Free Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles by Karen Dales

did not accuse you of anything. It is my job to keep things right on the streets. Since you have stated – quite fervently – that you are not a prostitute, then it becomes my job to see if you’re safe.”
    “I am safe.”
    “I can see that.” He turned around to continue his beat. “No one in their right mind would bother you,” she heard him mumble as he walked away, clicking heels fading into the distance.
    Jeanie glared at his retreating figure. She could not believe the audacity of the bobby. Thinkin’ I’m a whore, she exhaled explosively, leaving a faint cloud to dissipate. I’m no even dressed like one! She shoved her cold hands under her armpits. She was not even in the right district. At least the confrontation diverted her from the rumblings of her stomach.

    The large heavy wooden door clicked shut, leaving behind the hope for Notus’ emancipation. He did not want to let go of the brass knob. Every instinct screamed that he should storm back in and save Notus, but he knew that they would both be dead before he even reached his Chooser. The staff across the back was just a warning.
    Cold steel lined the walls with the Chosen. He had heard it hiss when the other tried to reach the Mistress. It could have been possible if he had brought his sword, his age and training most likely outmatched everyone in the theatre, but at what cost? Releasing his grip, he hit the door, palm open, causing the wood to cave and crack. The door was reinforced.
    Damn! he raged. He was as trapped as Notus.
    “Putting a crack in the door isn’t nearly as satisfying as the idea of putting one in Katherine’s skull, not to mention her lackey as well.”
    He spun around to find a wry smile edging the corners of the Portuguese Chosen’s full lips. Fernando. That is what she called him. A spark of recognition flared again. It seemed that Fernando should be wearing something from an earlier time, instead of the dark charcoal suit and the cravat studded with a ruby pin.
    A half smile pulled at Fernando’s face and he took a step towards the infamous Angel. Despite what Katherine had tangled him into, he had a chance to do something no other Chosen before him had even attempted – to find out more about the Angel from the Angel himself. Bridget would be thrilled and would do almost anything for any sort of tidbit Fernando could glean. He could not pass up that opportunity for the world.
    “Since Katherine was so rude as not to introduce us, I imagine we have to do it ourselves.” He stuck out a dark, strong hand, one that had never known toil or hardship. “I am the Noble Fernando de Sargres, the last heir to the title, Fidalgo de Sagres.”
    He let his hand fall to his side when the Angel did not take it. His brows rose in mild amusement as the Angel suspiciously watched him. “And you are, of course, the Angel.”
    They turned at the scratching sound of the little bald man shuffling out with black cloaks draped over each arm. The distraction was perfect. There was something slightly disturbing about Fernando de Sagres, something the Angel could not put a finger upon. He lifted his cloak from the servant and draped it over his slim, muscular frame, and pulled out the ancient clasp from his pocket. The little man bowed his head and went next to the Noble.
    Fernando acquiesced to the interruption with a scowl. Loathing the perceived impertinence, he yanked his cloak causing two daggers to hit the carpeted floor with a loud thunk. Silence reigned momentarily as all three stared at the curving blades. The panicked mortal heartbeat was audible to immortal ears.
    The scowl deepened on the Noble’s face, forcing fear to widen the servant’s features. His cry was strangled off as Fernando’s hand whipped out to grip the mortal’s throat.
    “Why you infinitesimal slug, I’ll teach you to be respectful of your betters, and their possessions,” hissed the Noble.
    The servant’s squeaked his fear at the tightening clasp.
    The