Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (64 page)

“I’ll offer you the same that Aimeri offered me – amnesty.”

Hugo visibly paled at the tightly controlled anger the Angel directed at him and bowed his head in the knowledge of what he had done, not only to the Chosen under his wing, but to
Le Maître’s
reputation.

“I will come.” With an order thrown over his shoulder to the remaining Chosen, Hugo faced his nemesis.

His arm wrapped around Jeanie, the Angel turned to walk out of the sprung trap. “Two other things,” he said as he pulled up the hood of his cloak.

“What?” scowled Hugo.

“We speak in English as not all of us here speak French.”

“I will not,” balked Hugo. “You and your other Chosen speak it well enough. I will not debase myself for a mortal.”

The Angel came to a halt, forcing the others to the same. Jeanie glanced questioningly up at him having understood none of the conversations except for Fernando’s occasional outburst in English.

Riding the dangerous air from the Angel, Fernando stepped close to Hugo. “Firstly, my name, sirra, is the Noble Fernando de Sagres, the last heir to the Fidelgo de Sagres.”

“What’s the second,” asked Hugo in English.

“You’re paying for the cab,” answered the Angel, dispassionately as he walked on, Jeanie’s warmth beside him.

Fernando’s howls of laughter lit up the night as the orange glow in the distance diminished.

J
eanie sat on their bed, pulling the silver brush through her towel-
dried locks. Normally she luxuriated in the feeling of a relaxing bath, but this time all she had wanted to do was remove the dried blood. No matter how hard she scrubbed it did not clean away the memories of what she had witnessed. Now she sat, wearing only her shift, not knowing whether or not her shivering was because of the cool air on her freshly bathed skin or from residual shock.

Whichever was the case, Jeanie could not banish the gruesome scene of devastated life that the Angel and Fernando had wrought. Nor could she reconcile seeing the man she loved, who treated her so gently and so caringly, with the vampire who extinguished the warehouse manager’s life. Neither could she settle her mind on how fast she had moved in the protective embrace as the Angel fought their would-be assassins.

The dichotomy of the man who deeply loved and cared for her, and the Angel he was, scared her. He had told her what to expect and in her arrogance she had assumed that she could handle the worst – she was wrong. Despite the alien nature of the Chosen and what she had previously seen and experienced with them, nothing had prepared her for tonight’s horrors.

Water droplets glistened against the white bristles and trapped red hairs in the brush as she absentmindedly settled it on her lap. Another shudder ran through her at the remembrance of seeing that young man weeping, and then witnessing his beheading. She had jumped at the sight and sound of the Angel’s sword sliding through flesh and bone, sparking across the stone below. If she could have shed tears for the young vampire she would have, but her shock at the sight made her grateful she had not eaten.

It was not until they were walking away from the warehouse district with the orchestrator of the ambush that she found out why the one called Hugo had done what he did. The carriage ride back to the hotel was tension filled. Hugo’s ice blue eyes lingered on her with disdain and a sparkle of hungry lust. No matter how hard she tried to cleave to the Angel, she knew she was the lone deer in a cage of fierce predators.

It had been the longest ride she had ever experienced and she was more than grateful when they came to a halt outside the hotel. Never before had cobblestones felt so wonderful under her feet. Jeanie was even more relieved when the Angel told her she could go back to their room and that he and Fernando were going to have a talk with Hugo.

Turning from the three Chosen, Jeanie fled through the doors, down the hall, to will the elevator to rise faster than its worn mechanisms could function. She would have barred the door once she had opened it with a key in a trembling hand, but she knew either Fernando or the Angel would have no trouble against it.

Pulling the abandoned hair from the brush, Jeanie felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She had never imagined that her love would be so confused with terror.

The sound of the lock in the front door turning the tumblers shot Jeanie straight up. She had not expected them back so soon, but glancing over her shoulder to the clock sitting on the writing desk told her that dawn was not that far away. So much time had passed since she had closed the door behind her to seek the refuge of a hot bath.

A mumbling and the sound of a door closing shut precipitated footsteps leading away from her room. Releasing a tension filled sigh, Jeanie felt almost relieved that it was Fernando going to his room, but it begged the question as to where the Angel was. Shoulders slumping, she found that a part of her did not want to confront the Angel despite how much she longed to be held in his strong embrace.

She continued to sit motionless on the bed, waiting for the inevitable to come. The sound of the table clock ticking grew louder with each passing second. Fear welled and she hated the feeling. It almost came as a relief when she heard the front door open and admit the suite’s final occupant. She heard him shuffle around the main room, opening and closing the closet before heading down to the room they shared.

When his tall, slender form appeared in the doorway, Jeanie’s eyes went wide. In the substantial gaslight she could see the speckles of rust coloured dried blood on his beautiful face and hair, marring his perfect whiteness. Despite the lack of his long black cloak, he still stood as the Angel until understanding flared hurt in his crimson eyes.

Breaking eye contact, he sighed and walked into the room to deposit an armload of groceries onto the writing desk. Grapes, a couple of apples, a small wedge of yellow cheese, bread and a bottle of wine sat on a table meant for study.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he murmured, not daring to glance in her direction.

