Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  Ash ripped out the earbud, before pushing himself to his feet. He lounged against the bars with his back to Rebel. “No scribblings about work, play and dull boys scrawled around the cell, so you’re good.”

  Rebel tentatively reached up to touch Ash’s thigh. “I’m not a dope. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Ash’s shoulders slumped; his hands tightened around the bars. His voice was weary in a way that I’d never heard before. “You’re not always here with me, lucid. You go in and out.” He barked with bitter laughter. “Like your dragon breathing. Sometimes….”

  Rebel pawed at his thigh again. “Please. Tell me.”

  “We’ve already had this conversation, Rebel, three times already.”

  It was the Rebel that did it.

  The first time that I’d heard Ash use my punk angel’s real name and with tenderness too, just before Rebel hitched with desperate sobs and covered his face with his wing in shame.

  I couldn’t watch anymore.

  I flung away from Drake’s grasp, tripping over his sheepskin rug and slamming into the wall.

  I bawled, wishing that I could cover my face with a wing like Rebel had. “This is how you get your jollies? Rebel’s…the bloke’s not well. You can’t punish someone who’s broken.”

  “My daughter,” the Matriarch’s voice cut across my grief like a shank to the kidneys, “we punish in order to break. My, where would be the fun, if our Wings were whole? Zachriel was, in truth, always different to begin with. Only the strength of his Angelic Power saved him from being one of the Broken. Maybe that was a mistake?”

  For months, I’d swanned around the upper chambers, flooded in light, clothed in silk, and playing games with Drake.

  I’d gorged on chocolates, whilst worrying about becoming a princess. I’d trained, fought, and shagged. And all that time, down here in the dark, Rebel had been naked, starved, and tortured.

  And now Ash would suffer that too?

  I twirled around, whilst fire ignited on my fingertips.

  Yet before I could strike, Drake dived in front of the Matriarch.

  “Most wise, Matriarch.” He raised an eyebrow at me in warning, and I forced down the flames with a shuddering difficulty. “I shall rectify the mistake. Both Zachriel and the Seducer are Lower Orders. Toys. I shall suffer if I free both but I offer one of them to your service, princess, as Imperfect. Your servant.”

  “Boy,” the Matriarch hissed. I flinched, but Drake met her glare steadily. “You fly too high. Do you wish your wings to be clipped?”

  “This is my jail.” Drake’s gaze was as cold as I’d first seen it in Hackney and just as frightening. “You gave me control here. Do you take it back?”

  Smack — the Matriarch’s backhand knocked Drake into his nest of feathers; they rose up like a furious swarm.

  “You grow bold.” The Matriarch raised her chin.

  Drake rubbed at his cheek; it’d bruise. “When I owe a debt.”

  The kid soldiers.

  I’d made the tactical error in this game of showing my hand: my care for Ash and Rebel. But I’d helped Drake in the battle, and now he was sticking his wings out far enough to get them chopped off for me.

  The Matriarch stalked to the viewing panel, tapping on it. “My Wing, you need a thorough teaching of your place.” Drake clasped his hands behind his back, ducking his head. “Yet it may indeed teach my precious girl important lessons also to have a Wing of her own as toy, even one as Imperfect as the Addict. A vampire could also be great sport in the hunts.” She pushed back her hair. “So, choose.”

  I blinked. “Try again. I’m taking them both on special deal.”

  “Try again.” The Matriarch raised her hand, caressing a raven feather, and the blind started its descent. “Choose: either vampire or angel.”

  I shook my head.

  How could I choose between the two blokes who the powers inside warred over, desired, and were drawn to, in a way that sometimes made me wonder if it was me or they who craved them? How could I condemn one to the dark?

  “No dice…” I growled.

  Sometimes, your only choice is not to choose.

  The Matriarch shrugged, as the raven-feathered blind inched down. “If you do not make your choice before the bad boys are lost from view, then you will join them. You’ll be given a taste of what happens to the disobedient. My Wing can tell you what a sour flavor it has.”

  Drake winced. “Choose, princess.”

  I shook my head again, prowling towards the blind.

