and a flick of his wrist he sent his attacker flying past him to land on his back several metres away.
“You killed Daniel and Thomas.” The accusation came from the direction of his attackers launch.
Turning his head, white locks draping his face, he felt hatred’s elation at finally finding a target. “I know no Daniel or Thomas,” he whispered darkly. Anger’s energy flowed up from the ground, filling him with anticipation for a fight. “But I am sure that as Vampires they got what they deserved.”
A roar of anger preceded the attack from the one he had thrown. Turning his attention, he grabbed the thrown punch and twisted the arm until he heard the satisfying pop of a dislocated shoulder. Ignoring the scream of pain from his ribs, he kicked the Vampire in the chest, releasing his grip on the creature’s incapacitated hand so as to let him fly to the ground.
It was more a feeling than a seeing. The Vampire who had accused him joined the fight. Spinning around, the Angel dropped to let the Vampire’s kick fly over him and at the same time he struck the knee with an open hand strike. The sound of crushed bone and gristle accompanied by the man’s scream electrified the cold around his heart. Sadistic enjoyment of his revenge gave energy to him as he watched the Vampire hop back.
Unconsciously his hand found a discarded branch from a tree above as he pushed off the damp grass. Just as his first attacker recovered enough from his injuries to attempt another blow, the Angel stepped in and slid the broken wood between immortal ribs to pierce the meat of the Vampire’s heart. Surprised grey eyes met his and he delighted in watching them dry and shrivel as the creature succumbed to the effects of the stake in his heart.
Pain erupted down his back, forcing him to release the desiccating form, stick still in its chest. The pain, so similar to what he had endured at the hands of another Vampire, exploded his fury. Spinning around, ignoring his laboured breathing, he struck out on the offensive, uncaring that he was a mortal fighting a preternatural monster.
His clawed hand made contact with the Vampire’s face, breaking the jaw and sending a sharp tooth flying. He did not wait for a retaliatory strike as his open right hand impacted the creature’s sternum. Again the satisfying sound of crushed bones added to his dark elation. His attacker stumbled back, clearly in pain despite the swift healing. Not waiting to let the Vampire gain the upper hand, the Angel, tasting metal, spun and kicked, imploding the Vampire’s chest with its force.
Lifted off his feet, the Vampire’s flight came to an abrupt halt against a tree. Realizing that his attacker was stuck on the tree, the tip of a broken branch glistening through the creature’s abdomen, the Angel slowly made his way to the Vampire, stopping momentarily to pick up another discarded branch.
The terrorized expression on his would-be assassin’s face invoked dark pleasure as he came to stand before it. Cold crimson eyes caught brown. “Where is my sword?” he demanded through clenched teeth.
The Vampire mewled in pain, his jaw slow to heal.
The la
ck of an answer was too much. He had asked a question and to be denied the truth yet again made it impossible to control his bucking fury. Grabbing thick brown hair, he slammed the Vampire’s head against the tree, the sound rang hollow in the glade, and he leaned in close. “Tell me where my sword is and I’ll release you.” Ice coated his words.
“I–I d–d–don’t…” The Vampire tried to shake his head, brown eyes imploring the Angel of Death to believe him.
Ignoring a gaze that would have once, a long time ago, drawn guilt from him, the Angel pressed closer, his long white locks brushing the man’s chest as he tilted his head. “You don’t know or you don’t want to get in trouble with your Master.”
“Know!” blurted the terrified Vampire, his jaw almost healed.
Answer received, the Angel stepped back, taking in the full measure of the creature and found disgust twisting his gut. Maybe it was lying. Maybe not. He could not tell.
“You said you’d let me go,” demanded the Vampire as it struggled on the broken branch.
Regardless, he could not trust the utterances from the vile creature. Full white lips slimmed into the feral smile of one having captured its prey. Slamming the large branch into the Vampire’s chest, piercing its heart, he whispered into the new made Vampire corpse’s ear, “I said I would release you. I did not specify how.”
