Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  Closing the door behind him with a soft click, he hugged himself in a vain attempt to get his trembling under control and walked to the fireplace. He had to get warm. He had to get clean. His mind still reeled that They were back and It had sunk Its putrid mouth onto him. The scent of diseased and decaying flesh clung to him, soiling him from the violation. A new round of tremors racked his body.

  It had been so long since the last time he was in their clutches. Most of the months he spent with them he could not recall, but what he did remember sickened him. The idea that it was starting again stole all the heat and breath from his body in a wrenching sob. He knew he would never be able to endure such torture again and hearing that It would kill him sent icefire down his spine.

  Kneeling before the fireplace he built a fire as fast as his preternatural abilities would allow and felt a very small measure of relief as the flames roared into life, washing him in golden heat. It was something, but he needed more and he hoped that the hot water tank set on top of the bend in the flue would heat quickly.

  He rose from the roaring hearth, his tremors slowly dissipated with the comforting heat and walked to the bathroom door. The sight he was met with slumped his shoulders and he groaned in tired frustration. He did not need this. Not now. Not when all he wanted to do was slip into a steaming bath and let the waters slough off the tensions and relax his mind.

  Over taps, sink and bathtub lips, over toilet and towel rods, damp wrinkled clothing hung above small pools of grey water. Fernando’s Thames dunked clothing littered the room having long since ceased their discordant dripping. Closing the door with a heavy sigh, he scooped up the near dry apparel and dropped them in a pile on the floor next to the door before turning the hot water tap of the bathtub onto full.

  The thunder of water exploded from the faucet filling the small room. Near boiling temperatures sent steam billowing to the ceiling. The moist heat tantalized and teased him until he cautiously stepped into the tub. Scalding temperatures ran through his feet and up into his legs, forcing the chill of the dream into retreat.

  He sat down in the rising water, sighing as the warmth invaded his body, driving out the tremors. The steam in the room clung to his exposed cool skin, beading in a mockery of sweat that ran down the sides of his face. He let a shuddering sigh release the physical tension as the waters slowly rose until it was time to halt the water’s progress.

  Reaching for the scrub brush and the cake of soap sitting on a ledge over the taps, he began to scrub away the repugnant scent he knew could not be there, but one he could still smell. The bristles made his skin tingle in the heat, but it did not seem enough to drive away the sensation of the demon touching him. He needed to get clean and he scrubbed harder.

  The smell of soap did not seem to overpower the putridity of the dreamscent. Grabbing the little bucket from the floor, he doused himself with the hot water and began to lather his hair. Over and over he drenched himself, desperately trying to get clean until there was nothing left of the soap.

  The bucket dropped to the tiled floor with a clatter and he gazed at his palms under the water. Drops from his face created ripples over his hands. It was not from the steam anymore. Balling up his fists, he scrubbed the tears from his face and let his hands fall back into the water with a splash. Staring at the wall before him another sob escaped and he closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to regain control.

  It was indisputable, They were back and this time the threat of It killing him was more promise. He was completely powerless to stop Them as he was so many centuries ago when they played Their torturous games with him before the monks healed him. He knew he could not go through that again. He was not strong enough. Threatened from within and without he knew his nights were numbered. What infuriated him was that in the midst of it all he had found some measure of happiness and acceptance in Jeanie after so many long centuries of being alone. That They would take him away from her terrified and broke his heart.

  If only he knew why. Why did They always torment him? He never made a choice to be under Their power despite Them saying so. He never chose to be Chosen. He never chose to be Their unwilling victim in Their sadistic pursuits. And again the question it always came back to – why me?

  Releasing a strained sigh, he knew the question would remain unanswered.

  He knew what he needed to do to preserve his sanity. Taking another deep breath, he reached back to the training the monks had given him and sat in the cooling tub as he quieted his mind. Slowly in and out, he focused on his breathing. In and out. Letting the breath relax what muscles the hot water could not. In and out, reaching for a sense of peace. In, bringing in peace and relaxation. Out, releasing his fears and anxieties. Slowly, he breathed until there was nothing left but the sound of nothingness.

