Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (59 page)

Did she hear that correctly? Did the Angel utter his love for her?

She stumbled as an onslaught of images assaulted her.

Flash!

She saw him sad and distant, always trying to keep apart from her as she tidied his home, her heart yearning for him.

Flash!

She was held captive and then he was there, saving her. The scent of clean linen and something that could only be the Angel encompassed her in strong arms that she had always desired to feel wrapped around her.

Flash!

She was above him as he lay on a bed, their bodies entwined. Her heart soared with fulfilled love before he sat up to penetrate her awaiting neck.

Flash!

Held in his strong arms the world spun as he fiercely defended her. Someone went flying and then the Angel was there, his blood splattered beautiful face filled with concern and love.

Flash!

The Angel suspended, his body burnt, bleeding and damaged because she would not listen. She loved him and her stubbornness killed him.

“Now! Do it now!” The order shocked her. Through bloody tears she saw Michael wield his limestone hammer, swinging it to
make contact with the protruding sword. Time halted as she reached out her hand in an impossible attempt to stop the Vampire
.

The sound of the hammer rang against metal, drowning the Angel’s scream as the force of the blow broke the blade deep within him. She did not realize she had shouted until she          witnessed the Vampires staring down at her. Somehow she was at the Angel’s side as he lay on the concrete, black blood staining his lips and black tendrils eked across his pale face.

“Get off the ground, Rose. You’re embarrassing yourself,” snapped the man with black hair.

A shudder of fear ran through her. This was the man who had broken into the Angel’s home, kidnapping Notus. This was the man who had held her prisoner until the Angel saved her. This was the Vampire who had killed her while she had waited beneath the light post for her beloved to rescue Father Notus. This was the creature who sat a-top a headstone as she clawed out of the grave to feed upon that poor wrench of a boy.

Memories assaulted her, who she had been and what she had become warred within her. She gazed down at the Angel – no, Gwyn, - the full impact of her actions slamming into her. Tears streaming, her head grasped between her hands, she let out a scream of heart wrenching agony.

“What have I done?” she cried. Her eyes fell upon the Vampire who had been her father, her mentor, her destroyer – the grand manipulator.

“Well, this is quite fascinating.” Corbie walked over to her, staring down with surprise on his face.

Brian stepped up beside his master, arms crossed over his muscular chest. “I suppose your message to the Chosen won’t be delivered.”

“Probably not,” commented Corbie. A round of chuckles responded. “He got what he wanted and I got more than I hoped for – the death of the Angel.”

“That
will
definitely send a message to the Chosen,” said Brian.

A smile lifted Corbie’s lips. “Yes. Yes, it will.” He gazed around at his Vampires, his smile growing. His power over the Americas was increasing and with the threat of the Angel and his Chosen eliminated it would not be long before he would truly be Imperator.

Corbie returned to the Angel and a possible new problem. He had heard Rose scream and the return of her accent. “Everyone inside, the sun will soon be up, everyone except Rose.”

Quizzical Vampires slowly made their way into the building, the sound of the footsteps loud in Jeanie’s ears, until all who remained were she, Brian and Corbie. Jeanie trembled as Corbie crouched in front of her.

“You remember who you were?”

His question was more a statement. She nodded.

“Fascinating. It’s been a very long time since a Vampire was allowed to recollect, or even could recollect who they were before their true birth,” stated Corbie. He stood and gazed imperiously down upon her. “The Angel is dead. My plans fruited better than I expected. You served your purpose, Rose.”

“My name is Jeanie,” she said, unsure of herself or what was about to happen.

Corbie’s gaze rained ice. As if deciding something important, he gave a curt nod and turned around. “Let’s go, Brian.”

“What about Rose?” asked Brian, following.

“Let the sun have them both.”

Jeanie watched the black door close and flinched as she heard the heavy bolt slam into place. She stared at it for a moment and then brought her attention to the man she loved. New tears fell as Jeanie carefully and gently managed to lay his head in her lap, his white hair catching her stained tears. She touched his face, noting the flesh was still warm.

It was all her fault. She wanted to be with him for eternity. It had all been planned a century ago, only to be ruined by her stubbornness. Now he laid dead, his sword felling him.

Sobs wracked her body. She had plunged it through his body. She had killed the only man she had ever loved. Her life as Rose was a sham, one in which shame and guilt stabbed through her. It was Rose who fed off the Angel. It was Rose who impaled the Angel with his own sword. But she was not Rose, was she?

“I’m Jeanie,” she said through her tears. “I’m Jeanie. I’m Jeanie!”

She had been forcibly turned into a Vampire, her life and her love ripped from her. This was not how they had planned. She was to be Chosen! She was supposed to spend eternity with the Angel, caring for him, loving him as he loved her.

