Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (81 page)

He’s dead.

The thought came unbidden and he shook his head trying to deny the reality before him. Had the Angel been alive there would have been some healing, some evidence of life, but Fernando could see none. The Vampires had done away with another of the Chosen, yet it was not that which ignited the anger within the Noble. He was not sure he liked the reason behind the anger. One thing was certain; he would do everything to make the Vampires pay.

Jaw clenched, Fernando pulled his gaze away to find Jeanie standing at the other end of one of the chains, scrabbling at a way to release the mechanism that held the Angel limply in place.

“What are you doing?” Fernando strode over to her and grabbed her arm. With a jerk she brought her gaze away from the Angel to land on him. “He’s dead. We need to go. Katherine needs to hear of what we know.”

Jeanie shook her head and shrugged out of the grip, tears no longer falling. “No. I canna leave him. He isna dead.” Turning back to the lever, she tried to give it another pull.

“You stupid girl.” Fernando turned to walk back up the stairs. It was fine with him if she wanted to stay and get caught. He would figure some way to drive the cart back to the monastery. “If the Angel were still alive he would have healed from his wounds.”

“He’s alive.” Jeanie huffed. The lever would not budge. She would have to find another way to release the Angel and went to stand before her lover, lower lip quivering.

The Angel’s face was unmarred and slack. Strands of white hair stuck to his face while the long braid hung dishevelled before his chest, dotted with dried blood. Reaching up, Jeanie laid a tremulous hand on his face.

“I’ll free ye,” she whispered.

A soft groan responded, snapping Fernando’s eyes wide. Somehow the Angel was alive!

Impossible to believe, Fernando found himself at Jeanie’s side. Too incredible to believe, he searched the Angel’s face and found nothing. Shoulders slumping, mouth pursed in exasperation, Fernando shook his head, annoyed that he was taken by such a simple release of gases as the Angel’s corpse began its return to the earth.

Resigned, Fernando resumed his egress. “He’s already free.”

They could not bring back a corpse, no matter how attached the girl was. What would they do with it anyway? Fernando shook his head and was shocked when Jeanie grabbed his hand, pulling him around to face the devastation in her eyes.

“Ye were able to ken he was alive before,” said Jeanie meekly, her eyes falling from contact. “Ye can do it again.”

Yanking his hand from her grasp, Fernando opened his mouth to berate her but held his tongue. The faint spark of hope filling her misery grated his teeth. “That was different.”

“It’s not.” She pulled him closer to the Angel’s dangling corpse.

Releasing a huff, Fernando closed his eyes and quickly counted to ten. It was enough time to recognize that to fight the task would only ensure they would remain longer and get caught again, something he was not going to allow happen. If acquiescing got them out faster, then he would do it.

“Fine.” He shook off the warmth of her touch and gazed at the Angel.

Scowling, he placed his hands on the corpse’s shoulders and nearly jumped out of his skin at the heat blazing off of the black tendrilled flesh. Eyes widening, Fernando could only hear the racing of his heart as he watched the Angel’s face screw up in pain. A corpse did not radiate heat. Hell, Chosen did not radiate heat. Under the realization that the Angel was indeed alive came the thrill that Fernando was finally going to find out the truth about his partner.

“Find the keys for the manacles,” Fernando shouted as he reached up along blackened arms to search for the keyhole.

“I canna find them,” replied Jeanie, her voice frantic as she searched the table and the wall of gruesome implements. Metal clinked against the stone floor as gored utensils dislodged from their hooks.

Gritting his teeth, Fernando shook his head. He did not want to try what he needed to do. Managing the best grasp on the Angel’s burning arm he gave a gentle tug. It was the strangled gasp from his unconscious partner that made Fernando release his grip. The shackles would not release their prisoner. That in itself was odd. It was clear the Angel was the strongest of the Chosen he had ever met, so it stood no reason that even he could not have broken free. Frowning, Fernando reached up, his fingers pushing between swollen black skin and the hard metal. He would try and pull the locked manacles apart.

Fingers grasping the thick metal, Fernando took a deep breath and held it as he pulled on the shackles, willing them to come apart. Painstakingly he felt the hinge open and was rewarded with the sound of the locking mechanism cracking and breaking. His hands flew apart with an exultation of breath that left the Noble stunned. In his hands, two pieces of iron gleamed wetly, but it was the stake projecting to join through the centre that turned his stomach. Fernando flung the offending ruins to the floor. The sound echoed off the walls.

Returning his attention to his tortured partner, Fernando blanched to see the Angel dangle precariously from one ruined wrist. “Jeanie, hold him while I free his other arm.”

Snapping from her stupor, Jeanie raced over to gather the Angel’s weight around her shoulders. Her face pressed against his unwounded breast, she was rewarded with the sound of his faint heartbeat. Fear and hope twisted her tear stained face, and she nodded her readiness.

Fernando grasped the other shackle as best he could and pulled; this time noticing the sizzling wet sound as the iron bar relinquished its purchase. The manacle broke apart, freeing the Angel.

Unable to withstand the Angel’s full weight suddenly upon her, Jeanie held him as best she could as he slipped to the stone floor. Shock sent her hands to her cover her mouth.

Realizing that something was wrong, Fernando let the metal clatter to the ground and glanced over. Mouth slack at the sight of the Angel’s ruined back he found he could not look away. In his long life Fernando had seen slaves whipped, seamen, soldiers and convicts flogged, some to death, but never before had he seen such damage done. Lines of blackened and burnt flesh outlined charred and torn muscle where skin had been thoroughly flayed away. There was no part of the length of the Angel’s back that had any white skin remaining. The Angel was a mess of scorched flagellation marks and cauterized red glistening muscle.

