Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (48 page)

If only he knew why. Why did They always torment him? He never made a choice to be under Their power despite Them saying so. He never chose to be Chosen. He never chose to be Their unwilling victim in Their sadistic pursuits. And again the question it always came back to –
why me?

Releasing a strained sigh, he knew the question would remain unanswered.

He knew what he needed to do to preserve his sanity. Taking another deep breath, he reached back to the training the monks had given him and sat in the cooling tub as he quieted his mind. Slowly in and out, he focused on his breathing. In and out. Letting the breath relax what muscles the hot water could not. In and out, reaching for a sense of peace. In, bringing in peace and relaxation. Out, releasing his fears and anxieties. Slowly, he breathed until there was nothing left but the sound of nothingness.

He did not know how long he sat there in the bath water until the gentle sound of tapping at the door lifted him from the peace of the meditation. Reluctantly, he re-entered into the world of sound and sight. The tapping grew louder, mingled with the slow steady drip from the tap. With a final clearing breath, his eyes fluttered open as the door opened and he sat straight, eyes wide, at the unexpected sight of Fernando in the doorframe.

“I knocked,” stated the Noble, contritely. “You didn’t answer so I thought it was fine to enter.” His brown eyes roamed around the small room, landing on his host.

He dropped his long legs under the water as best as possible and sat with his back against the tub, his hands clenched and he glared at his houseguest. Fernando’s sunken face was much better, but the grey countenance and dark circles under the eyes bespoke of his blood loss.

“What do you want?” demanded the Angel.

A groan escaped Fernando as he bent to retrieve his dilapidated suit. “I came for these. You don’t expect me to wear this smock all night.” The brown monk’s robe showed signs of having been slept in, and Fernando’s long curling hair desperately desired a comb. Instead he used his free hand and gave his host a measured glare.

Wearily, Fernando sat down on the lidded toilet, clothing in his arms. “I’m leaving.” Ignoring the suspicious look on his partner’s pale face, Fernando continued. “I have to change and get ready for our voyage, and if I stay here any longer, one of us will end up dead. Your red headed vixen smells too delectable for me to stay here and for us not to come to violence. I need to feed.”

He nodded and brought his attention back to the fleeting bubbles on the water. In that moment his opinion softened slightly at Fernando’s consideration. “Jeanie found a ship that will take us. Pier seven at half nine, that’s where the
Sea Witch
will take us to Calais.”

It was Fernando’s turn to nod in appreciation for the information and settling his bare feet on the tile as if to stand, Fernando thought differently. Clutching his bundle of clothing his eyes grew dark. “I’ve been thinking.” Silence fell between them, filled only with the dripping of the faucet. “I didn’t hear or even sense who or what hit me. That’s not possible. If it were a vampire I would have sensed him and it couldn’t have been a mortal, it happened too fast.”

Fernando took a deep breath, held it for a moment as if expecting some sort of rebuff, and released it in a huff.

“What do you think it was?” the Angel whispered the question into the tension thick air, afraid of the answer.

“I don’t know.” Fernando stood in one fluid motion. “Damn.”

The door closed with a thud, leaving him alone in the bathroom, the water suddenly turning cold.

Jeanie awoke in absolute darkness causing her to wonder if she was still asleep. Touching her face, she realized there was nothing to see, not even her hand and reached out to find she was alone in the big bed. The sheets in which he had lain were cold to the touch and she wondered when he had awoken and why he had not woken her.

Stretching as a yawn forced itself out, Jeanie shivered in the cold room desperately desiring to stay under the warm protective covers but knowing she could not. Flinging the quilt back, she instantly regretted the action and sat up. It would be difficult finding her shift on the floor where she left it and a shock of cold ran through her as she left the soft rug for the hardwood floor, feeling her way around the bed. If only the Angel had left a candle burning for her.

Shuffling her feet so as not to stub them on anything, she found something soft and cloth like kicked up onto her foot. Reaching down, she lifted the material up. With a quick feel for the placement of the holes Jeanie smiled and draped her shift over her body. Now she had to find the door and was rewarded with a stubbed toe and a bruised knuckle before harsh bright light flooded into the bedroom. Tears blinked from her eyes until they adjusted to the dim lighting of the living room. It was enough for her to see she had put her shift on backwards and with a groan of annoyance, she shuffled it around to wear it properly. It was the sight of the Angel sitting motionless on the sofa with his back to her that arrested her movement.

It appeared that he had not heard her but Jeanie doubted that and frowned that he had not turned at her entrance. It was as if the Angel was back and her Gwyn was no longer. Worry caused Jeanie to bite her lower lip. After all they had been together in the past twenty-four hours, fear percolated. She could not lose him now.

Floorboards creaked as she walked and Jeanie came to stand behind him, still seemingly unnoticed. She could smell the clean scent of soap on him as she bent over the top of the couch, wrapping her arms on his white linen clad shoulders. His damp hair rested on her cheek as he sighed and leaned into her embrace. It was enough to send her fears flying.

“Ye smell nice,” she murmured into his ear, enjoying his strong form in her arms. When he did not respond, she asked, “Are ye all right?”

“I’m fine.” His whisper faintly carried in the silence.

