Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  “Dyed hair and costume contacts,” derided the Vampire. “The only reason I can think of for my Lady’s interest in you is your pretty face.”

  The Vampire gripped his chin and forced him to meet the Vampire’s eyes. The smile widened and the Vampire bent forward towards his exposed neck. His gorge rose as he felt dead breath tickle across his skin. Held firmly in place he could only wait for the slice of teeth into flesh.

  Corbie sat with his back to the desk, his chin resting in one hand while the other held the remote control for the array of videos that spanned from floor to ceiling. His thumb absently hit the reverse button on one of the monitors and he watched again the entrance of the Angel to his club. A moment on fast forward saw the Angel leaving his establishment. Face twisted with growing anger Corbie hit the playback on another camera that showed the Angel sitting with well known patrons. Strange in itself, what was truly disturbing was seeing one of his coterie approach the Angel and then stalk off. Reversing the image, Corbie watched the unsuccessful interaction with growing anger. What if the Angel had run into Rose? Swivelling around, he punched a button on his desk.

  “Mr. Haskell. Find Orchid and meet me in my office.” The order spilled through seething lips.

  “Yes, sir,” came the static reply. The sound of Brian’s infuriatingly calm tones were mixed with the beat of the club.

  Releasing the button, Corbie raised his hand to strike the desk and thought better of it. He had splintered the last one and it took three months and an exorbitant amount of money to have it replaced to his specifications. Regardless, the Dominus of Vampires desperately wanted to hit something, or someone. How could the Angel saunter into his domain without Corbie having been notified? And then to have one of his coterie walk up to the Angel and speak to that damnable creature without his permission was downright insubordinate. One question exacerbated the situation – where was Brian when all this was happening?

  A knock tapped at the door. Without waiting for an invitation Corbie’s second walked into the white room with the seductive Vampiress on his heels. “You summered us, Dominus?”

  Mr. Haskell took up a relaxed stance before the desk while Orchid curled up on the white leather couch against the back wall. She appeared dreamy and Corbie knew she had just fed. Returning his attention to his right hand man, Corbie went for the direct approach. “Why wasn’t I informed about the Angel’s visit here tonight?”

  Corbie’s anger grew at the confusion overtaking his second’s usually emotionless face. Orchid’s frown made her appear younger.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, sir,” stated Brian. “No one informed me of the Angel’s appearance.”

  “No?” pressed Corbie. His hand lay flat on the desk as he rose like a vulture to peer at the man and was rewarded with Mr. Haskell’s stumbling response.

  “I–I would have been informed,” said Brian, obviously flustered. “Becky would have told me.”

  “And what about you?” rounded Corbie, his gaze descending upon Orchid.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about?” replied the Vampiress. She nervously smoothed down her blonde locks.

  Picking up the remote control Corbie set the video to play back her brief interaction with the Angel. He kept his eyes on her, marking her reactions as she watched the recreation. Surprise and disbelief widened her beautiful brown eyes.

  “That was the Angel?” she asked, incredulously. “I thought he was just another kid in costume. Granted, he was a gorgeous looking kid,”

  Corbie smacked the desk. The crack resounded through the room as well as the groaning sound as wood succumbed to force. He did not want to hear how attractive the hideous Angel was to the opposite sex. His strange allure was what caused Violet’s demise. “I want to know what you did after the Angel rejected you.”

  “He–”

  Corbie raised his hand, halting her excuses. “Rejection is not a word in your vocabulary. What did you do?”

  Anger darkened her eyes. “I told two of my coterie.”

  “And?” He met her gaze.

  “They went after him.”

  Corbie closed his eyes. Maybe if he did not look at her he would not be tempted to stake her. He only opened his eyes when he sat, the soft leather cushioning his body, the anger hardening his heart. His gaze fell on Orchid. “Get out.”

  “Get out?” she queried. Fury forced her to her feet.

  A smug smile pulled at Corbie’s thin lips. He loved it when he was proven right. “That is what I said.” He allowed his anger to simmer. “If you do not wish to be transferred to Sudbury to rule rather than New York City I would suggest that you leave now.”