Although she knew she should not have been surprised at his obvious thoughtfulness, Jeanie watched in dumb silence as he stepped down the hall that led to the bathroom. It was when the sound of rushing water flowing from the taps filtered to her ears that she realized she had not said anything, not even a thank you. Despite his deplorable appearance, Jeanie could not deny that he was still the same man she fell in love with. The only problem was reconciling that fact with the horror she had witnessed that night.

Taking a shuddering breath, Jeanie knew that he had been right; that she was acting in the way that he had always expected of her right from the first night they had spent together. She recalled her strength of determination in the face of her ignorance, but now she could not deny the truth of his actions, nor his words. It came down to the final question – could she fully accept him?

Tonight he had made her an accomplice not only to murder, but also to theft and arson. It seemed to Jeanie that he held no remorse in his actions and it was hard to imagine him to be so cold when he was so warm and considerate. He was the Angel and Gwyn, and it was Gwyn she had always loved. If she wanted that love to continue, Jeanie knew that she had to become strong and accept the Angel.

Determined to accept what she could not change and finding strength in what she could, Jeanie stood and walked over to the hallway to find Gwyn standing, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his hips. The whiteness of the towel only accentuated the paleness of his lean trim figure. His eyes flickered momentarily on Jeanie before quickly taking in the untouched food and the uncovered windows. The first lightening of dawns approach forced him to squint.

His long strides brought him to the cord where he hastily pulled, forcing the thick brocade drapes closed. The heavy fabric swished with the speed of its movement across the rail. Without a word, he walked over to the bed and sat down.

She knew it was now or never. “Gwyn, I –”

“I’m so –”

Their eyes caught each other and Jeanie’s heart soared at the slight smile on his face with the realization that they had both spoken at the same time.

“Ye go first,” she offered, sitting down on the bed opposite him.

Wet white strands swung clear beads of water onto the bed. “No. You go first.”

Jeanie caught the serious tone that extinguished the ruby glitter of his eyes. Summoning up her waning resolve, she took a deep breath. “Ye were right.” She waited for a response and receiving none Jeanie continued. “I said that I could handle the fact that ye were a vamp – Chosen – and all that entails, but I was wrong.”

She watched as he broke eye contact to frown at the space between them.

“What are you saying, Jeanie?” he asked, his tone full of the expectation of pain.

Shifting closer, Jeanie ducked her head so that he would be forced to look at her. “I love ye. That isna gonna change.” He lifted his head, his frown turning to one of confusion. “I also ken that ye are who ye are and that canna change either, tis I that has t’ change. I’ve seen more than I care to admit, but I hae to accept it or I dinna think I can be with ye.”

“Do you think you really can when even I cannot?” he implored. Pain coloured his visage.

“I dinna said that I like it,” Jeanie shook her head. “And I must say I’m happy to hear that ye dinna like it either. But answer me one question.”

“What?”

“Why did ye kill the warehouse manager when ye told me ye dinna hae t' kill to get what ye need?”

His eyes went wide at the unexpected query before the frown returned. His voice fell to a near whisper. “I didn’t plan on it, but the poisoning had left me so starved that I couldn’t control myself. I had never felt that before and it was
so
incredibly difficult to keep control when you always smell so intoxicating.”

Surprise caught Jeanie and she smiled. It seemed that he always knew the right thing to say. She knew she had to be stronger than she had been before. Leaning over, she kissed him long and deep. Cool arms encircled her as he drew her into his embrace. The dampness of his strong body soaked through her shift.

Hungrily she loosened his towel, all the while opening herself to his delectable kisses. She had not realized that he had gently laid her down until she felt him sheath himself in her, sending her body into throbbing need.

Their lovemaking was furious. Her need to have him fill her completely drove all other thoughts from her mind. It was when his sharpened teeth cautiously slipped through the sensitive skin of her neck, sending a shock of ecstasy that ran from throat to groin, that caused her to cry out as her body convulsed its release.

The rich scent of horse filled his nostrils. Standing beside the large black charger, his fingers absently scratched behind the velvety twitching ear. The sharp contrast between his colouring and the dark soft hairs stood out beneath the gaslight emitting from the tall posts besides the entrance to the hotel. It was only when his hand brushed over the white blaze on the horse’s forehead did his fingers seemed to disappear. He tried to ignore the shaking of his hand.

The horse, enjoying the attention, pressed into the caress with a snicker of satisfaction while the two other horses snuffled in jealousy. It was the tall black that received the affection from the dark cloaked figure.

He had come down to the lobby well before sunset, staying to the shadows, enjoying the anonymity his cloak provided. Jeanie’s acceptance of what happened and their fervent lovemaking provided a short-lived solace. Falling asleep entangled in each other’s arms and legs should have been enough, and it was, until They came back into his dreams.

He shuddered in remembrance of Their claims upon him and a sob tore from his throat at the left over sensations of Their mouths ripping into him, feeding off his fear and his essence. It was happening again and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Only this time the white-faced demon was bent upon his torturous destruction rather than to give in to something else. Whatever it was that drove Its fear fed Its anger, and he was Its unwilling victim, unable to free himself except through wakefulness. The memories of their putrescence and their vile touch on his skin sent him trembling.