Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  “Screw it, we came to burn down Eden’s house. And I want a burning.” I allowed the violet and black to spark through me, until I was flying. I nodded, and we stalked towards the stairs. “No hurting the humans.” It was strange that I didn’t even stop to consider myself one of those anymore. “Now let’s take this bitch down.”

  When we sprang down the final steps, and I drew Star in a blinding arc, I grinned.

  A troop of the Pure in dinner jackets and bow ties (we’d crashed one hell of a party), marched towards us across the playground, between the terrified humans shivering in the cold night air.

  At least if we were going to die, we’d have an audience.

  Blaze and Spark leapt from the steps over my head, steering with their bristling tails, before thudding into a dinner jacket bastard and ripping out his throat. There was an outraged roar, and we were swept under the well-dressed wave.

  The fox brothers were nothing but flashes of red, rattling yelps, and howls.

  I pressed my hand, as if in blessing, to one burly bloke’s forehead, and he fell squealing in flames.

  When I was dragged backwards by my jacket, I struck with a spinning kick, slicing Star through the blond vampire’s hand.

  Hands and fire. I’d never forgotten Rebel’s lessons.

  The hand dropped at the feet of a human kid like an offering. Crimson sprayed my cheek.

  I was a god.

  Yet when the bloke — a kid buried in puffer jacket and swag — stared at me, it wasn’t with awe. He looked at me in the same way that I had Rebel, after he’d snapped Toben’s neck. I stumbled away, but the Pure struggling with Rebel caught my elbow, shoving me towards the kid.

  I hissed at a sudden sharp pain. Confused, I pressed my fingers to my shoulder. When I drew back my hand, it was sticky with blood.

  The human kid in the puffer jacket had his chin tilted defiantly, but his hands that clutched the blade shook.

  And these are the dicks that you’re sacrificing Jade and your own ass for?

  They’re like me, J, can’t you see that? That kid’s just protecting his own.

  I snapped the human kid’s wrist — crack — and he squealed. “It’s not your fight, soldier.” I glanced over at Ash, who was slamming a vampire with a peak of chestnut hair and classic dinner jacket repeatedly into the pole of the swings. “Playtime’s over,” I called, waving Star towards Tower Block B.

  Ash nodded, before wrapping the swing’s chain around the fanatic’s neck and pulling.

  Ash was no James Bond. He was the hot villain who strangled him.

  The Blood Familiars snapped at ankles and calves, biting through our enemies.

  When Rebel heard my call, he fell back, away from a snarling gang of the Pure. Limping and clutching his broken wing, he swung his glowing sword in front of him, as if its light could ward them off. Then Rebel blew on the flames and they ignited, whooshing heat across the playground.

  Red-hot screeches burst out, as the Pure flared violet to the night sky. Vampire fireworks. Rebel burnt them Hackney style.

  I edged closer to Tower Block B, which rose above me, monstrous. It was the mirror of my old home, and Eden’s dream project that would cast the world to hell.

  The bald bastard with the wing tattoos, as if birds had exploded from his mind, thrust through the ranks of the Pure towards us. In gleaming white tux and black bow tie, he hunkered with his claws primed at his knuckles: the claws that I’d mistaken for a shank, and the reason I’d abandoned Rebel and run on the first day that I’d met him.

  I stiffened.

  Maybe I abandoned Rebel as much as others had abandoned me, or to punish Rebel because they’d abandoned me.

  Rebel’s hand squeezed mine.

  Then a circle of humans stumbled around us, breathless and trembling. We shoved them away, but they pressed closer.

  The vampires watched, smirking.

  Stun guns… I noticed them casual in the fanatics’ hands.

  The Pure were stinging the humans’ arses with shots of electricity to drive them towards us.

  I growled, pushing a middle-aged bloke back, before catching Ash’s arm to stop him clouting a woman who was burrowed in her faded duvet. When someone tripped into my back, I spun, pinning them with my sword.

  A girl.

  She shivered in her unicorn nightie, sobbing in the snow. Then she collapsed to the ground, curling into a ball and dragging her arms over her head as if she could hide from the monster.

  I’d almost knifed her.