  Without a word of protest Orchid stalked to the door and left, her face marred by the twisting effects of restrained anger. The door closed quietly behind her.

  Once the click died out, Corbie relaxed into his seat and turned his attention to his second. “I want you to send the best four of your coterie to find Orchid’s wayward sons.”

  “Yes, sir.” Brian stood straighter.

  “When they find them, stake them and then leave them for the sun.”

  “Sir?”

  ”If the Angel hasn’t already killed them I want their deaths to help fuel my plans.”

  “Yes, sir!” Brian turned to leave but his Dominus’ voice halted him as his hand touched the door handle.

  “Two more things, Mr. Haskell.” Corbie nonchalantly played with the leather of his chair as Brian turned back towards him. “There has been a significant break down in communications. Fix it. Secondly, the Angel has been here. He will be back. I was not expecting him so soon but I will not be caught off guard again.” He patted the leather and stared into his second’s blue-grey eyes. “You will immediately inform me of the Angel’s arrival in or around The Veil. Are my orders clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” replied the Dominus Vampire. “No more mistakes, Mr. Haskell. You are dismissed.”

  Corbie ignored Brian’s departure and picked up the white telephone.

  Chapter XXVI

  It was unexpected when death came. All he could do was stare in wide eyed shock at the sight of a ragged piece of wood jutting from the chest of his would be murderer. Thick black blood coated the wood, leaving trails and globules to drip onto the murky alley floor. The sight of the Vampire shrivelling around the stake was cut off as he was flung to the ground. Arm freed, he managed to lift his face from the puddle. Spitting polluted water he tried to focus on the fight going on nearby. His assailant and would-be saviour battled with blurring speed. He tried to watch but could not focus on the fight. Instead he attempted to stand only to fail. His ribs and shoulder stealing his breath, leaving him panting and kneeling in stagnant water.

  Abruptly as it started the fight was over. His second assailant splashed to the ground in front of him, shrivelling despite the moisture. Dead wooden eyes stared up at him as skeletal hands grasped the piece of wood sticking out of the Vampire’s chest. Relief washed over him at the sight.

  “Holy fuck,” swore his saviour. “I didn’t want to believe Notus, but seeing you like this…”

  The man walked towards him, haloed by streetlight. “Fernando?” he asked in surprise.

  “Who do you think it is? The Tooth Fairy?”

  He felt himself hauled to his feet and he gazed down on the Noble, a bronze hand holding him steady lest his legs give out. “How? How is it possible?” he asked, wincing at the pain across his chest.

  Fernando cocked his head, listening to something outside mortal range. Turning back, the Noble grabbed a bruised arm and pulled his friend into the street. “C’mon. My car’s this way.”

  Gasping in the effort to still the pain while filling his lungs, he hugged his arms across his chest as he tried to keep up. It was not long before he was ordered into a titanium convertible BMW Z4 Roadster, its interior open to the sky. He groaned out a sigh as he let the fine leather take his weight. Beside him Fernando sta
rted the engine, pulling out of the parking spot with a screech of the tires in a tight U-turn. Gripping the door handle a flurry of questions bombarded his mind. He blurted out the most pressing one. “Why are you here?” He grimaced at the pain from his lower lip. Sucking on it, his tongue tasted blood from the split.

  “Saving your sorry ass,” replied the Chosen as he swerved the Beemer around a double parked vehicle, forcing the oncoming traffic to hit their brakes. “Shit,” muttered the Noble. “Can’t people drive here?” He gunned the engine until they were forced to halt at a red light.

  Fernando turned to face his friend. A mixture of disgust and pity filled his dark brown eyes before facing forward with the turning of the traffic light to green.

  Fernando’s answer disturbed him and he frowned. He was already beholden to the Noble for saving his life and for ensuring he would not be Destroyed so long as the Angel served the Chosen in the capacity he had excelled in – death. He had been the Chosen’s assassin. That was all over now. He could not even defend himself against two Vampires.