With effort, Fernando pulled his gaze away, searching for what could do such a thing and found, several feet behind the Angel, the steel scourge. Picking it up, the Noble nearly dropped it for all the gore still remaining on the iron barbs. Despite all the Angel had suffered, thought Fernando, he should have been able to heal from this. It did not make any sense. He looked over to see Jeanie kneeling, gently turning the Angel onto his side to place his head in her lap.

Fernando’s hand tightened on the discipline. The realization that she knew the Angel’s secret infuriated him and before he knew it, Fernando yanked the girl up from her position of comfort.

“He should be dead, but he isn’t. He’s alive, but he’s not healing.” He gave Jeanie a shake and lifted the deadly scourge to dangle gruesomely before her eyes. She blanched as Fernando’s fury pressed forward. “As Chosen he should have healed, but he hasn’t. If I whip you with this, your flesh would tear, it wouldn’t burn.”

Jeanie yelped and tried to pull from his grasp, weeping in her failure to flee.

Disgusted by the girl’s reaction, as if he would do such a thing, Fernando tossed her to the floor.

“If it had been me or any other Chosen tortured here,” he hissed, “no physical mark would remain if left alive.”

He knelt down and grasped her chin, forcing her tear filled eyes to lock onto his. “He’s been carefully hiding something from me since the beginning. Hell, he’s always hid from the Chosen. You know what it is. If you want my help you’d better tell me, now.”

Jeanie fell sideways at the sudden release as the Noble stood, catching herself with outstretched arms.

“I promised,” she gasped.

Squaring his shoulders, Fernando glared down his nose at her and waited.

It did not take long for Jeanie to realize what she had to do to save her lover.

“He said that his life would be forfeit if ever found out,” stammered Jeanie.

Eyes flashing at the closeness to the secret, Fernando could taste victory within his reach. “His life is forfeit if you don’t tell me.”

Watery green eyes gazed up imploringly. It was clear that she did not want to break her promise, but to regain the Noble’s help she had to do as he wished.

“It’s the iron,” she sighed resolutely, closing her eyes in pain. “It burns him when cut.”

Victory turned Fernando sour with the realization that the Angel’s secret marked him to become a Destroyed One, and the responsibility of that disclosure now rested upon him. It was his worst expectation, one he found he did not relish. “How is that possible?”

“Please help me take him back to the monastery,” she implored, rising to her feet. “I’ve told you what you wanted to know.”

Fernando snorted. Now he knew and the responsibility that came with the secret surprisingly sent a deadened weight into his gut. Kneeling down, he gathered the Angel’s dead weight over his shoulder and stood. The smell and touch of cooked flesh assaulted his senses and he walked to the stairs. Maybe if he were lucky the Angel would die of his wounds, letting Fernando off the hook for what was expected of any Chosen. He wondered if the Angel could die at all.

Silently, they ascended the stairs, Fernando’s mind racing with the discoveries over the last twenty-four hours, the evidence held securely over his shoulder.

J
eanie sat hunched over on the rickety wooden seat, slick leather
reigns looped through her fingers. Bitter rain pelted down from an ironclad sky as the wind scourged her exposed face and hands, flaying her body of precious heat. The horse blanket Fernando insisted she wrap herself in was soaked through, but wool, even wet, provided enough warmth to keep from shivering.

Supported between her thighs, the Angel’s sheathed sword leaned so that its hilt rested over her shoulder. She did not know what possessed her to pick up the blade, except that she knew how important it was to him. It was the only rational thought that popped into her mind as she dumbly watched Fernando carry the Angel from the torture chamber.

Not knowing what to expect upon finding the entertainment room, Jeanie realized that what she found sent her into a numb panic that filled her head with white noise and confusion. Witnessing him prisoner, suspended and trapped, his body a testament to Violet’s sadism and desire to possess him, ground out any rationality except one - to free the Angel.

Jeanie understood she was freeing him from one horrific demise to be placed upon the executioners block the Chosen kept for those they deemed impure. She trembled at the thought of the power Fernando now held over the Angel, and subsequently Notus. If she had to, she would sneak into his room during the day and kill him herself, or at least die in the attempt. It would be one way to ensure that she would be with the man she loved. But first things first, she had to get him back to the Monastery in the hopes that something could be done to heal him.

Chucking the reigns, Jeanie clicked her tongue against her teeth, she urged the two miserable draft horses to hurry along the muddy track. Despite nearing noon, light could be seen from the large stained glass that adorned the west facing of the church. It was a beacon of hope and Jeanie wept at the sight.

The wagon slipped sideways on the churned mud as the horses turned through the gateway. Jeanie’s hand clutched the wooden bench in an attempt not the slide off and sighed once the wagon righted itself. Through the thick canvas she heard Fernando swear with the sudden lurch. Ignoring him, she sought the lonely door down from the cathedral’s massive entrance.

Jeanie coaxed the horses to turn the wagon until they were facing away from the old wooden door and pulled hard on the reigns. The horses halted, their white and chestnut legs covered in grey-brown muck, and lowered their heads in exhaustion. Unfortunately their work was not yet complete. Pulling high and back on the reigns, Jeanie clucked again and the horses took a halting step backwards, clearly not liking the reversed movement.