Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  “I know,” he whispered, attempting to make the best show of not being injured. He grit his teeth as his left foot touched down, sending excruciating shocks up his whole body, and slowly made his way towards the ship. He knew he was limping badly and he felt a stitch in his leg give way under the tight bandages. A hot liquid sensation spread out on his black trousers to drip down his leg.

  It was difficult to manage across the gang board. The sudden vertigo gripped him as soon as he was past the dock and over the water and worsened as he staggered onto the deck. Miraculously, he remained standing. He closed his eyes in hope that the sensation would abate, but the world started to swirl and detach. Faster and more furiously it tilted and spun until he could not catch his breath. The deck seemed to heave under his feet and then bottom out. The fever that had been simmering all evening spiked red hot and blackness swam over his vision as a woman screamed a name.

  His whole body ached and throbbed. Those were the first sensations that came to mind even before he opened his eyes. The second was that he lay face down on something soft and comfortable. He wanted to go back to the sacred grove, to drink more from the font of the well and watch the white faced demons swirl, but he had come back to the tattered remains of his body.

  Curious, he opened his eyes and let the vision of dark red silk register as well as the appearance of his left forearm bereft of bandages. Blackened flesh encircled his wrist as he attempted to twist it for a better look, but it was the sight of the stitches in the centre of his wrist that caught his breath. He knew that the back of his wrist fared no better and he tried to flex his fingers. Pain shot up as his digits failed to fully complete the move. Closing his eyes, he sighed, his head throbbing with the effort.

  He did not know where he was, but the bed - if that was what he was on - was comfortable. It did not rise and fall and all sense of vertigo had been dispelled. Wherever he was, he was no longer at sea and was grateful for this, but it still did not answer his question.

  Taking another deep breath he became aware of a multitude of feelings emanating from around him and knew without a doubt that other Chosen were close, but what he picked up made no sense, making the headache thunder. Joy, anger, annoyance, boredom, worry, hunger and sexual rapture confused him. He knew they came from at least five Chosen somewhere nearby, but he did not know where. He needed it to stop.

  A sudden gripping captured the breath at the revelation that he must be awaiting the verdict of his destruction from the Mistress of London. Fernando must have made the only decision he could and went to her to divulge the secrets of the Angel. He shuddered at the thought of what was coming, but regardless of the fact that he now knew her secret, it was all the more reason to Destroy him and Notus.

  Pulling his arms down to his sides to push himself up, he knew he had to find Jeanie, to tell her to flee, but a shock of pain up his back forced a grunt and held him fast to the bed. He could feel the oncoming of the seizure snaking up his spine with every movement.

  “Stay still,” ordered a woman. “The more you move about the harder it is to make sure your wounds are properly redressed.”

  He turned his head to face the other direction, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman whose weight settled down beside him, and instantly regretted the action. He could feel her cool reticence flow over him at the same instant a shock of cold flared up his back. Gasping he closed his eyes against the pain. She was putting something on his back and every time the cold liquid touched he felt its stinging lash.

  Anger, worry and dejection flowed from the woman and he sucked in a breath with the realization that she was Chosen and that she was witness to his differences. Trembling at her touch, he wondered what it was she placed upon his body. Was it something that would help the sun to immolate him? But did she not say she was redressing his wounds? Moving his arms up to his sides again he tried to push himself up only to feel a strong hand push him back down.

  “I told you not to move.” The woman sighed and resumed her painful ministrations. “This was never how I wanted to get the Angel into my bed.”

  The admission froze him in place, bringing with it a flash of memory of Violet’s possession that sent him shuddering. His hands made to grasp the pillow under his head, but were held in place by the pain stabbing through his back.

  He was back there, immobilized and the seizure that had been held at bay for so long suddenly let loose. With the constriction of damaged muscles, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes at the explosion of pain all along his body. His body shook with the force that belied the damage and he tried in vain not to cry out.

