Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (49 page)

“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.

F
ernando 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.

He felt a world better and he knew his colour had returned along with the shape of his skull. The whores he let live. One did not salt the earth when it can be harvested from again. It was the pickpocket that was now nothing more than worm fodder. But before he set sail he needed to speak to Bridget, to warn her, to prepare her for the worst, whatever that may be. Something was out to see to the extermination of the vampires, and whatever they were, they were neither mortal nor Chosen. The thought chilled him to the bone.

Gazing up at the large house at the end of the walk, he noticed that all the lights were on in Bridget’s home.
They must have a full house tonight,
he smiled.

Having woken in that God-awful cot had made him wonder what sort of penance Notus was performing. He should have taken the sofa; at least he would have most likely had a more comfortable sleep. Either was less enjoyable than staying in Bridget’s bed, or worse, his own. But it was the hot-blooded scent of that damnable mortal girl filling the flat that drove him to retrieve his clothing knowing full well that the Angel was in the room.

Had Fernando been in any state of normalcy he could have waited, but his own blood loss cried out for its replacement and he had a feeling that the Angel was more than a match. Seeing the Angel in the bath, the scar on his arm - and had he seen another on his leg? – Fernando knew that one did not get scars like that from anything but warfare. It substantiated Fernando’s theory that the Angel had fought, and often, before he was Chosen. It also brought up the question as to whether or not the Angel had continued the practice. If so, then Fernando knew he was out classed and that thought did not bode well, especially after that morning’s headache and swim.

He touched the back of his head and let it drop. It was healing well. The knot in his belly, relieved somewhat by his indulgent feeds, did not dissipate. Fear was something that Fernando was not accustomed to experiencing and he pushed it away as he picked up the suitcase.

The sounds of yelling reached his ears well before he placed one foot in front of the other. It was Bridget’s voice and it was clear to Fernando that she was either very angry, very afraid or both. But the question was why? Bridget was usually outwardly demure. He had seen her temper on occasion, usually directed at him, but always with good reason.

A crash shattered the night and Fernando knew he had to do something. When Bridget started throwing things no one was safe. Speeding to the door, he dropped his luggage and wrenched the door open, yanking it off one of the hinges. In the front room, Bridget stood panting in fury, stray blonde hairs floated in a halo around her normally impeccable coiffure.

“You see, I told you. He’s still alive!” Her voice slid dangerously. Her blue eyes held onto the intruders in her home. Along the staircase, Bridget’s ladies hung onto the rail. Some in anticipation for their madam’s legendary temper, others quailed in terror of what was to come. The ones in the parlour hid behind furniture. Only those that were her Chosen ladies watched with expectant expressions.

So it was he who was the cause of this explosion. Turning to face the one whom Bridget directed her anger, Fernando’s fury sparked.

“You snivelling sack of puke,” he rounded on Valraven who stared in dumb shock at the living ghost standing in the doorway. The two others with him Fernando recognized from his audience with Katherine – Roberta and Benjamin, two of the Mistress’ toadies. Vampires who should never have been sired, having not a brain cell between the two, yet desired to lick the boots of their Lady. It was Valraven he stormed towards as he entered the whorehouse.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” blurted Valraven, completely caught off guard.

“I am, am I?” Fernando’s fist caught Katherine’s lackey on the jaw, sending him flying into the cabinet with a satisfying crash that mingled with the screams of fear from the mortal whores. Splintered wood and shattered glass and china rained down on the fallen vampire. Roberta and Benjamin backed away, fearing they were next.

Struggling to his feet, Valraven checked his jaw. “You were seen floating in the Thames just before dawn.” The explanation fell from his quickly healing jaw.

“The reports of my demise are greatly exaggerated.” Fernando had enjoyed sending the greasy looking Chosen into the cabinet, but the obvious reason why they were here infuriated him. “Get the hell out of here, Valraven. Tell Katherine that the Angel and I are still on this and if I hear one iota that you have even dared to even breathe on Bridget or any of these lovely ladies here, I
will
hunt you down and use your putrid head for target practice. Do we have an understanding?”

Valraven stumbled towards his assistants, his face taught with barely contained rage and humiliation. “This isn’t over de Sagres.”

“No it isn’t,” hissed the Noble. “Now get out of here!” Fernando’s voice shook the house, sending Katherine’s followers into the night as fast as their supernatural abilities would allow. “And the rest of you,” he boomed, swinging around to face the entranced audience, “get back to work!”

