Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (35 page)

“I will write the letters, my Lady, and send them the packages to experiment with,” he bowed his head, a smile on his face.

“And that’s not all, my little bird,” she fixed on him her darkly hooded glare. “You are to go with Violet. Make sure she understands with whom she is dealing and teach her to hold the reigns properly. If my little flower does not bear fruit by harvest time, then it will be time to prune her.”

His smile brightened. Violet would have to fall back into line. Oh how she would hate it, but she would.

“Oh, and my little bird,” his Lady’s voice grew menacing. “If she fails, and France falls a step behind the rest, feel free to pluck her petals one by one. I’m sure you would enjoy that.”

“Yes, my Lady, I most certainly would.”
 

L
ifting from the binding threads of sleep and the bizarre dream of the past, the Angel woke but kept his eyes closed, sensing that
the sun was still up. It was quiet in the room. The only sound was Jeanie’s steady breathing and the external noises of the day penetrating into the room. It was Jeanie’s presence, her sweet hot scent and the gentle soughing of her breath that filled him. He was content and did not wish to break the sense of unwarranted peace that filled him.

Relaxing as much as the cramped space on the chaise would allow, the memory of the dream drifted back. It was not surprising that he should finally remember Fernando from so long ago. What was surprising was how it all came back to him, and in such incredible detail. The revelation did not change his opinion of the Noble, but rather it enhanced it and explained many issues, even Fernando’s enjoyment of tormenting and prodding into his life. He could sympathise with Fernando, but knew that such feelings would not be accepted by one such as he and he buried the feeling. After all Fernando brought it down upon himself.

Only one thought lingered,
Did Fernando remember?
He doubted it, but somehow the possibility agitated him. Unable to fall back asleep he opened his eyes and all thoughts of his host fled.

Standing unaware by the heavy green velvet drapes, Jeanie peered outside through a thin gap between the fabrics that also allowed a strip of deadly late afternoon sunlight to cross the bed. Her long elegant fingers absently caressed the velvet, running up and down, changing the subtle patterns of the weave.

She was breathtaking standing only in her cotton shift, her hair aflame where the sunlight dared to touch. The light behind cast her firm young body in silhouette and he found he could not take his eyes off her long shapely legs, smooth flat abdomen, full rounded hips and large round breasts that slowly rose and fell with each breath. He had seen many a woman clad in less, but this time it was different, her whole being captivated and enthralled him. He wanted to watch, protect, devour and flee from her. Jeanie was, by far, the loveliest woman he had ever seen.

Entranced, he watched with heightened senses as she pivoted on one perfect bare foot, her hand tightening on the drape. Her intention realized too late, he threw his arms to his face as intense white light splashed across the room, its deadly beam coming oh so dangerously close.

A cry of pain came unbidden and he shouted, “Close it! For the love of Christ, close them!”

The sound of the Angel’s cry startled Jeanie. She had believed him asleep and she spun to see him with his arms shielding his face. It took a moment for his words to register and hastily she drew the drapes, plunging them into near darkness.

She had not heard him enter last night and had been surprised to find him curled on the too short chaise. She had thought to wake him, but as she drew close she could not bear to disturb him. He had looked so peaceful. The constant worry etched into his features had melted away leaving Jeanie wondering how someone so beautiful could be so sad. Now she all but ran to his side, knelt and placed her hands on his trembling arms.

“They’re closed. Put yer arms down.” Her voice was soothing yet tinged with concern. She could not understand the Angel’s vehement reaction.

Feeling her featherlike touch on his arms, he reluctantly lowered them, blinking rapidly as he opened his eyes only to see nothing except blackness ringed in white. His eyes burned and he felt tears on his cheeks. Even squinting did not help the large dark patches to diminish.

“Dear Gods,” he whispered and sat up with the help of gentle unseen hands that came to rest on his own.

He knew that Jeanie was before him, yet try as he might he could not see her for the darkness moved to everything he looked at.

“What is it?” implored Jeanie. Something was dreadfully wrong. The tears on his face frightened her and he squinted at her without seeing.

Shaking his hands free from her grasp, he rubbed his eyes and was rewarded a lessening of the black spots. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. The pressure helped to alleviate the stinging.

“Did Notus never tell you why we keep such strange hours?” he admonished, instantly regretting his harsh tones.

“Aye, he did explain why you sleep all day and wake only for the night.” She felt horrible, like a child who forgot a simple rule, but the Good Father’s reason never fully explained why the Angel chose the same way of life.

“Tell me. What did he say?” The pain and the panic of losing his sight diminished with the slow shrinkage of the darkness.

Jeanie gazed into pain filled crimson eyes and fear swept over her.

“My God, what’ve I done?” she uttered weakly. “Ye canna see me.”

Squinting, he barely made out a dark shape before him and took Jeanie’s hands roughly in his own, making her gasp in pain. Relaxing his accidental grip, he demanded. “Tell me.”

“He only told me that ye do as he does because it suits you so that the two of you can bide together.” His whole reaction terrified her.

The standard reason, proven effective over the centuries, had now lost its potency. Never before had either Chosen or Chooser ever imagined a reason to elaborate further and now he found himself explaining without thinking. “Look at me, Jeanie.” He grasped her shoulders and gazed at the dark area that was her head. The large blackness had broken into smaller spots when he blinked. “I have not been able to go out in the day ever since I was a boy.” He knew his tone was harsh and accusatory, but he could not stop. “The last time was before I was ten. I can never go out in the day. It will kill me.”