Jeanie frowned. The Angel was a horrible liar. Even the Good Father had made that comment on occasion and now she could see the truth for herself. Something was wrong and it scared her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

He sat straight and almost pulled out of her embrace.

“Nothing,” he reiterated, trying to keep his voice neutral. “I’m fine.”

“Yer a terrible liar, ye ken?” Jeanie released her arms and stood straight. Shoulders slumped in defeat the Angel leaned back against the couch and without looking up at her continued to stare at the fire. “D’ye wish to tell me?” she offered.

He shook his head, long damp white locks swung heavily. “I can’t.”

“Why no’?” A frown pulled at her face. “After all that ye told me –“

“Jeanie, please.” The supplicatory tone halted her in mid-thought. “I’ve told you a lot. Please. There are some things…” He sighed and she knew she had pushed him too far.

“Is there – did I do somethin’?” Whatever it was that was making him distant again tugged at her insecurities.

As if sensing her plight, he turned to stare up at her; his garnet eyes reflected her pain. “Gods no. You’re the only thing that has gone right.”

A smile drifted to her lips. It was more than she had expected to hear. The Angel turned back to face the fire, hiding the anguish lest it infect Jeanie. He let out a huff of released breath as she laid her soft warm hands on his shoulders.

“Is there anything I can do?” she gently offered. She hated seeing him like this; so sad and something else she could not put a finger on. Noting the taught muscles under her hands, Jeanie instinctively began to use her fingers to work out the knots in his shoulders and was rewarded with a groan of pleasure.

“Gods, Jeanie, whatever you’re doing is perfect.” He dropped his head forward, releasing the curtain of hair so she could work unhindered through his shirt on his wet shoulders.

Jeanie smiled, finally seeing some of the worry leave him as she massaged his strong supple muscles, trusting that he would tell her when he was ready. She had to accept that maybe he could not tell her everything after all that he had surprisingly confided in her. In the meantime she enjoyed making him happy and if she read him correctly, he was thoroughly appreciating her efforts by the soft sighs he emitted especially when she worked at a stubborn knot.

“Where on earth did you learn how to do this?” He sighed, luxuriating as she worked her strong fingers along his neck.

“I used to do this for my mam when she got sick.” Jeanie rubbed the long muscles in his neck, her smile gone with the memories. “After she passed, I’d do this for my da after he came in from the fields. Usually if I did, he wouldna beat me when he got drunk.”

Silence fell between them as tense muscles finally gave way to her ministrations.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly offered as Jeanie lifted her hands with a sweeping gesture off his broad shoulders.

Surprised at the unexpected reaction to the massage, Jeanie blurted, “For what?”

“That you lost your mother and that your father beat you.” He lifted his head and stretched his neck side to side and then turned again to look up at her. “Someone so special shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

Her mouth formed a silent O at his sentiment. Jeanie finally realised how much he truly cared for her and she smiled. “I ken my mama would hae liked ye.”

Surprise flitted across his face before he turned to face forward, closing her off from his pain. Whatever it was that had him in its grips was fierce and Jeanie knew she had to be stronger. Walking around the couch, she sat down beside him and took his wounded hand in hers. He felt cool to the touch and his fingers gripped hers in response.

“Yer a verra special person,” she whispered. “My mama always told me I deserved to be loved by someone extraordinary. She was right.” He looked down onto her and she met his sad eyes with a small grin. “Whatever it is we’ll deal with it together, aye?”

A slight smile touched his pale lips and he nodded.

Jeanie savoured the smile but noted that it did nothing to diminish the sadness in his eyes.

Realizing that they were blissfully alone, Jeanie looked around and queried, “Where’s Fernando?”

The wall suddenly loomed high between them again and she instantly regretted asking as he turned away to stare once more into the fire.

“He’s left.” His soft melodious voice barely carried above the crackling of the wood forcing Jeanie to strain to hear him even sitting at his side. “He thought it best, all things considering. He’ll meet us at the pier.”

At the mention of their impending travels Jeanie sat straight in remembrance. “What time is it?”

The Angel shrugged a shoulder. “Half seven?”

Jeanie’s eyes went wide. That meant they only had two hours to get ready and down to the ship, and here she was sitting on the couch and the Angel seemed completely disinterested. “I hae t’get ready. We need to pack.” She stood, a list running and organizing in her mind.

“I’ve already packed,” he stated quietly without looking up.

Beside the front door a black leather suitcase sat propped up against the wall, the sheathed sword stood point down beside it. Jeanie’s breath caught at the realization that he was bringing the sword. The implied expectation of violence sent a shiver down her spine. How long had he been awake? The tension in the room thickened and she knew she had to do something to alleviate it before something was said that was better left unsaid.

“D’ye think I hae time to wash up?”

He gazed up at her and nodded. “There should be enough hot water, but you’ll need to get another slice of soap from the cupboard. I’m afraid I used it all.” His eyes lowered, discomfited.

“That’s alright.” Jeanie smiled and silently wondered how he could have used up a new cake of soap in one sitting. “Afterwards I’ll put on the new dress I bought and we can go out. Ye can take me for some dinner.”

“You mean at a restaurant?” His crimson eyes shot up to gaze at her, his mouth slack in what she could only imagine as horror.