Glancing up at the lightening sky Jeanie knew dawn was soon approaching and returned her gaze to Gwyn’s still form. Using the edge of her sleeve she dabbed the blood from his mouth and smoothed his black lined face with her fingers.

He canna be dead,
she thought. He had been through much worse at Violet’s hand.
He’s Chosen. He’s the Angel.

If she removed the sword them maybe he would recover, but how long would it take? Already Jeanie felt the familiar lassitude of the sun’s rise. Soon it would be moot. She would die with him, joining him for eternity, but at least she could make him comfortable.

Carefully, with fading strength and through tear filled eyes, Jeanie grabbed the hilt of his sword and pulled it out. The sound and smell of burning flesh assaulted her senses. Only half the sword came free. A whimper escaped her throat and she tossed the sword aside to ring off the concrete. Now to pull the other end, Jeanie grasped the double edged blade feeling it cut deep  until her blood filled the bloodgroove to drip towards the exit wound at his back. It took more effort to yank the metal out, her blood making the task slippery as the blade cut to the bone. Jeanie cried in relief when the blade came free. There was little time left and she tossed the other half of the sword.

Free of the impalement Jeanie was able to turn and lift him until she had his head pressed against her silent chest. She bowed her face until her forehead touched his.

“I love ye, Gwyn. I always will,” she whispered into his unresponsive ear. She kissed his soft full lips, savouring his taste.

Darkness and nothingness descended as the sun broke over the horizon.

T
hey had waited as long as they could, hopeful of the Angel’s return to Dr. Bowen’s before Fernando returned them to the hotel. In silence and growing concern they entered the suite. The Angel had not returned here either.

It was close to dawn when they felt it, though what it was was indefinable. Tears sprung from Bridget’s eyes and even Fernando could not hold back the sense of loss that overwhelmed him. He had not felt its like in centuries.

It was Bridget who came to the understanding first Fernando held her as she cried.

“He’s gone.”

In the condo, just before sunrise, Notus stood and stared blindly into the dark emptiness. Nothing could repair the chasm he had wrenched into his heart. No matter how he tried to rationalize his reasons his heart screamed the opposite.

He loved the boy.

He needed the boy.

In every way possible, the boy was his family and Notus had done worse by him because he never wanted to feel the same loss as when he lost his family. This time it was he who took the sword and pierced the heart. Not the Romans.

A gut wrenching pain grasped Notus, springing tears to his eyes.

“It’s too late.”

Elizabeth woke and glanced at the glowing red numbers. No wonder the sun was not up, it was too early. Releasing an exasperated sigh, she rose knowing she would not get any more sleep. She pulled on her robe and slipped into her bunny slippers before going down the hall. She did not know why but something deep within her sensed wrongness. She frowned at the empty guestroom and decided to look outside.

Nothing stirred as she descended the stairs. Not even Grimalkin opened an eye from his curled position on the couch. The feeling of unease never left her even as she stepped outside.

His motorcycle was not there.

It was then that it hit Elizabeth.

“He’s never coming back.”

Thanatos sat in his limousine, furious and stunned at what he and Godfrey had witnessed. “Drive up to them, Godfrey,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.” Godfrey put the vehicle into gear and slowly rolled the car up to the fallen Angel and the Vampire who slew him.

There were bare moments before the sun’s rays would fall upon the two, but would that be enough? Thanatos did not care. He had waited lifetimes to discover the answers he craved. It could not end like this.

“What do you want me to do, sir?” asked Godfrey, staring at his master in the rear view mirror.

Thanatos met his fatigued servant’s gaze with determination and gave his order.

T
he Three Ladies stood around the gurgling pool of water. Rounded stones ringed the well that was situated in a grove carpeted with lush emerald green grass. Tall trees where the tops could not be seen for their height and flowers the colours of the rainbow surrounded the grove in a floral embrace. On a flat rock in from of the pool a silver chalice sat, its new chain linking it to an iron ring.

“All is lost,” mourned the Lady in Black. Her long black hair hung over sad black eyes as she stared into the pool.

“Nothing is lost forever,” consoled her White Sister. “There is always hope.” She reached out a long delicate hand to grasp a hand the same in all ways except for the darkness of her skin. The two sisters shared themselves, opposites in colour yet the same in spirit.

The Red Lady took Her Black Sister’s other hand and gave a gentle squeeze, Her crimson eyes filled with hope, smiling at the other two. “There is always another way.”

“Another choice,” said the White Lady.

“Another life,” smiled the Black Lady.

One in Three, the Ladies gazed into the well. In the waters Their daughter stood sadly at the door to her home, unaware of the seed that was planted deep within her.