  “Oh dear.” Concern and shock poured from the woman. “I - I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I wasn‘t told.”

  He felt her stand and move away as he shut his eyes to the memories. The sharp metal cutting flesh. The touch of her lips and tongue against the wounds. A hand brushed his hair from his face evoking the torture and he whimpered. Images both visceral and mental played through him of Violet’s physical desire to capture him. He did not know if he begged aloud for her to stop through his chattering teeth. Without opening his eyes he could feel the Chosen’s presence before him and heard the rustling of her skirts as she knelt beside his head.

  “Don’t fight it,” she whispered. “Let it out or it will consume you and taint the rest of your nights.”

  He shook his head and wanted to voice his denial of everything that was ever done to him because of his differences. His breath came in great heaving sobs. Tears ran down his face to drip into the silk covered pillow. He never wanted this life. He never chose it. All his life the choices were taken away from him because his differences set him apart. Shame sent him shivering into fatigue as the seizure abated.

  He heard her shift again and felt a wash of empathy from her. “Trust me. I know.”

  A cool hand graced his brow and then a soft cloth wiped away his tears before he heard her stand and walk away, allowing him time to regain his tattered emotions and for his body to relinquish its agonizing hold.

  “Damn that man,” she hissed.

  Wondering whom she was damning, he opened his eyes once his trembling had abated. Exhausted, he could see through blurry eyes, the female Chosen standing with her back to him before the roaring fireplace. Despite her sincerity in caring for him, he did not doubt that she held watch over him until such time his sentence would be carried out. After witnessing his display of weakness he had no doubt it would be soon. If that were the case then he would meet his fate upright and not laying in a sick bed. Gathering his arms to his side once more, knowing that it could send him into another fit, he gave a push. He regretted the tugging and splitting of his healing wounds the movement caused.

  Painstakingly, he managed to sit with his legs over the edge of the bed, panting with the effort. His head spun and he put out a hand to halt the motion, but it just added to the nausea. He closed his eyes, waited for the vertigo to cease and opened them once more. The crimson silk sheets swirled about him accentuating the paleness of his skin. He hated feeling so helpless and tried to grasp the top sheet so as to give him some modesty, but the material slipped through his feeble fingers. A frustrated huff turned the woman around, her blue eyes wide. He had thought he had recognized the voice, but now he knew who she was. Fernando’s Chooser stood with arms crossed as they stared at each other.

  Clothed in a simple gown of deep blue, Bridget’s hair was modestly arranged allowing for locks of sun gold to curl and drape down her neck in an attempt to make her appear older. Worn blue eyes betrayed her worry and her fatigue. He knew he was at a great disadvantage but she seemed not to take note. Instead she took a steady breath and straightened, her visage transforming into a strong formidable lady. What surprised him was that she met his gaze and refused to be daunted. The force of her anger hit him and he gasped, breaking off eye contact to stare at the plush burgundy rug.

  “Tell me something.” Bridget’s voice filled the room. “Why did you have to bring F
ernando into your secret?”

  Shocked at the implication, he returned his gaze to the Noble’s Chooser as she stood glowering over him. He opened his mouth to respond but could not find the words. He had not wanted Fernando to know. No other Chosen was to ever find out. He could not believe she was blaming him for being tortured and Fernando’s choice to rescue him. Stripped of every secret, his body a testament to his utter defeat to the truth of what he was, he lowered his head in humiliation.

  “Do you realize that if Katherine finds out we’re all dead?” Bridget swung around and started placing small bottles back into a wooden case, the glass clinking. “Damn Fernando for bringing you here.” She swung around to glare at him again and then suddenly the fire of her anger was doused. “And damn me for a fool too.”

  Unable to meet Bridget’s gaze, he closed his eyes. Her emotions were erratic, confusing and made his head spin. They did not make any sense to what she was saying. She did not feel as though it was his fault but rather Fernando’s. That and the background emotions from the other Chosen in her home forced him put his face in his hands, wincing at the pressure. He had to do something about all the noise. He could not keep feeling all the emotions of the Chosen around him.

