Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (40 page)

His extreme age stunned her more than the rest of the revelation. When she found herself coherent enough, she warily asked, “But ye dinna have to kill all the time, d’ye?”

“No,” he explained. “Thank the Gods we do not have to kill to get what we need.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. “Now you know why it is not possible.”

“Because ye have killed,” stated Jeanie, sombrely. Try as she might she could not see him as a cold bloodied killer. Fernando, yes, but not the Angel, and not the Good Father. They were too kind, too caring, too giving. Nothing in the way they ever treated her was anything but gracious and, from the Good Father, loving. Even with the old Chinese man it was clear to Jeanie that the Angel did not want to do what he had done. A killer would not act that way.

“Yes, that is one reason,” he sighed.

“What is the other?” She asked suddenly curious.

He opened his mouth to say but instead closed it with a click. If she could say she loved him now that she knew he was Chosen, then he doubted that she would love him less for his appearance. The thought was strangely comforting.

“It doesn’t bother you that I have killed people?” he asked.

Jeanie sighed. She had to admit that it did bother and terrify her. What he was saying about himself seemed so incongruous with the man sitting on the bed. She did not know how to answer.

“What will happen to me now that I know?” she whispered.

Gazing into Jeanie’s worried eyes, he knew that she had a right to be concerned, but he did note that she had not answered his question and that disturbed him. Most mortals that found out were killed out of hand unless their silence was guaranteed by the protection of a Chosen or the memory erased with the Push. In extremely rare occurrences they were Made because they were told about the Chosen to have the choice for an immortal life.

“I told you that you could trust me with your life, it is still true,” he said softly. “I will never let you come to harm.”

“Never?” she asked, incredulously, staring into his large, beautiful ruby eyes.

“Never,” he repeated in earnest and stood, knowing what he must do to make Jeanie believe and trust him. “I promised you that before when I asked you to trust me, and I will swear to it too if I must.”

Crossing to the back of the room, he took down his sword from the wall and went back to sit on his bed. With a hiss of metal against its sheath the blade lay naked across his lap. Jeanie stared in awe at the beauty of such a sword.

“Before I was Made and became Chosen,” he explained, gazing at the ancient sword, “the only other living soul I knew – besides the woman who raised me – taught me how to be a warrior – to wield a sword. This was his sword, given to me by his daughter after he was killed in battle. It is as old as I, maybe older.”

Carefully grasping the sharp blade where the dragons intertwined, he lifted it so that the sword was held point up between them. “Take hold of the hilt,” he ordered. “With both hands.”

She did as she asked, her hands shaking. Jeanie had never held or seen such a fine weapon. They, again, were things made of stories. There was no weight to the blade, held firmly in his white grip.

His serious eyes caught hers across the steel of the blade. “I swear to you, Jeanie Stuart, upon this sword, and before what Gods men believe now that I will never let you come to any harm. If I do, may this weapon be turned against me.” Slipping the sword back into its sheath, he laid it at the foot of the bed.

Jeanie sat strangely quiet; unshed tears glimmering in her eyes. “No one has ever made me feel so safe, so cared for. No one has done what ye hae done for me. I dinna think it matters if yer a vampire and what that all means. What ye were before I knew is still the same as what I know now and it makes me love ye even more.”

Silence crashed between the two of them as Jeanie’s insistence sank in. Noticing that something was wrong by his baffled expression, Jeanie asked, “What’s wrong?”

The question snapped him out of his reverie and he shook his head. “Haven’t you been listening to me?” Incredulous, he stood, leaving her to sit on the bed and stare up at him. “I am not human!” He thumped himself hard on the chest with his hand. “I am Chosen – vampire, immortal, whatever! I have lived by draining the blood of mortals for about fourteen hundred years! I have killed for my blood lust. How can you say you love me when it cannot be possible?”

Jeanie bore his outrage in stoic silence before she pushed herself off the bed to stand facing up at him. She sucked her teeth until her lips smacked, and then she bore in.

“For someone as
old
as ye claim, ye're pretty
daft
.” He gaped at her. “Aye, I’ve heard ye, an it seems ye dinna hear
me
verra well. I told ye I love ye. I dinna care
what
you are. I only care
who
ye are. Life is horror and death. I’ve seen my fair share of it before I ever came here. I’ve known men who’ve kilt for nothing more than spilt whiskey and a misplaced word or two. Ye are no like them in the least. If ye were ye wouldna hae sworn that oath and ye wouldna be tryin’ so hard to push me away. And as for it no bein’ possible for me to love the likes of ye, ye are so verra wrong. I told ye before, and I’ll tell ye again, I’ve loved ye since the first, when I was newly brought to this home, saved by the Good Father, and until now I was too afraid to tell ye.”

It was still not possible, and he wished he could wake up. Jeanie’s words struck him to the core, yet he continued to deny them. “But I’m not human,” he weakly stated, mournfully shaking his head.

The sadness in his large ruby eyes extinguished her anger and she took a step towards him. “Ye are, in here.” She laid her hand on his chest. “That’s all that matters to me.”

Cautiously, Jeanie entwined her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and sighed when she felt his arms encircle her, returning the embrace.

Time seemed to stretch into eternity and she knew what she wanted next but was afraid to ask.