Turning away from the dead Vampire, the Angel did not bother a glance at the dried curled creature on the ground as he walked away. The sharp pain of his broken ribs flared back to life as his vented anger reduced to a simmer. He clutched his side as he walked on to the only place where he would find answers – The Veil.
It had not gone as she had planned.
Everything up to Thorn’s birth was perfect, if delayed. It was after his consumption of the vagrant that she realized that reality did not match with her expectations. Terry was gone and Thorn did not bestow upon her the adoration she had become accustomed to. Fed and dressed in black jeans, cotton shirt, and worn running shoes, Thorn’s swaggering steps were barely contained next to hers.
“This is incredible!” announced Thorn. He turned to face her. “I’m still hungry.”
“You’re going to have to wait,” said Rose, ignoring his pleading blue eyes. What? One old bag lady was not enough? Obviously not.
“I don’t want to wait.” Anger tinged his tones. It was an emotion Rose had never heard on his soft velvety voice before.
“Well, you’ll have to wait,” she said tersely. Picking up speed, Rose passed Thorn and was hit with a mixture of relief and annoyance at the sound of his booted footsteps catching up beside hers.
“Why?” he demanded. “There’s one over there.” He pointed to a homeless man asleep over the subway’s venting grate.
Rose halted and pulled Thorn to a stop. “Listen to me.” She gripped his arm until he winced and brought his angry gaze down on her. “You are the first of my coterie and you have a lot to learn.”
“But–”
“No buts,” she snapped, her anger rising. “The first thing is to know when the sun rises, which it will do soon. Or do you wish to die and have the sun’s rays give you a true death?” He shook his head, fear creeping into his pale face. “No. I thought not.” She resumed walking, not waiting for Thorn. She loved the way his long blond hair swayed in the breeze.
“Where are we going?” Thorn made sure to keep a pace back from his maker as they entered Queen’s Park.
“Back to the club,” answered Rose. Did she see something?
“The Veil? Why?”
“That’s our home.” There it was again. Rose halted, her green eyes going wide. It was Corbie’s Angel, the one she had barely escaped from when she stole his sword from the museum. Shushing Thorn’s next irritating question, Rose carefully approached, keeping hidden behind a sleeping maple.
She could not believe what she was seeing. Here was a specimen of true beauty as he strode through the dark trees, keeping away from the lighted path. Thorn’s prettiness was but a pale reflection. Rose flitted to another tree in an attempt to get closer to the creature that had hunted down and slaughtered the Vampires to near extinction and drove the survivors to this new land. Anger illuminated off the Angel. Corby had given Rose direct orders to stay away from the Angel, but he never said she could not spy on him from afar.
Closer she moved with Thorn on her heels until a sudden burst of speed nailed her to her hiding place. In a split second Rose watched the Angel throw his Vampire attacker as exhilaration sent her senses tingling. Every motion of the Angel appeared a sensuous dance. His white locks whipping about set a craving in her bones. How she wished to feel those silken strands running through her fingers and to have his strong arms encircle her. She knew that he was the sworn enemy of the Vampires but she could not halt her yearning to feel his smooth pale body press against hers again.
Again?
The thought staggered Rose, furrowing her brow. Perplexed, she lowered her gaze away from the Angel and his attackers. It was then that she noticed the strange white mist rising from the ground, ringing the fighters. Confusion evaporated as quickly as the fog rose, obscuring the Angel. In its place dread caught in her throat as ghost like apparitions appeared in the mist, their faces gruesome in their enjoyment of her terror. Strangling a scream Rose fled before one of the white faced demons could devour her, uncaring of the fact that her beautiful Thorn was now in their clutches crying out for her to save him.
Chapter XXX
Godfrey’s hands trembled despite his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Driving into the rising sun he was not looking forward to reporting his failure to his master. It was not that which made him tremble in fear, it was his attempt to persuade the Angel to go back home that turned the coffee in his gut into acid.
