Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (14 page)

Notus rose and watched the Angel sleep.
“
Though I would have to say you could never outstay your welcome here, it may be time to wish each other a good morning. If you remember, there
’
s a storm outside.
”

“
Oh, I forgot.
”
Fernando
’
s shoulders slumped.

Bridget yawned once more as she walked to the window. Dawn was at least an hour off, but the storm outside was proof that neither the sun nor the Mistress or Master of the Chosen would get through this storm unscathed. She groaned at the sight of Mother Nature
’
s savage attack on Christmas morning as She threw more and more snow at the trapped populace.

“
As I mentioned earlier, you are most welcome to stay the day.
”
Notus took the drape from Bridget, closing it, cutting off the white frosted blur.
“
The Angel will be fine on the couch and you two can take his bed.
”
The monk turned to face both his guests.
“
The only thing you need to know and do is to barrier your minds, if you can, while you sleep.
”

“
Why
’
s that?
”
asked Bridget, blonde brows furrowing.

“
Nightmares.
”
Concern darkened Notus
’
gentle features.

“
Still?
”
Fernando scowled.

 
“
Always.
”

There was no need to say anything more. They had all witnessed the Angel in the throes of a nightmare, and after over a century the fodder for them had only increased. All knew which angel he was named for. There was only one person who took it harder than the rest
–
the Angel himself.

Notus signed, glanced one last time at his sleeping son, and walked up the stairs to the bedrooms above. The Mistress and Master of Britain followed closely behind.

D
arkness encompassed him.

It was not the gentle buoyant void that precipitated his visits with the Three Ladies in the Grove. This was harsh. Cold. He could not move.

He tried to curl into a ball but was held spread-eagle. Anything to hide.  It was not the white faced demons he hid from. He would have been happy had they came to surround and      embrace him. He was their master now and fear had turned to begrudging acceptance.

Here was a place where memories unfolded, twisted and pulled him to a past he refused to resolve.

A nodule of pain ignited in the centre of his wrists and began its pulsating fire outwards. Its tendrils snaked up to blossom in his hands, setting them ablaze as the flow of fire cascaded down his arms to mix with the inferno that was his back. Attempting to draw his arms closer to his body only excited the flames to burn brighter.

A shock of fire sliced across his back forcing a grunt from his throat. He knew where he was. He knew when he was. He was in his self made purgatory for the deaths of those innocent he could not save as he slew those who attempted genocide against the Chosen. It was his self made Hell for the death of Jeanie. He whimpered, refusing to release himself from damnation.

Light sparked in the distance. A pinpoint ahead steadily grew an explosion of brilliance with each increase of diameter.
With each nova a slice of pain slashed through his back until the void brightened.

He was back, hanging by iron shackles facing a wall littered with strangely shaped steel instruments. All appeared deadly and well used. Bits of dried flesh and splatters of congealed blood marred the mirror sheen. He had returned to the chamber that had scarred him body and soul.

A cold metal rod stung his chin as it lifted his head up, forcing his eyes to meet with blue ones so pale that they were violet. Raven black hair spilled around a white heart shaped face, locks curling on shoulders clad in crimson.

It was the eyes that held his soul prisoner as the shackles held his body in fiery torment. A sinister smile split her bloodied lips, revealing canine teeth extended to deadly points.

“
You are my prisoner, now and for always,
”
she purred.
“
In death I have become more than I ever could have in life. For that I thank you with a kiss.
”

She leaned forward, pressing her corseted clad breasts against his sliced chest. Even through the layers of blood red cloth the chill of her undead flesh extracted the inferno of his   fevered flesh, sending him trembling. Cold kisses trailed down from his jaw to settle on the great vessel in his neck. It took all his effort not to vomit. It took everything else to stay perfectly still.

He knew what would be next and even knowing it as a dream he would not stop it. Hot tears spilled from his eyes, making trails in his blood bespeckled face. A scrape of teeth against his skin precipitated the biting cold as her Vampire fangs ripped into skin and meat to create the fount of blood flow.

He cried out against the pain, against the ecstasy that her kiss elicited from him. Tears of humiliation and loss flowed faster as convulsing sobs shook him. 