Tilting her face up to his, she haltingly ventured, “Will ye make love to me?”

She was so beautiful, more wondrous than Tarian’s granddaughter. There was a strength in Jeanie he never imagined. He could see the love in her eyes and he woefully realized that he was rejecting it out of fear. He had faced so many unknowns before but this one terrified and thrilled him. Bending down, he succumbed to his own needs and tasted of her lips again, desperately wanting to take her and felt her desire blossom as she opened for him.

Realization of what he was doing slammed into him and he pulled away, shaking his head.

“I cannot,” he stated sadly.

He could not attempt the risk, but mainly because of a somewhat embarrassing truth.

“Is it because ye are a vampire?” ventured Jeanie. The kiss of his soft lips against hers made her whole body tingle and she desired more. Hearing his refusal confused her. She thought she felt the same need in him as they had shared the embrace.

“Chosen,” he automatically corrected.

“What?” Jeanie’s face lit with confusion.

“Chosen. That is what we have always called ourselves.”

“Oh,” she said, sadly. “Ye canna because ye are Chosen?”

“No,” he replied, suddenly becoming uncomfortable at where this was leading. “Do not take it the wrong way. I do want to. I have for so long. Ever since Notus made a place for you in our home.”

“Then why?” She stared in genuine curiosity, warmed by his admission of his desire for her.

Releasing her, he sat back down on the bed. “The risk and – ” He gazed sheepishly up at her. “It’s been centuries since the last time.”

Jeanie blinked. The risk, whatever that was, was something she was willing to take, but this admission astonished her. “You mean in all that time you haven’t?”

He nodded feeling the sudden flush of heat into his face and was glad that the single candle would mask his embarrassment.

“But you have –”

“Yes.”

A small smile of understanding lifted her lips and she stepped close enough to lean against his knees. She placed a hand on his face and watched him close his eyes and sigh. “My first time was the night the Good Father brought me here, when he rescued me while I was being raped.” His eyes popped open in surprise. It was clear that he had not known. “So I guess we can both help each other.” She leaned over and kissed his full soft cool lips.

When she finally came up for air, he let his hands remain on her arms.

“Chosen are unlike mortals,” he stated, suddenly worried. “I could easily kill –”

His words were stifled when her fingers pressed to his lips. “Shhh. Ye swore an oath to keep me from harm. I trust ye with all my soul that ye will keep true to yer word.”

Jeanie did not allow him another word of protest by replacing her fingers with her lips, and this time he permitted himself to enjoy the kiss as she straddled across his legs. The sensual taste of her drove him on and he hungrily worked passionately down her throat. Luscious cinnamon hair tickled his face as he felt her pulse begin to throb with more urgency beneath his lips. Oh how he wanted to pierce her soft pale skin to taste of the sweet nectar, instead he pulled himself away from her inviting neck with a groan.

It had been so incredibly long since his passions were returned without expectation of being used. It was made more intoxicating by the fact that she knew what he was and accepted it and him. He did not have to hide from her. For the first time he did not have to conceal the truth of his needs or his desires. In his wildest dreams he never imagined this to be possible and he kissed her urgently, feeling her mouth open to his, allowing them to explore and taste each other.

Cupping his face, it was now Jeanie’s turn to slowly work down his throat, sucking and licking. Head back, he closed his eyes and let out a hiss of delight as she nibbled on his neck. Unable to bear the teasing of her dull mortal teeth, he gripped her shoulders and pushed her away before he lost what little control he maintained.

“What’s wrong?” she implored, witnessing her lovers struggle.

“Don’t…don’t do that,” he finally managed to gasp.

“Why?” Her face contorted in worry.

“Just trust me on that.” Her concern did not disappear, forcing him to explain. “I have never…with my own kind…but I do know that the exchange of blood is the height of the experience. If you had continued teasing me like that I would not have teased you.”

Realization widened her eyes. She would have to be more cautious if she was to come out alive, but he swore an oath and he was well worth the risk. A playful glint alighted her sparkling green eyes.

“Tease, eh?” she smiled. “So teasin’s out. I think I can handle that.”

She found his mouth again savouring his taste, feeling his hands expertly working the fastenings of her dress.

She tasted so good and he wanted more, urged on by the sudden rapidity of Jeanie’s breathing and beating heart. She wanted him as desperately as he wanted her, and he relinquished the last vestiges of control. It had been so long since he felt such visceral desire, but coupled with the love she had declared and his own unspoken feelings, he allowed himself to give in. The wall that had stood for centuries crumbled as if made of dust, releasing him to finally believe he could be truly loved for who and what he was, something he was told could never happen.

As soon as the last fastening released, Jeanie pulled back with a gasp for breath, smiled and pulled the dress over her head without any care for the delicate fabric, and tossed it to the side, landing puddled on the floor. Standing in her shift, Jeanie looked magnificent, and his need for her jumped as he watched her remove her shoes and stockings.

Craving to drink in more of her succulent form he let his hands roam down her warm back, dipping them under her shift, lifting to expose what he had only ever seen in silhouette. Jeanie assisted by raising the shift over her head, letting it fall next to the dress. He sat there, basking in the sight of her nude form.