  “Stop,” I whispered and then hollered, “bastard stop.” When Rebel and Ash glanced at me, I tried not to let my voice waver, “I won’t do this by bringing bones and feathers to the world. I’m a hunter but I don’t gank humans. So, fly away now, Brigadier, this mission is over.”

  Ash shrugged. “I’ve nowhere else to be. Anyway, would Han abandon Princess Leia?”

  “What about you, pretty boy punk? If your wings weren’t—”

  “It has nothing to do with my wings.” Rebel stroked the back of my hand. “I’m yours.”

  I smiled, before bending down to Blaze and Spark. When they whined, I stroked their ears. “Run and be free. Ash was right, you don’t belong to anyone.” They rubbed their heads against my legs, whining. Then I stood on tiptoe to wave at Bird Tattoo. “Wing face, the white flag’s being waved over here, yeah?”

  Bird Tattoo grimaced, shoving through the cowering humans. When he spun me, I braced myself.

  I jumped at the spark and buzz of electrified cuffs, which bound my hands behind my back.

  Bird Tattoo sneered, before shackling Ash and then Rebel. When he spat in Rebel’s face and punched him in the gut, it was Ash who snarled. Then Bird Tattoo smoothed down his tux and grabbed my arm, parading me through the fanatics’ ranks.

  The Pure clapped and whooped.

  I flushed, ducking my head to hide behind my hair, even as I glanced between the ash blonde strands at the looming tower block.

  Floor Eleven — Eden and Gizem.

  The battle with the Pure, on the night my sister was set to die.

  Yet I was handcuffed, knifed in the shoulder, and my allies were defeated.

  Bird Tattoo’s hold on me tightened as he dragged me into the shadow of Block B, for a date with the bloke who craved to kill me and feast on the world.

  26

  Born and raised in the shadow of Hackney, my bloody death had haunted me ever since I’d clasped my first shank.

  Bitches like me died on the streets.

  Yet the chance to go out battling for something righteous had spiraled me to violet glory. Now I shook, however, that I’d bleed out shackled. Worse? That my Brigadier and punk Rebel would suffer the same.

  Tower Block B, floor eleven. Gizem’s fiery orange apartment.

  Violins, in an imperious waltz, soared from the sound system on the glass coffee table. The table was a riot of lilies, and their intense sweet scent was sickening.

  I shifted from foot to foot, glancing down at Rebel and Ash’s boots on either side of mine because it was easier than looking up at Eden. We were lined in front of him: peasants before a king. Eden sprawled on a flame red armchair; his coat hung artfully open. His eyes glittered as he examined his captives, like we were tasty treats at a tea party.

  Bird Tattoo prowled behind us in guard mode.

  A kid’s soft sobbing was coming from behind the closed door of Aylin’s bedroom, but Gizem’s bedroom door was closed, and she wasn’t sobbing. Hell, I wished that she was because her silence hurt worse.

  Carefully, I tested the cuffs, hissing as my skin blistered: these must be custom-made for angels and vampires. I scanned the apartment, from the divan underneath the window that was piled with cushions, to the corridor with the cracked radiator, through to the kitchen.

  Everything was ordinary. Except for the leader of the Pure and his prisoners.

  “Kneel to your king.” Eden waved at the laminated flooring. When I hesitated, he nodded to Bird Tat
too. “A pawn must learn when the game is lost.”

  Bird Tattoo shoved me in the back, and I gasped from the sudden jolt to my knife wound.

  I stumbled forward a step. But I didn’t kneel.

  Bird Tattoo stomped to Aylin’s bedroom. When he wrenched open the door, and Aylin’s wail rose in crescendo with the violin, I dropped to my knees.

  Aylin believed in bastard Father Christmas. Gizem was trying to give her a life — hope — that we’d never had. In a single moment, Bird Tattoo could’ve torn it from her.

  What if he had already?

  To my surprise, Rebel and Ash sank to their knees next to me. Both their shoulders brushed mine — one on either side — warm and solid.

  It gave me strength.

  Eden clapped his hands. “How delightful: three wicked rebels on their knees, soon to be punished by the Pure armies.”

  “Crack on with it then, bro,” I tilted my chin, “or are you killing us with your rhymes?”