  The blind, like descending night, snaked down. Only a sliver of the viewing panel remained: our eye into the cell.

  I bounced on my toes, wringing the hem of my dress.

  “Choose.” Drake rose out of the nest, flapping his wings in urgent gusts.

  The midnight blind slipped down.

  And when it shut, I’d lose angel, vampire, and my freedom.

  10

  In what screwed up world, did I have the right to Wings, servants, and toys as slaves, just because I didn’t have a dick?

  The fact that on earth I’d lived in a world of Hackney gangs where a dick meant respect, kid soldiers in turf war, and women as slaves, didn’t balance it in some ironic act of karma.

  These were angels. They should know better than humans.

  Except, I was coming to see that Glories weren’t better.

  They were bastards.

  I shivered, trembling in Drake’s cell-like room, choking on the warring scents of frankincense and myrrh. I raised my knee onto the bench, stretching to touch the blind; my fingers skimmed the raven feathers.

  Rebel or Ash…?

  One slash remained at the bottom of the blind, before I’d have condemned us all to the dark.

  The Matriarch lounged against the wall.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  She tapped the heel of her stiletto against the stone floor, as if she was gouging out someone’s eyes.

  Yeah, mine.

  When my breath stuttered, I was caught in Drake’s arms and pulled back against his naked chest; his wings enfolded me. I wasn’t safe, as I was when Ash held me, but I also wasn’t alone anymore.

  “You wish to win our dare? What important decision will not cause pain?” Drake whispered urgently. Flight whined; her heat seared through my dress. “Will you allow my sacrifice to be wasted through cowardice?”

  I flinched. The pretty Commander had a point. He’d thrown himself onto the fire to free one of my blokes, and his balls would be busted for it by the Matriarch.

  Literally.

  But cause pain…? This was a decision between my two…enemies? Betrayers? Abandoners?

  The men who loved me? Who’d knelt for me, fought by my side, and would’ve died for me…?

  Fam.

  How could I take one into the light and leave the other in the dark?

  Yet the way Ash had called Rebel by his name, treating his enemy and rival with tenderness because Rebel had asked if he was going crazy — three times without remembering — booted me in the gut.

  There’d only ever been one answer, even if it felt like a defeat.

  “Rebel,” I hollered, just as the blind snapped closed.

  Drake sagged against me, whilst his grip relaxed, but was that a flash of displeasure in my mum’s eyes?

  The Matriarch corrupted with love. Was Ash another pawn? How much effort had it taken to hostage exchange for him?

  Ash, Rebel, Gwyn, Drake… All pressure points to press and make me jump.

  The Matriarch glanced at Drake. “Clean up my daughter’s little toy and then take him to her rooms.”

  Toy?

  Even though the Matriarch had said that it’d happen, it was still a shock to hear her call Rebel that.

  “Not bare arsed,” I blurted. ‘I want Rebel’s bastard clothes, collar, and sword.”

  ‘You may have them,” the Matriarch conceded. “But now he’s an Imperfect, baby bird, he shall wear the ash trousers that mark all of suc
h low status.”

  “Color me surprised.”

  When the Matriarch swept towards me, brushing her thumb down my cheek, I fought not to recoil. “I know that you have little practice, but what do you say when a mother presents a gift?”

  I bit my tongue, sucking at the tangy blood to keep down the explosion of fury, before I forced out, “Cheers, mummy dearest.”

  “Oh, one day you shall even mean it. For now, I look forward to our Wings playing together.”

  My guts clenched. I’d never become like my mum or grow into the princess that she wanted.

  I couldn’t win the dare. No matter if it meant my death.

  Warm, safe, and naked under the feather nest in my chambers — Gwyn’s snow-white arms and legs limpet wrapped around me, his cheek against my back, and Rebel’s chest against mine, whilst his good wing curled around us all — was the best place to wake up.

  The crystals in the walls throbbed, low and steady, in lavender; the stalagmites sparkled like a fairy grotto, even with the bondage kink. The ivy-style plants crept fairy tale over the exposed walls in gentle waterfalls.

  I sighed, snuggling deeper; I pulled Rebel’s wing over us: it made a kick ass blanket.