  A wash of strong concern flowed and wrapped him as he felt Bridget’s hand alight on his battered shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, not knowing what else to say.

  “No. It’s not your fault,” replied Bridget. She knelt and took his hands in hers. Carefully, so as not to exacerbate his wounds, she began dressing them in white gauze bandages, inserting the flat wooden boards to immobilize his wrists. “Fernando told me everything when he brought you in. How could he not? You were unconscious and he was very put out. I wouldn’t let him go without receiving an explanation. I believe Jeanie would have told me, but, well, I couldn’t count on a mortal’s retelling. Fernando released the information through our bond, which I now believe, was in everyone’s best interest.”

  She took his arm and he glanced at the stitching job overlaying the old scar as she began to bandage it up as well.

  “Why?” he asked, hating how small his voice sounded. “Why are you doing this?”

  Halting in her work, the roll of gauze in her hand, Bridget glanced up into the Angel’s face and realized the full extent of his meaning. With a sigh she continued to redress his wounds. When complete she stood to retrieve more bandaging from her box and halted in mid action.

  Placing the roll down, she turned back to face him. “Do you know what the Angel is?”

  The question stunned him. For all the world he could not find an answer to her question and he frowned.

  “Shall I tell you?” Bridget stepped forward, forcing him to lift his head to meet her eyes. “The Angel is Chosen, but he is so much more than that. He is a myth that forces others to re-evaluate what it means to be Chosen. He forces us to question our own natures and why we are Chosen. The Angel, despite not being human, has more humanity within him than those who have Chosen to give it up. He knows what is most precious because he never had it. The Chosen have much to learn from the Angel because we have given up something that he still grasps at.”

  The words bowled him over and set him trembling.

  “But, I’m not,” he whispered, staring at his bandaged wrists..

  Bridget smiled and nodded. “You are. What Fernando relayed to me was just the final piece of the puzzle. Did you not realize why Fernando wanted to work with you on this supposed mystery? To find out if you were indeed born Chosen as all the rumour and conjecture has been going on about for centuries? To find out what was so different yet so alluring to even the Chosen?”

  “It was to find out my secrets that no one ever knew.” He closed his eyes. “The ones that set me apart to be Destroyed.”

  “That part, I believe, was never his intention. He was quiet upset about the responsibility it left him.” Bridget’s voice was comforting, eliciting a trust he did not understand.

  He nodded, confused. Fernando knew everything and he had shared it with Bridget. How many others knew?

  “He’s not going to tell Katherine or anyone else for that matter, and neither will I.” Bridget stood to retrieve her gauze roll.

  Hearing that his secrets were now shared and not exposed widened his eyes. It made no sense. Fernando had always tried to pry and wheedle his way into his life, and now that his secrets were laid bare, the Noble was not going to exploit them? It seemed so incongruous to the man he had gotten to know over the last few weeks. He watched Bridget bandage his left thigh, the thick blackened gash under the stitches pulled at the twisted scar beneath and he shook his head in disbelief, sending his hair to brush against her hands. “Why?”

  Bridget stopped. “Tell me, you haven’t spent much time with our kind, have you? Have you ever seen the Chosen work together for anything good and right? Are there any true friendships between Chosen anymore except perhaps between Chooser and Chosen? Of course we have our Mistresses and Masters, but that is more for show and control of who is and isn’t allowed to live in our lands. They have always been there to allocate and give permission, or not, to protect our hunting grounds. But they do not form a true community. Community is an inherent human quality that is created through bonds of friendship and need - the desire to serve something larger than oneself. By the nature of being Chosen we have no community, no friendships with each other except to exploit, as I take advantage of the Chosen who work with me.