  He did not know how long he sat there in the bath water until the gentle sound of tapping at the door lifted him from the peace of the meditation. Reluctantly, he re-entered into the world of sound and sight. The tapping grew louder, mingled with the slow steady drip from the tap. With a final clearing breath, his eyes fluttered open as the door opened and he sat straight, eyes wide, at the unexpected sight of Fernando in the doorframe.

  “I knocked,” stated the Noble, contritely. “You didn’t answer so I thought it was fine to enter.” His brown eyes roamed around the small room, landing on his host.

  He dropped his long legs under the water as best as possible and sat with his back against the tub, his hands clenched and he glared at his houseguest. Fernando’s sunken face was much better, but the grey countenance and dark circles under the eyes bespoke of his blood loss.

  “What do you want?” demanded the Angel.

  A groan escaped Fernando as he bent to retrieve his dilapidated suit. “I came for these. You don’t expect me to wear this smock all night.” The brown monk’s robe showed signs of having been slept in, and Fernando’s long curling hair desperately desired a comb. Instead he used his free hand and gave his host a measured glare.

  Wearily, Fernando sat down on the lidded toilet, clothing in his arms. “I’m leaving.” Ignoring the suspicious look on his partner’s pale face, Fernando continued. “I have to change and get ready for our voyage, and if I stay here any longer, one of us will end up dead. Your red headed vixen smells too delectable for me to stay here and for us not to come to violence. I need to feed.”

  He nodded and brought his attention back to the fleeting bubbles on the water. In that moment his opinion softened slightly at Fernando’s consideration. “Jeanie found a ship that will take us. Pier seven at half nine, that’s where the Sea Witch will take us to Calais.”

  It was Fernando’s turn to nod in appreciation for the information and settling his bare feet on the tile as if to stand, Fernando thought differently. Clutching his bundle of clothing his eyes grew dark. “I’ve been thinking.” Silence fell between them, filled only with the dripping of the faucet. “I didn’t hear or even sense who or what hit me. That’s not possible. If it were a vampire I would have sensed him and it couldn’t have been a mortal, it happened too fast.”

  Fernando took a deep breath, held it for a moment as if expecting some sort of rebuff, and released it in a huff.

  “What do you think it was?” the Angel whispered the question into the tension thick air, afraid of the answer.

  “I don’t know.” Fernando stood in one fluid motion. “Damn.”

  The door closed with a thud, leaving him alone in the bathroom, the water suddenly turning cold.

  Jeanie awoke in absolute darkness causing her to wonder if she was still asleep. Touching her face, she realized there was nothing to see, not even her hand and reached out to find she was alone in the big bed. The sheets in which he had lain were cold to the touch and she wondered when he had awoken and why he had not woken her.

  Stretching as a yawn forced itself out, Jeanie shivered in the cold room desperately desiring to stay under the warm protective covers but knowing she could not. Flinging the qu
ilt back, she instantly regretted the action and sat up. It would be difficult finding her shift on the floor where she left it and a shock of cold ran through her as she left the soft rug for the hardwood floor, feeling her way around the bed. If only the Angel had left a candle burning for her.

  Shuffling her feet so as not to stub them on anything, she found something soft and cloth like kicked up onto her foot. Reaching down, she lifted the material up. With a quick feel for the placement of the holes Jeanie smiled and draped her shift over her body. Now she had to find the door and was rewarded with a stubbed toe and a bruised knuckle before harsh bright light flooded into the bedroom. Tears blinked from her eyes until they adjusted to the dim lighting of the living room. It was enough for her to see she had put her shift on backwards and with a groan of annoyance, she shuffled it around to wear it properly. It was the sight of the Angel sitting motionless on the sofa with his back to her that arrested her movement.

  It appeared that he had not heard her but Jeanie doubted that and frowned that he had not turned at her entrance. It was as if the Angel was back and her Gwyn was no longer. Worry caused Jeanie to bite her lower lip. After all they had been together in the past twenty-four hours, fear percolated. She could not lose him now.