After receiving orders to find the Angel, Godfrey went back to his last known location – Beyond the Veil. Not surprisingly, the club was already closed for the day. It was a surprise to find the Angel striding down Queen Street. Godfrey pulled over and stepped out of the limousine, removing his cap as he took a shuddering breath. As the Angel approached to pass Godfrey’s throat closed up and his heart sped. Fear had tightened its noose, stoppering his voice. Pure unadulterated rage boiled from the Angel as he walked over to a parked motorcycle.
Godfrey decided to try again, seeing the Angel halt and disconnect a locked helmet. Swallowing the ball of fear, he took a step towards the Angel, his intent to be unthreatening as he cleared his throat.
The Angel spun around, his crimson eyes burning. “What do you want?”
Godfrey barely managed not to exclaim his surprise and hold his position. Despite the fury in the Angel’s countenance it was clear he had a rough night. The split lip was gruesome evidence to Dr. Thompson’s testimony.
“My master sent–” began Godfrey, daring to gaze up at the Angel’s face.
Without warning the Angel was a foot away glaring down at him. “You can tell your master that I demand my sword back and until I do I will continue to kill whomever he sends to stop me.” Frost coated the Angel’s words and he turned back to his motorcycle.
Mouth gone dry Godfrey tried again. Clearly the Angel had him confused with someone else. “I believe you have–”
The Angel turned to face Godfrey. This time Thanatos’ servant had the where with all to flee as the sky lightened towards dawn.
Closing himself into the safe confines of the limousine, Godfrey nearly stalled the engine in his attempt to turn it over. He threw the hand gear into drive and tore off down the road ignoring the squealing tires and the scent of burning rubber. Never before had Godfrey felt such terror. A part of him wished that the Angel was still Chosen. That, at least, he could have handled. Now he had to report to his master his failure with the Angel. A new shudder ran up his spine as he tightened his grip on the wheel.
Chapter XXXI
Elizabeth startled awake, sending Grimalkin scurrying off her feet, and winced with the realization that sh
e had fallen asleep on the living room couch while she had waited up for her daughter and guest to return. Groaning, she pulled herself to a sitting position and tightened her robe as she stretched out her neck muscles. On the coffee table before her was the paranormal romance novel she had fallen asleep to. Elizabeth was sure she had not placed it there, or the note beside it. She turned on the end table light she was positive had been on when she dozed off and picked up the paper. A smile formed as she read Vee’s handwriting informing her mom that she was safe and sound at home and that Karsha was crashing over.
Elizabeth frowned. Gwyn’s motorcycle could only hold two. Where was her guest? Climbing to her feet, she went to the front door and finding it unlocked Elizabeth went outside into the brilliant new day. Parked beside her car the Y2K motorcycle was still warm to the touch. Her frown deepened and she turned from the sunlight and entered the dark sleeping home. Quietly, she climbed the stairs and was rewarded with the sound of movement. Someone was awake and using the shower.
The broadloom muffled her steps as she came to the guest bathroom. Light spilled into the hall from the slightly open door, as well as humidity. A gentle tap elicited no response. Elizabeth knew it would not be Vee or Karsha. It could only be one other person. Heart pounding, Elizabeth opened the door. The question of his late arrival and why her daughter came home past curfew died on her lips.
His pale body glistened, water droplets reflecting the light, as he turned off the water and stepped out of the bathtub. The moisture clung to his slim body, emphasising his smooth muscular build, delineating each curve and valley.
“What happened to you?” she blurted, eyes wide at the black and purple bruises along his arms. Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open at the gigantic blossom along his side. Eyes roving lower, taking in sights she had only felt, Elizabeth snapped her gaze up to his split lower lip after noting the bruises on his sleek muscular legs. The harsh florescent light illuminated the burn, scars and bruises, making Elizabeth wonder if there was not a part of him that was not damaged in some way. His eyes met hers and she nearly flinched at the anger there. Did his ruby eyes flash? She had no time to follow that thought as he turned away from her to face the fogged mirror and the counter top that held his clothing. Rumpled atop was a wide beige tensor bandage.