Silence crashed between them. Only Jeanie’s muffled sobs filled the void and with it came the realization of what he had done to her, blaming her for a life in darkness and for nearly blinding him. Releasing his vice grip, Jeanie collapsed with her head in his lap. He did not need to see that she would have massive bruises where his fingers had dug into her flesh.

“Oh Gods,” he floundered. Remorse filled him even more with the returning of his vision. Bright flashes and streaks mottled the red curls that covered Jeanie’s tear streaked face. Already he could see the blood marking her white skin with angry red spots. He placed a tentative hand on her head and bushed the silky locks from her face. “Jeanie, I’m…I’m so sorry.”

Jeanie continued to weep.

At a complete loss, he could only allow his returning vision to take in her beauty as he gently stroked her head in an attempt to quiet her and to smooth out his own guilt. He did not know how long they stayed like that, Jeanie on his lap while he pet her. Part of him wanted it to go on forever; to touch her without her pulling away in revulsion or fear; to feel the silky smoothness of her hair and breathe in her clean scent of lavender and rose. Gradually she came to a hiccoughing halt and he pulled his hand away as she lifted her head. Her emerald eyes were puffy and red yet still riveting.

She sadly regarded him, evoking new worries. “Jeanie, are you all right?” he ventured, cautiously.

Jeanie pursed her lips and gazed down, nodding.

“I’m so sorry, Jeanie,” he apologized. “I did not mean to hurt you. I seem to be doing that a lot, lately. You did not deserve what I said.”

“Aye, I did.” Her voice was gravely from crying. “Ye had every right. I shouldna opened the drapes, knowin’ better as I do. Can ye forgive me?”

Dumbfounded that she would be asking for his forgiveness, he stared at her. “Of course, but I had no right to hurt you.”

Jeanie followed his gaze to her bruising shoulders and shrugged. “Dinna fash yerself with that. My da used t’ do a lot worse t’ me.” She watched his face blanch at the revelation and allowed herself the luxury of a small smile. Bridging his knees with her arms, she rested her chin on them and gazed up into his eyes. For the first time the stoic mask was removed, revealing the sensitive and caring man she had expected was there but never thought to uncover.

“Then why?” He shook his head. White hair brushed against her face.

“Why what?” She shifted her head to rest more comfortably on one arm.

“Why were you crying, if not because I hurt you?” It felt strangely wonderful to have her so close, touching him.

Jeanie pulled her eyes from his. “I think at first it was because ye did hold me so hard, but then I found I couldna stop. I was cryin’ because of all that’s happened, and then I kenned I cried because ye were holdin’ me and for the first time ye called me by my name.”

Disbelief made way for realization, and a groan escaped his lip. For four years he had always managed not to call her by name, believing that by doing so he could distance himself from her and his growing feelings. It worked, perhaps a little too well. And now he realized the distance was an illusion, blown apart by saying her name to her face.

He gazed at her resting her head on his knee and terror filled him. He wanted her so badly at that moment that it hurt. The emotions confused him. She was not running from him and to his memory she never did. He was the one who always ran. First he did so out of the belief to that to do so would make her more comfortable without having someone so strange about while doing her work, but he knew that was a lie. The truth that he kept from himself was that he never wanted to be hurt again and would not allow the possibility. Now Jeanie was here and though every instinct was to flee and to hide his heart, yet he could not. Hesitantly, he touched a stray copper curl veiling her cheek and brushed it off her soft face.

She closed her eyes at the touch of his cool fingers and recalled a saying that brought a smile to her face.
Cold hands; warm heart.
The Angel was proving to have a very warm heart indeed. She turned her face into his caress and opened her eyes, the blackened scab on the palm of his hand startled her and she pulled back, grasping his hand.

“Yer hurt!”

For one fleeting moment Jeanie’s words did not register and he thought she was going to bolt, instead he watched her examine his hand. Though the cut was healing well, it was still ugly.

“I kenned ye had hurt yerself,” repeated Jeanie, “but nae so bad. I’ll go ask Fernando for some bandages.” She stood and turned towards the door.

Tell Fernando!
The thought brought him to his senses and he stood, spinning Jeanie around to face him. “No.” If Fernando even suspected he was different it could mean the end of him, but how was he to tell Jeanie that? He looked into her startled green eyes. “Fernando must not know about it, ever,” panic welled into his voice. “Promise me, Jeanie. Please.”

“But yer cut should be tended to.” She could not understand his angst.

“I’ll heal, only never tell Fernando, please.”

She nodded, promising without understanding the sudden fear in his eyes.

The tension suddenly left his body and the breath he held came out in a huff. He still held Jeanie and the sudden need for her overwhelmed him, driving away any and all fears he had only moments ago. Running his uninjured hand down the side of her face to cup her chin, he lifted her beautiful face to his. Spring eyes caught his and he could hear the quickening of her breath. The heat of her lips on his startled and exhilarated him and her mouth opened in response. Tentatively, they explored each other. Her hot blood scent drew him into a concupiscence he had allowed himself to experience so long ago that it was all but forgotten. Breaking the kiss with a shudder, he took a step back.
Too close.