Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  I studied Rebel, whilst he dangled the cloth down his upper back, biting his lip with the pain as he twisted his shoulders; I didn’t offer to help because that would be touching.

  I was desperate for Rebel to look at me in the same way as he had before we’d come to Angel World like I was truly his princess alone. In all the weeks without him, I’d realized just how much I missed him.

  I shifted from foot to foot, suddenly too hot. “Don’t you still…love me?”

  Way to go for the Needy Awards.

  Rebel stopped in his attempt to clean his own wounds, which was tearing up my insides in a way that I hadn’t expected; his cheeks stained pink. “I’m a ball-bag.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  He licked his lips. “But I don’t know why. Because sometimes I forget who I am. Then, in this brutal rush, I remember. What a mess I’ve made of everything. But I still crave you. How you burn.” He hurled the bloodied cloth at the wall; the crystals darkened and wailed. He swung around to me. “I’m a bad angel. An Addict. And I betrayed you. You miss me, but I don’t pretend it’s love. Why would you want me to love you?”

  Why had I poked the angel to make him dance again?

  I met his gaze. “Enough bastards hate me: Battle, Dillon, the Legion, and half the Glories. I need you to have my back. And we’re fam.”

  Rebel smiled brightly, wandering over to throw himself stomach first onto the nest. “Don’t be a muppet. I’ll always love you but I’m not a bull to be branded as yours.”

  I edged closer. “So, we’re tight?”

  His gaze hardened to steel. “Wise up! You’re a princess; I’m you’re Marked. And that’s not fam.”

  My chest ached, and I fought to hold back the tears trembling in the corners of my eyes. “To hell with your pity party for one. Some pretty patterns don’t mean that you’re not fam. Drake’s Marked too: it hasn’t stopped his climb up the angelic social ladder.”

  Rebel rubbed a feather off his nose as he battled to push himself up on his elbows. “Don’t be after talking about the Commander. You don’t know how awful hard it’s been for him.”

  I gaped at Rebel.

  I’d been expecting loathing, fury, and bitterness against Rebel’s jailer and torturer. At their first meeting, I’d decided to allow Rebel three solid shots to Drake’s head, guts, and balls.

  Yet instead, Rebel was acting the protective brother…?

  After all these months, I was still stumbling in the dark, in this world where Rebel, Ash, and Drake had known each other for centuries before me.

  Rebel closed his eyes, burrowing down into the downy feathers, only to snap them open again, as Gwyn darted into the cavern.

  When Gwyn spied Rebel’s welted back, he let out a desperate sob. Then he fell to his knees in front of me, biting hard on his fist to stifle his wails, whilst he rocked.

  Startled, I crouched down, smoothing back Gwyn’s hair. He nuzzled into my hand. He didn’t flinch away.

  “It looks worse than it is.” Rebel pushed himself to his feet with a valiant effort to pass off the wince as a cough. “It’s nothing, to be sure.”

  He leaned over, stroking Gwyn’s stumps. When Gwyn leaned against Rebel — away from me — I couldn’t help the burst of jealousy.

  “What’s the deal?” I asked, gently.

  Gwyn gulped, before managing to force out, “D-Dill boasted about w-what he did: throwing you off a cliff and g-getting Zachriel punished.”

  “Not your fault,” Rebel murmured.

  “It is, though, isn’t it?” Gwyn fidgeted. “So, I s-says to him, no more. But he’s awful angry—”

  “Pause and rewind because you blokes know this episode, and I’m a box set behind.” I frowned. “Why’s it your fault if some Broken’s a dick?”

  “Will you dry up?” I jumped at Rebel’s sharpness. “The young one is too honest for his own good; if you ask, he’ll squeal on himself.”

  “I’m also done with secrets. Honesty? I’ll chug that over poison.”

  “It doesn’t burn less,” Rebel scowled. “And it’ll burn him more.”

  Gwyn was glancing between us with wide eyes. “I’m sorry. Don’t make me say. They’ll kill us…”

  I tilted up Gwyn’s chin. “No one’s ganking you.”

  He balled his shaking hands in his lap. “Dill’s my cariad.”

  I blinked at Rebel. “Translation mode?”

  “His lover. Why do you think that he’s so bleeding terrified?”

  Dillon’s aggro, examining Gwyn for injury, and chucking me — his owner — off a cliff, was alpha posturing.

  And romantic, in a twisted way.

  I cocked my head. “I’m still missing the through line. So, Gwyn and I have our fun but I’d never ban him from loving anyone else. Is there some kind of screwed-up rule that the Broken can’t shag each other?”

  “Wings can only love Glories. Those that don’t are shamed as the Tainted.” Rebel’s serious gaze met mine. “You could have him executed, princess. Don’t you think Battle would if she found out?”

  Gwyn moaned, snatching onto the hem of my dress. “I’ll do anything, just don’t tell on Dill…”

  The Broken lost their freedom, wings, and then couldn’t even choose who they loved?

  No bastard way.

  “Why the hell’s no one stepped-up and stopped this?” I slid down onto the floor next to Gwyn.

  “You’ve been here months and you only want to know that now?” Rebel shook his head.

  I cast him an accusing glare. He drew back, drifting over to the crystal wall, before slumping against it. His lashed shoulders sagged.

