Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (44 page)

“At fifteen hundred years old, the Angel is only now just coming into his power,” interrupted the God of Death. “Also, now that he is no longer feeding on human blood and without having Chosen of his own to feed on he is…well…Let’
s just say that any confrontation between the Angel and the Vampires would destroy my only hope.
”

Godfrey chewed on his lower lip as he navigated the roads that led to the mansion.
“
I will find him, sir, and will encourage him to return home.
”

“Good, Godfrey, very good.” Thanatos relaxed into the leather upholstery, eyes closing in relief.

Frowning at his dubious assignment, Godfrey rolled the limo up the long drive, ending at the large two story mansion that was built in the latter half of the last century. Without waiting for him, Thanatos stepped out, closed the door and disappeared into the house leaving Godfrey alone once more. Shifting gears, Godfrey returned down the drive, his pillow
’
s call unheeded. Stifling    another yawn he went in search of an open coffee shop before beginning his quest to find the Angel of Death.

The ground was damp and littered with the crumbling remains of
last autumn
’
s fall. In the centre of the maple grove freshly turned earth darkened the silver illuminated place. High above diaphanous
clouds languidly moved across a diamond studded sky. Far in the west a gibbous waning moon reached for the blanket of cold earth in an attempted to retreat from a sun that would soon rise from the other end of the blanket in an endless game of peek-a-boo.

Rising from her seat at the base of a large maple, Rose stretched her arms and hands to brush against quickening limbs and reborn foliage. Nobody had told her that this would be so boring. The first part had been thrilling. It had been so easy to convince Terry to follow her into the dark woods of the
Don Valley
. Easier was it to have him remove his clothing, his erection tight against his belly in anticipation of his lady
’
s touch. She gave him his release, but not how he expected. His seed pumped from him one last time as she gulped hot red fluids from the deep wound of his femoral artery. Rose
’
s eyes lit up as he arched his back in ecstasy, his beauty becoming increasingly paler under the watching moon until the last shudder of his release matched the one of his last exhalation.

Licking her lips, Rose had wiped her chin with the back of her hand as she stood up from the lovely corpse.  It was before she had taken shovel to earth that she noticed his pale beauty, his body askew from the ecstasy of death. His long blond locks splayed around his head, the moon bleaching the strands to silver as its rays milked his skin to white. Rose had gasped at the sight. Never had Terry appeared so beautiful. She wanted to touch him and hear his melodious accent whisper his love as he touched her where she would allow no other man.

A shudder had run through Rose. Terry did not have an accen
t. The voice she had wished to hear did not belong to him. It was not his touch she craved. A pit opened in her gut. Vampires did not desire fleshly contact the same way as mortals. What was wrong with her? Shaking her head, she had dismissed the rising anxiety and dug Terry
’
s grave with ferocity. She had placed him, his seed cold and dry still on him, into the grave, the black of the earth having bleached his pale beauty further beneath the moonlight before Rose dashed dark loam to cover him.

No mortal, save a few disturbed homeless, roamed these parts. This viaduct of thriving nature ran the vertical length of the city, allowing woodland creatures’ access to its stony heart. It was not unheard of for a deer or a coyote to make its way down to the core of the city.

Silently, Rose walked the several feet to the disturbed earth and stared at the shallow mound. Nothing moved save for what the gentle breeze played with. Releasing a disgruntled huff, she nudged the earth with the tip of her black leather boot. Corbie had given her permission to turn Terry, but with a warning that not all
will be born a Vampire. Sometimes their internment was permanent.
Rose hoped it would not be the case with her beloved pet. She had already waited two nights. She had even picked out his new name, for once Terry rose reborn he would become Thorn.

Rose shivered at her own recollections of scrapping and scrabbling through silk, wood and dark earth to finally taste the blood scented air. It was the all pervading effervescence rising from the child that had eradicated the driving reason to liberate herself from an eternity of darkness.

A groggy moan filled the grove and she abruptly turned to the unconscious old bag lady tied to a tree. In a blink of an eye Rose crouched beside the crazy lady.
“
Shut up,
”
she sneered as she banged the homeless woman
’
s head against the bark.

A blossom of blood scent filled Rose
’
s nostrils, exciting her hunger and lifting her lips in a ferocious smile. A scraping sound returned Rose
’
s attention to the grave. Holding her breath, her vine green eyes widened in anticipation as pale worm-like creatures broke the surface of the dark loam. The unconscious hag forgotten, Rose found herself crouched a few feet away from the grave.