  “How did you find me?” He hated how tired his voice sounded.

  Missing the amber light Fernando had to wait to turn north on University. “By sheer dumb luck,” answered the Noble. “I was out searching for a bite when I saw the commotion. I figured what a better way than with a ruffian. I wasn’t expecting a run in with two Vampires about to make the Angel into a nice light snack.”

  He winced at Fernando’s bluntness.

  “By the way, you owe me a meal,” stated the Chosen.

  His eyes widened before he recognized the glint in the Noble’s eye. “How do you—” His voice caught in agony as Fernando spun the car north before the oncoming traffic could register the change to green. Closing his eyes he gripped the door handle, the centrifugal force sending stabs of red heat. Once the car straightened out the pressure released but the pain did not.

  “How badly hurt are you?” asked Fernando with a mixture of annoyance and worry.

  “I don’t know,” he breathed. Each breath was agony.

  “We’ll be at the hotel soon.” Fernando focused on driving. “When Notus said you were now mortal Bridget and I could not believe it. Once Chosen always Chosen. No one has ever been changed back, as far as we know, and we checked. We also knew we had to come. Ha, here we are.” He pulled the car to the front door of a luxurious hotel that was across from the Royal Ontario Museum.

  A valet opened the passenger door, his bored expression replaced with shock. Ignoring the valet he gingerly exited the low riding vehicle and stood on the sidewalk staring at the location that had changed his existence. Fernando threw the keys to the valet as he rounded the sloped rear of the car. Taking his arm, the Noble led him into the hotel, its grandeur lost in the rush to the elevator.

  It was strange to be manhandled by the Noble and to suffer his silences but he was grateful to have an empty elevator and the time to try and catch his painful breath. It was also strange that even though he was no longer Chosen he could still sense the seething emotions from the immortal standing beside him. It was not as strong as before. It was more of an undercurrent that nudged at his consciousness. His attention was driven away from the sensation as the elevator came to a stop, causing him to wince. Panting in pain he followed the Noble down the brightly lit hall to a door that admitted Bridget.

  “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. Tears filled her eyes as she sped over to him, appearing before him in a blink of an eye. “Let’s get you inside.” She took over from her Chosen, guiding him into a suite fit for royalty. He would have been impressed by the fine décor had it not been for Bridget guiding him to a tan brocade sofa.

  “When Fernando informed me that he found you I was thrilled,” explained Bridget as she helped him to sit. “But when he said you were attacked by Vampires I was worried.”

  Relaxing into the sofa, he gazed up at Britain’s Mistress. Concern creased her pale brow. Her knowledge of the incident made it clear why Fernando had been so quiet in the car. Despite being mortal he was relieved to be with them.

  “Let me see your neck,” ordered Bridget. She walked around to the back of the couch to stand behind him.

  “They didn’t bite me,” he replied. The idea of how close he had truly come to having his life drunk out of him sent a chill up his spine.

  Ignoring him, Bridget swept his hair to one side and turned his head from side to side. He suffered the inspection lest a greater argument ensue but it was the motion that made him wince. He knew better than to say no to her.

  “That’s a relief,” she announced. She walked around to face him. It was then he noticed the simple style of a black and pink floral summer dress hugging her petite form. Blonde hair spilled in waves around her heart shaped face. Pulling the locks back, she magically transformed her appearance into one of greater efficiency and maturity as she twisted her hair into a self held bun. She turned to watch Fernando walk in with a bucket of ice and offered her Chosen a sad smile. He responded with a nod, dark eyes flashing in annoyance before turning towards the suite’s hall to the bathroom.

  “Where else are you hurt?” asked Bridget, returning her attention to her patient.

  “I’m fine.” He immediately regretted the lie when the Noble returned with a facecloth filled with ice. Taking it from Fernando, Bridget sat down on the couch and pressed the cold pack against his split lower lip. The sensation made him pull back. His ribs, protesting the movement, making him gasp.

