Read Online Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles by Karen Dales - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Dales
Tags: Horror
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towards the man, he found it a relief to feel the wind diminish and the constant pounding of snow lessen.
With the Angel ’ s appearance, the dilapidated man ’ s brown eyes widened. “’ Ere wot? ” He tried to regain his feet but could not. Instead he lay there huffing.
The Angel came to stand before the battered creature covered in grime and snow. If he allowed himself he would feel sorrow for this man and his wasted life. Instead he stood there with a decision to make and a choice to present. Placing the sword case down onto the snow covered alley, he knelt, his knee sinking deep into the fluff to pull unexpectedly on the ragged scar along his thigh.
He was tired, but he was not all that hungry. It had been a very long time since he last fed from a mortal in the manner of a Chosen, but he could smell death creeping up the homeless man ’ s limbs and that was what drew him. Months could pass before the stirrings of hunger made itself present. The times between feedings could be even longer depending upon his interaction with the white-faced demons. During his century of Vampire slaughters using the demons he had not needed to feed once. He only did so to keep up the pretence with Notus and the other Chosen they encountered.
Now, without the need of the white-faced demons, the hunger slowly blossomed and he sighed.
“ Wha – what are you? ” stammered the man. He tried to bring the bottle in his left hand to his mouth but failed, the cold seeping his strength.
Recognizing the man ’ s need, the Angel helped him drink from the neck. The pungent smell of whiskey permeated the snow swept air.
“ Ye ’ ve come to take me, eh? ” coughed the man. “ I thought so. ”
“ Who do you think I am? ” asked the Angel. He knew he did not need to. No matter how much time had passed between inhabitations of a particular place, the locals, especially on their dying beds, would know him. It still disturbed him.
“ The Angel of Death, ” stated the man, matter-of-factly.
“ And you wish to die? ” he asked in all curiosity.
“ No. ” The man sighed. “ But it ’ s now a toss up between cancer, the beating those two sons of a whore gave me or the cold. Which would you take? ”
The Angel inhaled sharply through his nose and then slowly let it go. No puff of warm air condensed about his face. The man had made his choice. Taking the man ’ s hand in his own, he could feel the calluses of someone who had worked hard all his life. It was always a shame when people were felled low by circumstances beyond their control. Resting his eyes once more on the man ’ s bloodshot brown eyes, he spoke with the rhythm of the man ’ s heart.
The man sighed and closed his eyes. He would feel nothing except peace.
Lifting the hand to his mouth, the Angel gently bit into the vessel deep within the wrist. Cool sluggish blood flowed.
Chapter V
I t was not the blast of wind that halted the Angel in his tracks and nor was it the pelting of snow and ice, it was the sudden awareness of another Chosen nearby. Normally this sensation would not hinder him from climbing the steps to the flat he shared with Notus, but he had forgotten that there would be two other Chosen awaiting him.
He grimaced at the realization that the Master and the Mistress of the Chosen of Britain were sitting in his home waiting for him to join in the Christmas celebrations.
It had been Notus ’ idea to invite them over since he and the monk were leaving in a couple of months. The Angel had acquiesced after Notus had threatened to accept Bridget ’ s annual invitation for Christmas at the House. He had done that once. Only once. It had been enough to send him fleeing back to the quiet confines of his flat. Who knew that so many Chosen could be so rowdy when given the opportunity to party? But it had not been that. It had been the bombardment of so many Chosen ’ s feelings that sent him back into the night with a throbbing
With the Angel ’ s appearance, the dilapidated man ’ s brown eyes widened. “’ Ere wot? ” He tried to regain his feet but could not. Instead he lay there huffing.
The Angel came to stand before the battered creature covered in grime and snow. If he allowed himself he would feel sorrow for this man and his wasted life. Instead he stood there with a decision to make and a choice to present. Placing the sword case down onto the snow covered alley, he knelt, his knee sinking deep into the fluff to pull unexpectedly on the ragged scar along his thigh.
He was tired, but he was not all that hungry. It had been a very long time since he last fed from a mortal in the manner of a Chosen, but he could smell death creeping up the homeless man ’ s limbs and that was what drew him. Months could pass before the stirrings of hunger made itself present. The times between feedings could be even longer depending upon his interaction with the white-faced demons. During his century of Vampire slaughters using the demons he had not needed to feed once. He only did so to keep up the pretence with Notus and the other Chosen they encountered.
Now, without the need of the white-faced demons, the hunger slowly blossomed and he sighed.
“ Wha – what are you? ” stammered the man. He tried to bring the bottle in his left hand to his mouth but failed, the cold seeping his strength.
Recognizing the man ’ s need, the Angel helped him drink from the neck. The pungent smell of whiskey permeated the snow swept air.
“ Ye ’ ve come to take me, eh? ” coughed the man. “ I thought so. ”
“ Who do you think I am? ” asked the Angel. He knew he did not need to. No matter how much time had passed between inhabitations of a particular place, the locals, especially on their dying beds, would know him. It still disturbed him.
“ The Angel of Death, ” stated the man, matter-of-factly.
“ And you wish to die? ” he asked in all curiosity.
“ No. ” The man sighed. “ But it ’ s now a toss up between cancer, the beating those two sons of a whore gave me or the cold. Which would you take? ”
The Angel inhaled sharply through his nose and then slowly let it go. No puff of warm air condensed about his face. The man had made his choice. Taking the man ’ s hand in his own, he could feel the calluses of someone who had worked hard all his life. It was always a shame when people were felled low by circumstances beyond their control. Resting his eyes once more on the man ’ s bloodshot brown eyes, he spoke with the rhythm of the man ’ s heart.
The man sighed and closed his eyes. He would feel nothing except peace.
Lifting the hand to his mouth, the Angel gently bit into the vessel deep within the wrist. Cool sluggish blood flowed.
Chapter V
I t was not the blast of wind that halted the Angel in his tracks and nor was it the pelting of snow and ice, it was the sudden awareness of another Chosen nearby. Normally this sensation would not hinder him from climbing the steps to the flat he shared with Notus, but he had forgotten that there would be two other Chosen awaiting him.
He grimaced at the realization that the Master and the Mistress of the Chosen of Britain were sitting in his home waiting for him to join in the Christmas celebrations.
It had been Notus ’ idea to invite them over since he and the monk were leaving in a couple of months. The Angel had acquiesced after Notus had threatened to accept Bridget ’ s annual invitation for Christmas at the House. He had done that once. Only once. It had been enough to send him fleeing back to the quiet confines of his flat. Who knew that so many Chosen could be so rowdy when given the opportunity to party? But it had not been that. It had been the bombardment of so many Chosen ’ s feelings that sent him back into the night with a throbbing
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