Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (76 page)

The sound of her skirts rustled towards him and he felt her body press against his. It took all his reserves not to flinch away or attempt to pull his arms down as she laid one arm on his shoulder to wrap languidly around the back of his neck while her other hand skilfully descended along his body, altering her motion once she found what she was seeking.

“The answers are quite simple,” she sighed into his ear as her hand expertly worked below. “Do you know how many nights I heard Jeanie speak about you? About her desires for you? The erotic speculations? About your unmatched beauty? Do you not think it would captivate any woman‘s imaginings to possess the Angel, to discover these delicious secrets?”

Eyes shut tight he tried to drive his mind away from what she sent through him.

“I’ve had many men and women, mortal and Chosen, through the years.” She licked a path along his jugular, sending a shiver up his spine. “But to possess the Angel, to own him body and soul, to have him completely mine to do as I please, is a delectation undreamed of.”

He could not believe what he was hearing and steeled himself from what her expert hand elicited until he felt her fingers grip his braid, viciously yanking his back head. Agony ripped past and convulsed against the sensations she was sending through him, pain mingled with visceral desire, and he groaned.

“You would be wise to do as I wish,” hissed the Mistress, fury captivating and twisting her features. “It’s your choice whether Jeanie lives to see the dawn.”

Comprehension of what she demanded from him drew a sob from his raw throat. He did not need the white-faced demons to bring his fears to reality they were already here.

With only one path leading to hope for Jeanie, he relinquished any possibilities for himself.

The clutch on his braid released, sending him rocking on the chains until she stopped him with her body.

“You see how easy capitulation is?” The smile was back in her voice.

Despair welled, pulling tears from his eyes, and he tried to ignore Violet’s lapping at their tracks. Resuming her position against him, she laid her hands on his body. A moan of pleasure vibrated against his neck as her mouth found his throbbing jugular. He gasped at the raw sensation. His eyes snapped open before scrunching shut in the attempt to shut the feeling off. She manipulated his flesh while shame burned brighter than the fever.

“You Chosen are so pompous in your belief that you are the ones chosen by your God,” she hummed in his ear, between kisses. Her cool lips pulled at his flesh. “That you are the only ones who feast on mortal flesh.”

Panting to push down the conflicting physical responses to her and the iron, he found it difficult to focus on her words. He felt the shift of her skirts, the press of her body tight against him, and loathed his traitorous flesh.

“So ignorant. So foolish. So easy to destroy.”

Teeth scratched against his neck at the same time the shock of cold flesh enveloped him.

“All the stories, all the legends,” Violet grasped his braid, pulling his head back as she rode him. “They weren’t about you.”

Gasping, he watched in growing horror as the sadistic smile in violet eyes grew.

“You usurped our name. You usurped our position. You pretend you are greater when you are lesser. Humanity is the taint of the Chosen because you never are born Chosen. Thankfully, we Vampires are born of the grave, leaving humanity behind.” Anger flashed, icing her eyes to a chilling blue. Her dull canine teeth elongated to sharp needle like points. “The Chosen die in their ignorance. Vampires rule, sending the strongest of the Chosen on tasks that can only fail so that we can exterminate the rest.”

Pain and pleasure spasmed through his tortured body as she bit deep into his neck. He could feel her teeth penetrating him as cold lips began their deadly suckle. With each drawing, he felt his body weaken as his blood flooded out of his body to fill hers in time with his body’s throbbing release.

The Chosen were not Vampires.

Vampires were real.

Vampires were the ones succeeding in the genocide of the Chosen.

He damned himself and the Chosen for their presumption.

Oh how wrong they all were.

He wept.

J
eanie’s mouth felt full of cotton. Smacking her lips, she tried to
bring much needed moisture and found none. Head pounding, she carefully opened her eyes and wish she had not. The dim candlelight was enough to make her groan as she lifted weighted arms to cover her face. A rumble from her stomach added to the distress. Jeanie was hungry, but more than that she was incredibly thirsty.

Arms flopping impotently to the sides of her head, she made another attempt to open her eyes. Slowly, she was able to take in the swirling patterns of the stucco ceiling. Violet’s bed was comforting to her weary body, but this did not look like Violet’s room at the Rose and Thorn.

Memory crashed into Jeanie, causing her to gasp. The cold hand clamped over her mouth as an unknown assailant carried her bodily. The Angel’s destruction gored the front entrance of the mansion and his beautiful crimson eyes reflecting despair in defeat. Violet standing triumphant on the stairs as Jeanie was whisked past. The sounds of two shots and then being thrust into the grand room she now found herself in.

Jeanie had first railed against the locked door, crying out to be released. Self-hatred boiled up at the comprehension that it was she that had brought about the Angel’s capture. The idea that he would be killed because of her stubborn selfishness made her slam against the door, pounding it until the wood split her knuckles and fingers.

It was a shock when the door clicked and opened, revealing her friend in glamorous attire. Violet entered the boudoir and closed the door behind, all the while watching Jeanie’s blood well in the scrapes. It was all the more horrific what Violet did next.

Grasping Jeanie’s hands in a vice like grip, Violet purring like a mother cat, licked the wounds clean.