  “You’re fine, my ass,” muttered Fernando as he sat on the lounge chair across from him. “I’ve seen you worse, but you didn’t try and lie about it.”

  The accusation stung. Having Fernando save him from Violet’s ministrations forced him to reveal all his precious secrets to the Chosen. It was hard to lie about iron’s effects on him when the evidence was carved, pierced and whipped into him. Now he sat before the Mistress and Master of the Chosen of Britain, his lip split and Gods know what else damage that proclaimed him mortal. Lifting a hand, he took the cold pack from Bridget and glanced at the blood on the white terrycloth before pressing it back onto his numb lip. The relief from the cold almost convinced him the wound was healed, but when he touched his tongue to the cut the pain flared back into life.

  Bridget stood back, finger to her lip, as she studied him. Her scrutiny made him nervous and he stared at the find sand coloured broadloom.

  “What happened to you, Gwyn?” she asked in all seriousness. She sat on the arm of Fernando’s chair.

  He knew the question was coming and grimaced. “I don’t know.” He closed his eyes to the memories. “I was on the roof of the museum, chasing the Vampire who stole my sword, when suddenly there was a tingling sensation and then nothing. I woke up, several days later, in a hospital with Notus saying I was no longer Chosen.”

  “Vampires managed to take your sword from you?” asked Fernando, incredulously.

  He glared at the Noble. He knew what Fernando was thinking and sought to correct it. “I had lent it for the exhibit. Vampires stole it from there.”

  Fernando made a disparaging sound as he shook his head sending shoulder length brown locks to fall in his face. Gracefully, the Noble swept his hair back with a tanned hand. “What I want to know is why you are still mortal? You can’t very well continue to be mortal. Just look at you. As the Angel you could have easily taken down two insignificant Vampires, but now,” Fernando shook his head, “you’re a target for every Vampire in the Americas. Why hasn’t Notus fixed this problem?”

  Always the one to cut to the heart of the matter, Fernando pierced his. Unable to match gazes with the Noble, he turned his head. “I asked him,” he said quietly.

  Silence impacted in the room.

  “He denied you?” Bridget’s stunned whisper grew in indignation with each syllable, forcing her to her feet.

  Uncomfortable with her accusation and his surprising reflexive need to defend Notus, he rose from the couch with the intent to pace away his agitation.
Ice pack discarded on the glass end table, chips spilled from the cloth. Pushing to stand, pain flared across his chest, stealing his breath and forcing him to hunch over.

  “You’re hurt,” exclaimed Bridget, coming to his side.

  Grimacing, he straightened in the hopes his lungs would pull in much needed air. Bridget tugged at his leather jacket in an effort to remove it. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “He did,” stated Fernando. He crossed his ankles, stretching out in the chair. “He just lied, and badly as usual. I don’t know why you even bother.”

  He attempted to scowl at the Noble, but as he did Bridget freed one arm from the coat with a jerk that caused him to catch his limited breath. He knew what was giving her difficulty – the braces on his wrists. She was right and he tried to assist only to feel another breath stealing stab.

  “Are you just going to sit there,” Bridget turned to her Chosen, “or are you going to help?”

  Fernando crossed his arms over his muscular chest, the navy blue silk shirt whispering at the movement. “Do I look like a nurse-maid?”

  Uttering a sound of disgust from the back of her throat, Bridget returned her attention to gingerly remove the jacket. Once relieved of the heavy weight, he found he still could not take a deep breath without pain. Concerned, he assisted Bridget with the removal of the braces. It was the first opportunity to study the bruises developing across his knuckles. Twinges radiated up and down his hands as he flexed them.

  “Sit down,” ordered Bridget as she placed the black braces next to the jacket now perched on the sofa’s arm.

  Carefully he lowered himself down onto the couch. The height difference allowed Bridget to unbutton his black cotton shirt.

  The Master of London leaned forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees. “Why did Notus refuse you? And don’t lie to me. We all know you can’t lie yourself out of a wet paper bag. And don’t make excuses for that monk in an effort to protect him. His denial already threatened your life.”