He did not know when she had ceased feeding, but her body stayed pressed against his. Her putrid breath tickled the quickly closing wound. It was the change in her voice that snapped him from his torment and settled a boulder in the pit of his stomach. A chill washed through him, extinguishing the blazes of his tortured form.

This was new. Reliving the torture at the hands of Violet had become par for the course, but this, this was new. He tried to turn away, ignoring the shocking pain through his wrists and arms. Pain erupted across his back and chest but the shackles held him firm. He needed to flee. He could not take what was to happen. Locked in the misery of his own making his ruby eyes widened as the woman pulled away.

No longer was her hair a black curtain. Now it flowed, twisting and curling with cinnamon, auburn and chestnut. No longer were her eyes the blue of flowers. They had become the green of grasses and leaves in summertime. A dash of freckles across cheeks and nose replaced a cold porcelain face. The only thing that remained the same was her mouth. Vampire fangs dripped his blood as she smiled triumphantly. He desperately desired to scream but terror closed his throat. He could not believe whom he saw.

Jeanie stood before him, dripping his blood from her chin. Jeanie, whose smile had torn down the walls around his heart and had taught him how to love. She was the only one in all    existence whom he had fully opened himself to and had been returned in kind. She was the woman of his heart whom he had failed so miserably, for she lay six feet under in a grave Notus had refused to reveal.

Jeanie was over a century dead. Her corpse was nothing but rotting flesh and mouldy bones, but here she stood, in his nightmare, dripping his blood from a mouth he longed to kiss. Now it was twisted with rage and loathing.

“
Ye broke yer Oath,
”
sneered Jeanie. She leaned in close and brushed back his long white hair to whisper in his ear. He failed in his attempt to squash his tremors.
“
Tis time t
’
pay.
”

A shaft of pure molten pain shot into him just below his left ribcage and exploded through his body. The last image to fill his vision before the scream tore his throat was Geraint
’
s sword   impaled through his body, the hilt held fast in Jeanie
’
s hand as she laughed.

“
No!
”

He did not know if he heard the shout or it was a product of his nightmare, but it had bolted him upright. Shudders rocked him and he allowed his waist length white hair to veil his face. He could not bear to see the cheerful Christmas decorations mocking his torment. Tears flowed unhindered and he buried his face in his hands, pausing for a fraction of a second to glance at the old silver scars ringing his wrists and the starburst pattern in the centre that was mirrored on the other side. He bit his lower lip in an attempt to keep his pain silent. He did not want to wake Notus yet again.

Another bone wracking sob tore through him. He had brought so much pain to so many and the worst always befell the ones he loved. He knew Notus worried about him but nothing could be done to relieve the guilt and sorrow he used to rebuild the wall around his heart.

A hand alighted on his shoulder, startling him. It moved down his arm as a weight settled on the sofa beside him. It was too light to be Notus and the concern that radiated towards him was too intense. Wiping the tears from his eyes with his fingers he felt the curtain of hair part and he gazed down on Bridget
’
s beautiful face. Sky blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

He gasped at the realization that she and Fernando were witness to the nightmare. He could feel the Noble
’
s worry mixed with annoyance coming from upstairs and Bridget
’
s feelings flowing beside him. It was not right what his dreaming had done to them and he failed miserably at his attempt to place the blocks on his newest abilities.

Bridget
’
s hand cupped his cheek, thumb wiping away the moisture with her gentle touch. He closed his eyes, releasing a new wash of tears. He could feel her need to alleviate his self   induced torment and what it cost her not to be able to help.

“
I
’
m sorry,
”
he whispered, his voice rough.

Bridget sighed and dropped her hand onto her lap. It was only then that he noticed she wore only a sheet wrapped around her petite form. He averted his gaze.

“
Oh, Gwyn.
”
Her hand was back, finding his and twined her fingers with his until they held each other firm. Bridget
’
s hand felt cool against his.

The touch exacerbated the empathy between them and he failed in his attempt to disentangle them, her hand clenching hard in response to his attempt to pull away. He could feel her desire to comfort and console him, for her to drive away the nightmares that had plagued him since he found himself naked and wounded in Bridget
’
s bed over a century ago. 

“
Bridget, please.
”
He pleaded, once again attempting to remove his hand from hers. This time he sent back through their connection his desire for her to back away. He did not want her to feel what he felt no matter how often she tried to help him.