  Give a bitch a break. If I had to face that pit of nightmares in the Warrior Trials, shouldn’t I win the swag? And my toys were sleeping on either side of me like I was the delicious filling in an angel sandwich.

  Welcome to my freaky domestic heaven with a slave, punk, and comedy mother-in-law sword.

  Now there’s the sweet buns I’ve been pining for. I could sink in my teeth and bite our red-haired punk until he couldn’t sit for a week.

  But why’s the Irish Judas already in the snuggle zone?

  You’re the hooker who’s been saying that I won’t survive without him.

  Girl, you take it careful. He’s yours, he loves you, but he still lies like a low market hustler.

  Trust is a bitch. And I don’t take her for walks.

  She’s pissed on your leg, but you still need her, Feathery-toes.

  Just…the darling’s been beaten…in the dark…for months. Don’t expect him to be the same. Things change.

  What was it like for J to always be secret and hidden away like Rebel had been in the dark?

  I traced the back of my knuckles down Rebel’s cheek. There was a smudge of kohl remaining under his eyes and mascara in his thick butterfly lashes.

  The Matriarch liked to keep her prisoners pretty, even if she broke them.

  I caressed my finger over faded bruises, which swelled Rebel’s eye.

  The rush of rage that Rebel had not been sent to save me — my own angel — as I’d once thought, instead, he’d been a Human Addict, allowed out of prison by Drake to trick me up to Angel World, had died down. Because Rebel hadn’t handed me over to the angels: he’d trained me as a huntress to give me time to work out what I was.

  And now that I knew more about this place? I bastard got that.

  But Rebel had also taught me that I could fly on trust.

  And right now…?

  I didn’t trust Rebel.

  The day before, when Drake had carried in Rebel’s battered and naked body to my chambers along with his clothes and sword, whilst Gwyn had hovered between us, Rebel hadn’t even been conscious. Drake had laid Rebel on his front on the mound of feathers with surprising gentleness. Then he’d backed out of the room like a priest offering a sacrifice.

  Except, as I’d dropped to my knees and grasped Rebel’s hand, rubbing at the still fingers, Rebel had been the broken god.

  Rebel’s left wing had been strapped down; Gwyn had crouched next to me, untangling the leather. I’d flinched, as Rebel’s bent wing had been revealed.

  When Rebel had keened, I’d massaged his wing, hushing him. “You’re all right, bro. You’re safe now.”

  “Feathers?” Rebel’s gaze had been fuzzy with innocence. “Are you…? Sweet Jesus woman, what I’d give for you to be real.”

  He’d grasped a shaky hand towards the iPod, which Drake had left to the side of the nest. I’d snatched it up, working an earbud into my own ear and then pressing one into Rebel’s ear as well.

  “Ash was right. She didn’t forget me,” Rebel had murmured like it was his most precious secret.

  I’d kissed the back of his neck. Then I’d dragged Gwyn into the three-way, losing myself to Eel’s poignant guitars and organ ballad “Manchild”.

  I stretched, before wriggling further into the feathers, as sunlight streamed through the crack in the back of the cave.

  I nipped at Rebel’s lips. The bond sang to me, just as his blood called to mine.

  The Frosty Butt Queen decreed our punk your bitch, but that doesn’t mean that he’ll roll over.

  Were you topping up your tan in the Bahamas last night?

  My bondage punk begged to be mine. Being with me was his dream come true.

  Don’t say that I didn’t warn you, Miss Big Head.

  I caressed the feathers spreading from Rebel’s shoulder blades, marveling at their violet gleam, instead of the dappled gray that I’d grown used to on earth.

  Gwyn peeped over my shoulder as he assessed Rebel. “Tidy! You saved him, Feathers. So, you’ll be calling me by my name, rather than his, when we shag now, isn’t it?”

  “Hey, Mr Sassy Imp.” I twirled, trapping Gwyn under me. “Maybe I’ll scream out: Sassy Imp! Just to serve you right.”

  Gwyn pinked. “The Commander’s expression would be a fine sight when he ran in to save you from the sprite.”