  “From what I understand, it hasn’t always been this way, but only the Elders, the ones so old that they cannot be found by us any more, remember this time. The Good Father is one of them. You are lucky to have him as your Chooser. The Chosen are lucky that he hasn’t disappeared taking you with him.

  “If the Chosen were to lose you, the Chosen lose their connection with the past and thus their humanity. You have come to represent something that is truly noble about being Chosen, something truly human, but most of all, despite what Fernando may say, for the first time in his life as Chosen, he has a friend. We have a friend.”

  He could not believe what he was hearing. Fernando - a friend? He thought of all that the Noble had done for him and he for the Noble. If that was the case it was indeed a bizarre friendship, but he had no other comparison except for his relationship with Notus. Everyone else, except for a select few who were teachers or mentors, he kept at a distance, out of fear of being rejected as different, even when they declared that it did not matter. Some accepted and were friendly because of what they believed him to be out of fear or the need to define him as different because of his appearance. No one managed to penetrate his walls isolating him, except Notus, and even then, not fully. Not until Jeanie had accepted him so completely, so readily, that he knew what he had been missing in his long life. Now Fernando knew and accepted, counting him as a friend, bringing Bridget with him and with it the threat that if his secret were discovered Fernando and Bridget would stand with him to be Destroyed. Tightness constricted his chest and throat as he bowed his head, humbled beyond words. He closed his eyes against the welling of tears; afraid that the moment would pass taking with it the dream he thought this was.

  A sudden wave of maliciousness crashed down. Hatred and jealousy flew in all directions slicing into his head with pounding force. He closed his eyes with a groan. Somewhere in the house above two of Bridget’s Chosen were in the thick of a fight. He did not need to hear the words, the waves of anger and potential violence was enough. Over laid with the fight, several other emotions filtered through. Surprise, elation and enjoyment mixed with annoyance. It was enough to make his head throb painfully and threaten another seizure. All he wanted was to have them stop and this new ability to disappear.

  “Are you alright?” He felt a wash of concern as Bridget alighted a hand onto his face.

  He did not know what to say, yet feared to shake his head. The emotions crescendoed and he screwed up his face at the intensity and the pain.

&nb
sp; “Two Chosen. Fighting upstairs,” he gasped.

  “What?” Bridget’s hand released him and he felt her go still, searching for her Chosen to find out what was going on.

  The impact from Bridget’s fury made him groan. It was too much. Shuddering with the bombardment of emotions from more than half a dozen Chosen, he clutched at his head. Stop it, he shouted as he rocked back and forth on the bed, disregarding the effect the movement caused on his tattered body. Still the argument raged. Stop it. He could not bear the intensity. His head felt as if it were being cleaved in two. Stop it!

  Everything stopped. No emotions flitted towards him. The crushing headache subsided into a low throb. He heard Bridget stumble backwards, catching herself on the bedside table and he looked up knowing that somehow he had made it all stop, but for how long he did not know.

  “What - How?” stammered Bridget, her eyes wide. “How did you know Anna and Beth were arguing? And what was that?”

  “I don’t know,” he sighed, the exhaustion he had been feeling expanded and all he wanted to do was sleep. He tried to pinch the headache away but his fingers would not work to compress the bridge of his nose. Bridget took a tentative step towards him. This time he could not feel her emotions and was surprisingly disconcerted.

  “You can feel other Chosen’s emotions, can’t you?” Bridget’s voice was soft with a mix of awe and fear.

  Closing his eyes, he nodded in defeat. She knew everything else, why not this?

  “And you can project your own onto us?”

  He glanced up at her wide blue eyes. “I - I don’t know.”

  Bridget edged closer, suddenly wary of what she had in her room. “I was talking with Anna and Beth, angry at their usual argument over who got a particular client when all of a sudden I felt as if someone pushed us apart. That was you, wasn‘t it?”

  His face screwed up. He did not know what was happening to him. More and more he was removed from what it was to be Chosen. Words failed him but he knew that Bridget spoke the truth and he nodded.