  Floorboards creaked as she walked and Jeanie came to stand behind him, still seemingly unnoticed. She could smell the clean scent of soap on him as she bent over the top of the couch, wrapping her arms on his white linen clad shoulders. His damp hair rested on her cheek as he sighed and leaned into her embrace. It was enough to send her fears flying.

  “Ye smell nice,” she murmured into his ear, enjoying his strong form in her arms. When he did not respond, she asked, “Are ye all right?”

  “I’m fine.” His whisper faintly carried in the silence.

  Jeanie frowned. The Angel was a horrible liar. Even the Good Father had made that comment on occasion and now she could see the truth for herself. Something was wrong and it scared her.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  He sat straight and almost pulled out of her embrace.

  “Nothing,” he reiterated, trying to keep his voice neutral. “I’m fine.”

  “Yer a terrible liar, ye ken?” Jeanie released her arms and stood straight. Shoulders slumped in defeat the Angel leaned back against the couch and without looking up at her continued to stare at the fire. “D’ye wish to tell me?” she offered.

  He shook his head, long damp white locks swung heavily. “I can’t.”

  “Why no’?” A frown pulled at her face. “After all that ye told me –“

  “Jeanie, please.” The supplicatory tone halted her in mid-thought. “I’ve told you a lot. Please. There are some things…” He sighed and she knew she had pushed him too far.

  “Is there – did I do somethin’?” Whatever it was that was making him distant again tugged at her insecurities.

  As if sensing her plight, he turned to stare up at her; his garnet eyes reflected her pain. “Gods no. You’re the only thing that has gone right.”

  A smile drifted to her lips. It was more than she had expected to hear. The Angel turned back to face the fire, hiding the anguish lest it infect Jeanie. He let out a huff of released breath as she laid her soft warm hands on his shoulders.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she gently offered. She hated seeing him like this; so sad and something else she could not put a finger on. Noting the taught muscles under her hands, Jeanie instinctively began to use her fingers to work out the knots in his shoulders and was rewarded with a groan of pleasure.

  “Gods, Jeanie, whatever you’re doing is perfect.” He dropped his head forward, releasing the curtain of hair so she could work unhindered through his shirt on his wet shoulders.

  Jeanie smiled, finally seeing some of the worry leave him as she massaged his strong supple muscles, trusting that he would tell her when he was ready. She had to accept that maybe he could not tell her everything after all that he had surprisingly confided in her. In the meantime she enjoyed making him happy and if she read him correctly, he was thoroughly appreciating her efforts by the soft sighs he emitted especially when she worked at a stubborn knot.

  “Where on earth did you learn how to do this?” He sighed, luxuriating as she worked her strong fingers along his neck.

  “I used to do this for my mam when she got sick.” Jeanie rubbed the long muscles in his neck, her smile gone with the memories. “After she passed, I’d do this for my da after he came in from the fields. Usually if I did, he wouldna beat me when he got drunk.”

  Silence fell between them as tense muscles finally gave way to her ministrations.

  “I’m sorry,” he quietly offered as Jeanie lifted her hands with a sweeping gesture off his broad shoulders.

  Surprised at the unexpected reaction to the massage, Jeanie blurted, “For what?”

  “That you lost your mother and that your father beat you.” He lifted his head and stretched his neck side to side and then turned again to look up at her. “Someone so special shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

  Her mouth formed a silent O at his sentiment. Jeanie finally realised how much he truly cared for her and she smiled. “I ken my mama would hae liked ye.”

  Surprise flitted across his face before he turned to face forward, closing her off from his pain. Whatever it was that had him in its grips was fierce and Jeanie knew she had to be stronger. Walking around the couch, she sat down beside him and took his wounded hand in hers. He felt cool to the touch and his fingers gripped hers in response.