  I sniggered, imagining Drake’s cold expression suddenly becoming flustered and then how adorable his blush would be, before palming two chocolates from the platter next to our nest and slipping one into Gwyn’s mouth.

  Since I’d discovered both Gwyn’s starvation and that he was as serious a chocoholic as me, I’d insisted that he left my platter of chocolate beside our bed of feathers. Then we’d feast as part of our kickass morning routine.

  And routine…? That forced this dangerously too close to being home.

  Gwyn arched, moaning in ecstasy.

  I grinned against his chest, lapping down to his pretty prick that stood now on parade. When I kissed up again to his quivering neck, he groaned.

  “Now, what was that name…?” I snogged Gwyn, chasing the chocolate that burst in smooth crescendos around his mouth. “Sassy Imp.”

  The violet wing over us pulled away, and I froze.

  Then I drew back from Gwyn, who slipped out of the nest to kneel beside it.

  Months. The dark. Alone.

  Your boy punk needs thinking time, not hands down his pants. And it’s a rare day in hell that I’m not saddled up for riding that tight ass.

  He needs me. And yeah, things change.

  I turned over, only to be met by Rebel’s scowl.

  I drew in my breath, squirming.

  Rebel’s eyes sparked with the cold flame of righteous fire, which was all burning at me.

  Hell.

  “It’s real then.” Sharp and without any trace of the hazy innocence of the night before.

  Rebel shoved himself up, booting himself out of our nest.

  I instantly missed the feel of him…and wished that we weren’t all naked for this reunion. But then — Miss Big Head here — I’d reckoned that this would go down like last night.

  That the warm and fuzzies had already happened.

  Yet the Rebel from last night was not at home this morning. Or maybe I’d been the wallad to reckon that he’d been at home last night.

  Rebel’s anger struck me through the bond in an ice shanking.

  I stood up as well, offering the sticky chocolate in my palm.

  Rebel stared down at my hand, before scrunching his nose. “I could eat a reverend mother. But get on with you if you think that I’m a pet to be handfed.”

  I recoiled, before hurling the mess against the now throbbing mauve crystals.

  Rebel cocked his head, before examining the r
oom, with my glimmering dresses, blood-tarnished armor, and kneeling Broken who timidly stared back.

  I crossed my arms and tilted my chin.

  Why did I shudder, as if I was scoring an epic fail?

  “You’re the Matriarch’s princess now.” It was blank, hard, and not a question.

  Rebel raised a pierced eyebrow as he glanced between our naked bodies.

  Yeah, should’ve gone with clothes. And when had I come over nudist?

  “I didn’t… I mean, we didn’t…” I narrowed my eyes. “Kinky angels don’t get to play the prude.”

  Rebel straightened his shoulders, grimacing as he shook out his wings. “Don’t worry, I believe my virtue is intact, woman.” Why wasn’t he calling me Feathers like he had last night? Violet swirled, ignited by his ingratitude. “Where’s the Brigadier?”

  I stiffened, unable to meet his gaze; he blinked with wounded hurt.

  Hell, not the bastard puppy eyes.

  “I had to choose—”

  “Not a chance, princess. If he’s abandoned in the dark, then you put me back in there with him. End of story.”

  I slammed Rebel against the wall; he hissed, as the crystals sliced his back.

  “It was either you or Ash. Now word on the street is you’re the one who’s been riding the crazy train trapped in your personal nightmare. So, excuse me for saving you.” My eyes burned with tears, even though I managed to fight the waver in my voice.

  When Rebel looked down, his eyelashes curved on his cheek. “Here’s the thing of it, angels must obey or else be the one who forces another to obey. The fib of it, see, is that Wings submit willingly. We’re to kiss the feet of our chastisers. But some of us aren’t built that way. Imperfect, the Matriarch calls it. So, a fierce rebellion raged. And those who wouldn’t submit or dominate? Fell.”

  “You didn’t Fall.”

  “Not all of us had the balls to rebel….and we believed in something else. So, I lost bleeding everything.” When I eased back from him, his gaze flicked up to mine. “But you, princess? I was a muppet not to see that you were made for Angel World.”