Jeanie tried to pull away, but could not. This was her friend. The one who always laughed at the penny presses that Jeanie brought back, especially ones about vampires; the one who had been so supportive of trying to find a way for Jeanie to be with the Angel; the one who lived down the hall; the one Alice always had misgivings about; the one Tom steered clear of – the one who was behind the poisoning of the Chosen.

It all seemed surreal; this creature standing before her, with her blood staining Violet's lips.

“Exquisite,” sighed Violet, running her tongue over lips. “Had I known how delicious you would taste I would have made you mine years ago.”

Jeanie’s eyes widened and she stepped backwards until she ran into the dressing table, her body trembling. “What are ye?”

A secretive smile pulled at the corners of Violets lips, her blue eyes sparkling. “My dear friend – do you realize you are the only one I call friend? No? No matter.” Black waves swelled and then settled on Violet’s shoulders as she shook her head. “I am that which all mortals fear. I am a Vampire.”

Jeanie could not believe what she was hearing. “Ye’re...ye're poisoning yer own kin?”

Violet was upon her faster than she could imagine. Their faces only inches apart, so close that Jeanie could smell her fetid breath and trembled at the fury in Violet’s face.

“You mistake me for a Chosen?” roared Violet.

Pain smacked against Jeanie’s back and head and she found herself being lifted off the floor, Violet’s petite hands bruising her upper arms.

“The Chosen are nothing,” raged Violet. “It will be the Vampires who will rule.”

Shocked and dazed, Jeanie fought to free herself only to give up at the sight of Violet’s smile. Normal appearing teeth gave way to the gruesome reality of the sketches found in her novels. Violet’s teeth grew into two long points and before Jeanie could react, sharp pain rendered her motionless as her once-friend bit deep into her neck.

No sensations of pleasure. Only horror and pain as Jeanie tried to make non-functioning limbs fight against what Violet drew out of her until the blackness overwhelmed her.

Supine on the silk, the scent of cooked meat and fresh bread drifted to Jeanie’s nose and she inhaled deeply, sending her stomach into a frenzy of rumbling. Blissful saliva flooded her mouth and she sat up, swinging legs over the side to dangle bonelessly. An upsurge of nausea and stabbing lights made her groan as she sat, gripping the edge of the gold coverlet in suddenly clammy hands. A few deep breaths steadied the spinning room and reduced the sledgehammer battering her brain to a dull throb. Turning her head in the direction of the delicious fragrance, Jeanie caught her breath as renewed pain flared in her neck where Violet had bitten her.

Clamping a hand over the wound, the pressure dulled the sharp pain. Jeanie carefully stood and stumbled towards the dressing table. Hand trembling, she pulled out the red and gold embroidered cushioned chair and sat down with a sigh.

In the mirror before her, Jeanie barely recognized herself. Dark circles bruised her eyes and tainted the corners of her mouth, starkly contrasting her wan face. Even her lips had taken on a tinge of blue. Swallowing down the fear reflected in her green eyes, Jeanie cautiously lifted her hand away from the wound on her neck and gasped. Two scabbed over holes were surrounded by blackened flesh.

Tears welled and dripped down. A part of Jeanie’s mind was amazed she had enough moisture for that. Tilting her head, she brushed errant locks from the bite mark. They were so unlike what she had experienced with the Angel. This was neither soft nor pleasurable.

Tentatively, she touched her fingertips to the holes and moaned.

Lowering her eyes from the mirror, she dropped her hand to the red stained surface of the table and the silver tray that contained a plate of rare steak, new potatoes and greens. A small loaf sent wisps of steam into the air, while condensation dripped down the silver pitcher filled with ice water.

Despair flooded through Jeanie, forcing the tears to flow faster. Everything had gone so horribly wrong and her fears for the Angel clenched her belly into knots. Jeanie knew she could not live without him and she picked up the knife left for her to cut the meat. Its silver gleamed in the candlelight. It would be so easy to plunge its serrated edge into her abdomen, but she remembered what he had asked of her to do if he never returned and she dropped the knife with a clatter against the table.

She had to find a way out of here and escape back to London with what she had learned. Maybe it would be enough to purchase Notus’ freedom and then they would be able to grieve together, but to do that she needed sustenance.

Picking up fork and knife in tremulous hands, Jeanie cut through the juicy red meat, its appearance sending a flood into her mouth in expectation. She had no doubt that everything was spiced with the poisonous herbs, but she had to eat. The first bloody mouthful vanquished any rational thought as Jeanie rapaciously tore into her meal, washing large chunks down with gulps of water.

Bit by bite, Jeanie felt her strength returning, yet the pervading fatigue still ached her joints and muscles. Sopping up the red juices left from the nearly raw meat, Jeanie settled back against the rod iron backing of the seat and sighed. She hated the fact that it had been the most delicious meal she had ever had.

Strength returning, Jeanie stood and walked to the draped windows. Sweeping the red velvet curtains proved her entrapment. Shoulders slouched in defeat; Jeanie went to the other window covering and pushed them out of the way.

A glimmer of hope flushed through her and she knelt down to peer through the small space left at the base of the window that allowed the night to creep in through a badly painted job.

It would be a tight fit once she figured out how to break the glass. The only hesitation was that the ground was far below. A sigh shuddered through her and she knew what she had to do, there was no choice except for what she would use to break the window. She could not remain here.