  Eden leaned forward on his throne. “If you wish to burn my house, I shall burn yours. That’s the birthing pains of all ancient blood feuds.” When Ash stiffened, Eden chuckled. “Whore, your bugs were such a short game of hide-and-seek. Did you think that I was ignorant of your plan? Although,” he kicked his bare feet up onto the glass table, “you shall still make a pretty soldier on your hands and knees.”

  I snarled, struggling to stand, but Ash shook his head.

  Eden pouted. “Do you now wish to know why my purified are dressed for the ball?”

  I lifted my eyebrow. “They’re waiting for you to turn into a pumpkin?”

  Eden pointed his long foot at me. “This is the night that I catch a monster by the toe, and if it squeals, gut it in the snow.”

  I recoiled.

  He knew all along, J, about tonight. He set us up.

  Eden plays with the mind. He’s like a vampire Drake.

  Yet with the power that you hold inside, you could bleed the world dry, but you’re the only one who can choose it.

  “How…. Who told you? Who betrayed me?” I didn’t look either side at Rebel or Ash; I didn’t want to catch the flash of guilt before I knew the truth.

  But I could still sense that they’d both stiffened.

  Eden glanced around at the tiny apartment. “You own an enemy, by owning those they love.” He sprang across the coffee table, booting the sound system to stuttering silence. He bent me backwards, sweeping me into his arms. “Monster and vampire, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” Then he kissed me tenderly on the lips as he murmured, “I could’ve chosen anywhere in the City, but I nest with the girl who loved you enough to save you from a vampire’s embrace. I told you, I have been dreaming of this from the moment of your birth.”

  I struggled then, snapping at Eden’s full lips, until he backed away.

  No one had betrayed me; Eden had planned this right from the start. How long had he been watching me?

  Eden’s played me — all of us.

  Our mistake was not guessing just how long Eden has been in this game.

  Eden gave a high laugh and strolled to the armchair, before throwing himself down.

  Hell, everything here on the Estate — the cuckooing in Tower Block B and Gizem and her sister held as hostages — was happening because of me. When I’d thought to blaze in the hero, I’d already painted the target on their backs.

  I wasn’t birth. The Beginning. Savior. I was death. The End. Destroyer.

  When I panted, sinking onto my arse, Rebel stooped over me. Suddenly, he gave me a hidden grin and whispered, “I told you that we’d get in. Now we hunt.”

  I stared at Rebel like he’d snapped.

  That had been his plan all along? There’d been no betrayal because Rebel had known that he’d be sensed, we’d be captured, and then dragged in here…where he reckoned that I’d take out Eden?

  More secrets.

  Yet the problem with Rebel’s plan was that Eden was right. He owned the people that I loved, so he owned me. The vampires had herded the humans back into the tower block. If the choice was to save myself, my sister, Rebel and Brigadier by burning down this human world, then maybe I wasn’t like Eden.

  Because I wouldn’t take it.

  Yet Rebel was smiling at me with such faith that it made my heart ache. No one had ever looked at me like that.

  Why the hell did Rebel have to look at me like that now?

  “My sweet lost angel,” Eden crooned, casting a hooded glance between Rebel and me. The bastard had noticed Rebel’s smile too. “By the time the long night ends, you’ll be the Fallen.”

  You own an enemy, my owning those they love…

  I drew in my breath, jerking away from Rebel.

  Just getting it now?

  But I don’t love Rebel…I just…don’t hate him as my enemy. The way I need him…it’s different.

  That he loves you, hooker. The bondage angel loves you.

  Eden nodded at Bird Tattoo again; Bird Tattoo hauled Rebel up under his arm and dropped him onto Eden’s lap. When Rebel squirmed, Eden encircled his throat with his hands, just brushing over the base of his neck in warning.

  Rebel stilled, breathing heavily, yet his look at me was still hopeful, as if he expected me to spring up and save him.

  Save the world.

  A tear escaped down my cheek, and I couldn’t hide it. I stared at the picture on the wall above Eden’s head. It was the first design that I’d ever made for Angels vs Vampires: a warrior angel, victorious and rising to perfection.

  Why had I ever reckoned that I could be her?

  Eden stroked down the front of Rebel’s trousers, smacking the outside of Rebel’s hip when he shrank back. “Tomorrow, when you Fall, you’ll make a pretty pet.”