Squeals of surprise and the sound of bare feet on slated wooden stairs answered the order as the whores raced up the steps as fast as their legs could carry them. When the swirl of the silken rainbow disappeared to the upper levels, Fernando turned to see that Anna and Beth had come to Bridget’s side. Bridget was still fuming, but seemed to be calming as her fledglings spoke soothing words.

“Anna, Beth, you two, go.” Fernando’s voice lost some of its anger, but the threat of not following the order was implicit. He watched the two seek askance of Bridget who nodded and then vanished in preternatural speed as they found the door leading to the basement and their rooms.

Finally left alone, Bridget rounded on her fledgling. “Where the hell have you been?” Her blue eyes sparked dangerously.

“Floating in the fucking Thames, thank you for asking,” snapped Fernando. This was not how he had expected this parting to go. Oh sure there would be some harsh words and maybe some tears on Bridget’s part, but Valraven had set a new tone that was carrying even after his departure. “And please don’t thank me from stopping Valraven and his minions from hauling your ass before Katherine.”

The wind deflated from Bridget’s sails leaving her looking haggard. Collapsing into the burgundy velvet chair, she failed in her attempt to capture the escaped strands of hair, her hands visibly shaking.

“They said you were dead,” muttered Bridget. “They wouldn’t believe me.”

“Of course not,” spat Fernando. “You didn’t believe it yourself.”

Bridget’s head shot up renewed anger flashing into her eyes. “And how could I know any different. You’re always closed to me, Fernando.”

“It’s better that way,” he said, tightly.

“Is that why you’re here?” Bridget stood, rearing for another row. “To continue this centuries old argument?”

Fernando’s jaw clenched. As soon as Bridget had taught him to close himself off from her mental probing, he had severed that contact with her, separating himself completely. It was something that infuriated Bridget and led to some of their most passionate fights and their most erotic love makings. “No. I’m here to tell you I’m leaving for France tonight.”

“France?” As quickly as the anger flashed, confusion filled its void. “Whatever for?”

“The Angel and I have a lead.” Fernando began to pace the room uncomfortable about what he next had to tell her. “Someone neither mortal nor Chosen is behind this. We have a chance to find out who and possibly end the threat.”

Bridget’s mouth fell open, her jaw trembling as her eyes filled with tears. It was the same. The same as when Sebastian last came to her before he was killed. They had taken away her sire and now they were going to take away her beloved. “You can’t go.”

Fernando halted in his tracks and gazed upon Bridget’s fearful expression. It was enough to finally remove the rest of his anger. Coming to stand before her, he took her elegant hands in his.

“Bridget, I have to go,” he said, softly. “If the Angel and I don’t stop this thing then we’re all dead. It’s plain that even the rumour of my demise brought Katherine’s hounds sniffing at your heels. I won’t let you be next.”

He was answered by a nod of her head. “Judith’s dead.”

The news stunned him.

“How?” he inquired and knew the answer before it left Bridget’s painted lips.

“It was as you said,” she answered. “Judith had a client who was tainted. It happened after you and the Angel left. I hadn’t the time to warn her.” She looked up into Fernando’s eyes. “Oh Fernando, it was horrible. She screamed and screamed. Anna and Beth are terrified to feed even with the warning you gave us.”

“That’s why I have to go. I have to end this.” Fernando tucked a loose lock of wavy blonde hair behind her ear, his hand lingering a moment on her cheek.

Bridget nodded. A tear escaped and was brushed away by his strong hand. “How will I know whether or not you…”

Fernando rolled his eyes. It was the same circular argument, but this time Bridget had a point. If she could sense him, even across the Channel, then maybe Katherine would leave her alone. He hated the idea of opening himself up to anyone, even Bridget, but the risks were too high and he had to keep her safe.

“Okay,” he sighed.

Blue eyes widened in shock. It was the answer she had hoped centuries for but always expected the usual answer. To hear Fernando acquiesce now stood testament to the seriousness of the situation.

“Are you sure?”

“No, but you’re right.” Fernando led Bridget to the sofa and sat down. “I’m going to agree to this for the duration of this contemptible quest. When our enemies are crushed it’s back to the way it is now. Agreed?”

“You’re word on it, Fernando?” she asked, sceptically.

Fernando nodded solemnly. “As the last heir to the Fidalgo de Sagres, you have my word on it.”