Time slowed. Fingers became long artists
’
hands. Dirt tumbled
down to reveal dust coated paleness. Then a great heave, creating a mountain that fell away from Thorn
’
s pale head and torso,  causing Rose to gasp. Elation shivered through her as Thorn lifted his glorious nude body from the abandoned grave. Earth flowed down smooth pale skin, augmenting his toned muscles. Rose licked her lips, the remnant taste of Terry
’
s blood a memory. No longer would she feed from him. Now they would hunt together for eternity.

His fine straight nose scented the breeze, new instincts asserting themselves. Rose smiled as Thorn found his prey and pounced on the bound woman. No screams pierced the grove, only the sound of suckling and slurping as Thorn
’
s drank.

Walking over to her newly made Vampire, Rose knelt beside his feeding form and ran her hand through his dusted corn silk hair.
“
Pierce deep, Thorn, and drink immortality.
”

N
otus sat on the couch, head in his hands and dreaded to answer Bridget and Fernando
’
s question. Even to look at their furious expressions sent him into despair. He should not have agreed to go with the Noble, but he had no doubt that the Master of Britain would have trussed him up like a Christmas goose and hauled him away like one. Now he sat in the hot seat of their suite. Their burning glares cooked him in an effort to reveal the truth as to why he would not make the Angel Chosen once more.

“You’
re not making any sense,
”
exploded Bridget. She stepped around the opposite seat and sat down, her eyes boring into the Monk.

“I told you why,” implored Notus, refusing to glance at Bridget’
s angry blue eyes.

“An Oath! An Oath!” Fernando swore as he paced, hands gesticulating as if strangling someone. He halted beside Notus and stared down at him. “You swore some fucking oath not to Choose another.”

Bridget laid a hand over her Chosen
’
s tight fist as if to hold him back from pummelling the Priest.
“
We get it. We understand that.
”

“You might, but I don’
t,
”
snapped the Noble.

Ignoring Fernando, Bridget continued.
“
But why? Do you not know what you
’
ve condemned him to?
”

Notus flinched and pressed his hands firmly to his face. He knew. He had seen the boy
’
s battered and bruised body lying on the bed in Bridget and Fernando’s guest room. Hands grabbed his and pulled them away from his face. He could not hide the tears or the pain his decision created. Bridget sat back from what she revealed by taking his hands into hers. The anger melted away, leaving pity in its wake.

“Why, Paul? He was your Chosen –
No, it doesn
’
t matter if it was an accident or not
–
the two of you have been closer than any Chooser and Chosen in as long as anyone can remember. It
’
s clear you love him still, so why not Choose him anew? What is your Oath in comparison with that?
”

Bridget
’
s words tore at him. It was the same question he fought against since the accident that left his boy mortal. He woefully shook his head.
“
I cannot.
”

“Cannot or will not,” sneered the Noble.

Notus eyes widened at the unspoken threat and then lowered them in defeat.
“
Will not,
”
he sighed.

“But why?” implored Bridget. “Just answer that one question. Make us understand, because right now we don’t.”

Meeting her concerned gaze Notus sighed and resolved to do what he never believed he would have to do
–
to cut into a long healed wound and let it bleed out once again. He leaned back in defeat.
“
What I am about to tell you I
’
ve not told anyone.
”

“Not even the Angel?” asked Fernando in disbelief.

“Not even him.” Notus glanced up at the Noble and then at Bridget, searching their surprised visages for their judgement.  Receiving none, he continued, “What I will tell you I pray you will understand, for I believe only a Chosen can. To explain, I have to go back to my beginnings.”

Fernando and Bridget shared a look of surprise before the Noble sat on the end of the couch, both Master and Mistress waiting patiently as two children for a story to begin.

“I was eight years old when my father, a Bard, took me to the Holy Isle to begin my training,” began the monk, his cadence turning to one well practiced in the art of storytelling. “I had an exceptional memory and a propensity for the
retelling of stories I had heard even once. There on the magical island I learned first to become a Bard like my father. With my aptitude it did not take long. I was one of the youngest ever to be initiated to that grade, but it wasn
’
t good enough. I needed to learn more.

“My voracious appetite for knowledge fuelled my studies up and through the grades until I was given the last initiation that made what came to be called a Druid. Don’
t appear so shocked. Yes, I
’
ve always been a priest, but I came to Christianity as it was born. I was already Chosen, but I digress.

“During my years on the Isle I married a beautiful and exceptionally gifted Priestess. Our children, two boys and a girl were the holders of our hearts. All three were dedicated to the Old Ways…I have not spoken of them before.” Notus voice choked with emotion. Wiping away an errant tear he cleared his voice. “I still think of them often. My memories of them are their           immortality.”