  “Don’t touch him.” Mine — my blood sang — to touch, kiss, and hurt…

  Eden pushed Rebel’s jacket off his trembling shoulders, twisting it over his handcuffs. When Rebel tried to keep his wings folded back, Eden pinched his sensitive shoulder blades, until his wings drooped limply at either side in their mangled ruin. Eden’s face flushed with outrage. “Who has so defiled my lost one? Such sacrilege! The wings must be whole, a perfect offering, when they’re purified.” His gaze darted to Ash. “Crawl to lie at my feet.”

  Ash raised his eyebrow at me, as if awaiting my command, but jumped when Rebel yowled.

  Eden’s steel claws were buried in Rebel’s thigh like a lion pinning down its prey. “Crawl, whore.”

  I nodded, and Ash crawled around the coffee table, before lying tensely on his face in front of Eden.

  Bird Tattoo dragged down Ash’s army coat, pulling out Ash’s wings. Then he stalked to me and wrenched back my hair. The cold nick of a flick-knife pressed against my throat.

  Suddenly, there was a click, and Rebel was tumbled to the floor with the handcuff removed from his right wrist.

  “Pretty matching pets with bloody wings.” Eden tossed a shank to Rebel. Then he drew his fingers through his hair with a dramatic sigh. “A choice: carve the feathers from the Fallen, or allow us to slice the monster.”

  As if an army order had already been given, Ash spread out his wings for the blade.

  I shook.

  Rebel bent over Ash, tracing the violet tip feather with the knife. When he looked round at me with the blade raised, I expected to see victory on his face — his revenge on the vampire, enemy, and rival who’d broken and ripped the feathers from his own wing — not agonized despair. He sank in the blade at the tip, and Ash screamed.

  Then the knife was falling from Rebel’s fingers. “Do it to me.” His freed hand rubbed backwards and forwards pleadingly on Eden’s bare feet. “Don’t be after making me—”

  Ash surged up to his knees. “That wasn’t an option. Hack now, angst later.”

  Eden stroked both their heads. “Did the war end? Are you not hunter and hunted? But if you refuse, I’ll pluck the whore myself and bleed a monster.”

  Rebel snatched up the shank and
drove it into Ash’s wing.

  When Ash hollered, I shuddered, sinking into my mind and searching for it: the violet righteousness, twined with seething black that could…if not save us…then stop this.

  The one that Rebel believed in.

  Yet as Ash writhed in agony, and Rebel’s quick glances at me became at first cautious, then doubting, and finally blank — the same as Drake’s, Jade’s…mine — nothing flared but my own powerlessness.

  The sense that this truly was my night to die.

  Crimson. Blood dripping from outstretched wings. Mutilated, the feathers carved out…

  Here was the Ash of my dreams, lying in his own feathers and blood.

  If I’d chosen to return to Angel World with Drake, I could’ve saved the Brigadier.

  Future paths, memories, and visions…you can’t trust them, believe me.

  But what about Rebel wingless on his knees and Jade dying with a knife to the guts? What if they…?

  And what if you’re so focused on them not coming true that you make them happen?

  How could Angel World be any worse? I made the wrong choice. Drake’s pill was safety, and I chose suffering.

  When Eden pulled Rebel back onto his lap, he slipped the shank from Rebel’s scarlet hand, before flicking off the feathers and sucking the bloody fingers.

  Ash lay motionless, struggling to breathe.

  Eden caressed Rebel’s slumped shoulders. “There, let’s have some refreshments with our entertainment.”

  Gizem had never been silent. I’d seen her beaten, dumped back from foster homes, fired from jobs, and on the day that she’d discovered she was pregnant. She’d always had something to say. Yet when Bird Tattoo led her out of Aylin’s bedroom wrapped in a bathrobe, she shuffled with her head down, without saying a word.

  Ash had been spot on: Walking Dead.

  Gizem startled when she saw me on my knees, a vampire with his wings knifed bloody, and an angel on Eden’s lap.

  But barely.

  Eden clucked at her, like she was a skittish chicken, before winding his hand through her lank hair and pulling her close enough to sink his fangs into her neck.

  Gizem had saved me from Phoenix, taking the slash to the face, which should’ve been my throat. But I had to watch as a vampire drank from her.