  “Yer a verra special person,” she whispered. “My mama always told me I deserved to be loved by someone extraordinary. She was right.” He looked down onto her and she met his sad eyes with a small grin. “Whatever it is we’ll deal with it together, aye?”

  A slight smile touched his pale lips and he nodded.

  Jeanie savoured the smile but noted that it did nothing to diminish the sadness in his eyes.

  Realizing that they were blissfully alone, Jeanie looked around and queried, “Where’s Fernando?”

  The wall suddenly loomed high between them again and she instantly regretted asking as he turned away to stare once more into the fire.

  “He’s left.” His soft melodious voice barely carried above the crackling of the wood forcing Jeanie to strain to hear him even sitting at his side. “He thought it best, all things considering. He’ll meet us at the pier.”

  At the mention of their impending travels Jeanie sat straight in remembrance. “What time is it?”

  The Angel shrugged a shoulder. “Half seven?”

  Jeanie’s eyes went wide. That meant they only had two hours to get ready and down to the ship, and here she was sitting on the couch and the Angel seemed completely disinterested. “I hae t’get ready. We need to pack.” She stood, a list running and organizing in her mind.

  “I’ve already packed,” he stated quietly without looking up.

  Beside the front door a black leather suitcase sat propped up against the wall, the sheathed sword stood point down beside it. Jeanie’s breath caught at the realization that he was bringing the sword. The implied expectation of violence sent a shiver down her spine. How long had he been awake? The tension in the room thickened and she knew she had to do something to alleviate it before something was said that was better left unsaid.

  “D’ye think I hae time to wash up?”

  He gazed up at her and nodded. “There should be enough hot water, but you’ll need to get another slice of soap from the cupboard. I’m afraid I used it all.” His eyes lowered, discomfited.

  “That’s alright.” Jeanie smiled and silently wondered how he could have used up a new cake of soap in one sitting. “Afterwards I’ll put on the new dress I bought and we can go out. Ye can take me for some dinner.”

  “You mean at a restaurant?” His crimson eyes shot up to gaze at her, his mouth slack in what she could only imagine as horror.

  “I – I thought,”
she stammered, confused by his reaction. “I thought when ye told me to get something nice…”

  “I want you to have something nice,” he insisted, “but that – oh hell.” Jeanie’s eyes went wide. She had never heard him swear before and he dropped his head in his hands before he looked up at her again, chin resting in his hand. “I’m Chosen, Jeanie, I don’t eat at restaurants.” His eyes followed her hand as it fluttered to her healed neck. She felt the fool.

  The silence was cut with a loud grumble and Jeanie blushed even harder. In one fluid motion, the Angel stood, towering over her, and brushed a stray lock from her face causing her to tremble. “If you want, I’ll take you, but we sit away from the others. I – I don’t want people staring.”

  The breath she did not realize she held rushed out in a huff and she grinned. Of course, it was not because he was a Chosen, though that was part of it, but it was due to his appearance. Very few knew what the Angel looked like and now he was going to come out into the open for her. With a jump, Jeanie smiled and flung her arms around him, feet leaving the ground. Her body instantly heated as his arms swept her into an embrace and his lips hungrily met her own, threatening to devour her.

  Flushed with desire, she reluctantly pulled away from the kiss and regretted that they did not have more time. He lowered her to the floor, her body sliding against his until the contact was regretfully released.

  “Thank ye. Ye wilna be sorry.” Jeanie smiled as she turned to go to the bathroom. “It’ll be just like courtin’, but in reverse.”

  A deep-throated chuckle followed her as she entered the pristine bathroom, content that she finally made him happy.

  Chapter XXII

  Fernando stood at the end of the flagstone walkway dressed in clean clothing and a new black wool cape. Somewhere at the bottom of the Thames his long cloak floated, keeping the fish warm. Resting on the flags by his feet a snakeskin suitcase was packed near to bursting with what he knew he would need over on the continent and hoped it would be enough. With more than enough time, Fernando had gone home, relieved to be out of the Angel’s abode, but not before feasting on three unsuspecting victims.