  How much effort had it taken for him to pretend that he was unhurt for Gwyn?

  “Please don’t send me back.” Gwyn’s forehead rested against mine. “I’ll be good.”

  “To your family?” I clasped his small hand.

  “Look you, Broken don’t have family. Only Discipliners from the Legion: the perfect angels. Not like us, the toys. And I wouldn’t like to go back to Nathanael.” He shuddered.

  The silver-haired, sniveling assassin in gold? He was Gwyn’s Discipliner? If I hadn’t detested Nathanael’s weaselly arse before, I did now.

  I stroked his soft hair. “You do have fam; you have me.”

  “And the muppet over here, if you’ll have him,” Rebel grinned.

  Gwyn laughed, even as tears spilled from his eyes.

  Yet this evening, I’d be training again with Gwyn’s cariad. And Battle: the bitch who’d execute them both just for being in love.

  Honesty was toxic too, and so were secrets. I didn’t know which I’d choke on first.

  The flaming arrow whizzed past my throat, sizzling the skin. I arched backwards, Neo-style, to miss the second arrow. The third one blistered across my gut.

  “A belter!” Battle crowed, fixing another flaring arrow to her black leather bow. “Will you not at least make this a challenge? Or maybe you enjoyed watching your idiot toy’s whipping?”

  I spun across the skittering pebbles.

  The cold night breeze cut against my cheeks. My breath puffed into the shadowed circle between the pyres. The hazel trees, whose catkins danced with violet fire as if cocooning magic firefly, lit our arena: all set for a fairy dance.

  Battle launched flames at my feet again; she was bastard making me dance.

  I glanced at Rebel, who was kneeling next to Dillon under the furthest hazel tree, which was the one that he’d been forced to cut the switch from this morning.

  Yeah, I didn’t miss the threat.

  Battle notched another arrow, before pausing. “I’ll bide my time. Then I’ll take your Addict and show you how to break a toy.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead, smiling crookedly. “I’d give him to my Broken to play with. Light would be a privilege, rather than a right. He’d have to earn it.” She licked her lips. “And he must be good at earning it, or you wouldn’t have Marked him.”

  Rage surged through me
wildfire. I shook, hell trembled, from the adrenaline rush sparked by every unrighteous word that’d dripped from Battle’s venomous lips.

  J, this is the last night before I’m judged on Drake’s dare. Do I pull in the bitch or let her out to play?

  What did I tell you about trusting your monster?

  But I need Flight to pass the Trials.

  If I’m not a Warrior Princess, I can’t be the new top boy around here; I can’t stop Battle taking Rebel.

  How can I let the Broken or the Imperfect live under the Legion and Discipliners?

  BAM! There’s the realness right there: being a princess isn’t about the perks, it’s about the tough choices.

  And your people.

  They’re not mine.

  Then whose are they? The Matriarch’s? The Supreme Commander’s? The Legion’s?

  Hell, they are mine.

  Drake dared you to find a new way of being monstrous. And you just found it, girl.

  My heart swelled at the pride in J’s voice.

  Battle snorted. “What’s with the frightened bunny act? I won’t coddle you. You’re the one who took my place by the Matriarch’s side.”

  Battle had been the Matriarch’s second-in-command — the surrogate daughter and accomplice — before I’d been dragged back here.

  No wonder she wanted to shoot an arrow into my arse.

  Sparks tingled down my skin; my palms buzzed with static.

  Battle huffed, stalking closer, before she aimed her bow at my head. “The brass neck on you to think that you’re the only one the Matriarch let’s play with her whore. I’ve shared the Commander for centuries.”

  The thought of Battle playing with Drake, surged howling righteousness through me in a wave of rage.

  I lifted my head, meeting her gaze with a look so hard that her step faltered. “It must’ve sucked like a bitch when I turned up and took away your toys, world…mum.”

  Battle hissed but before she could loose her arrow, I raised my palms. Fire crackled through the black, hitting her right hand, which was pulling back the bow.

  She shrieked.

  The violet clung to her skin, searing it. Her fingers blistered, but she struggled to aim the bow at me.

  I grinned, throwing another fireball, this time at her left hand.

  Battle howled. Her bow clattered to the floor, as she clasped her hands to her chest.

  High on the rush and roar of the violet-scented righteousness, I prowled after her, pressing her back, past Dillon and Rebel, who gawked at us like we were gladiators, and thrust her against the trunk of the hazel.

  Flames hissed on my outstretched palm. I circled her throat, and she flinched.

  “You’re off your head,” Battle rasped. “Your daft dare ends in a couple of hours, and who do you think reports to the Matriarch if you should win?”

  I drew back my hand. “Here’s the deal: I won’t barbecue you, if you tell my mum that I’m her good little soldier.”

  “I’m not your puppet.”

  I shot a ring of flames at her feet, and she jigged up and down, yelping.

  I smirked. “Yet I can make you dance.”

  “I’ll report that you’re the Matriarch’s spitting image,” she snarled, “and it’s no lie.”

  I winced, whilst the blaze died to smoldering embers.

  Suddenly, there was a shrill chattering and whirlwind flapping high above.

  When I glanced at Battle, her mouth was a thin line. We wandered together out into the open air of the circle, staring up at the night sky and the dark mass flocking over the face of the moon.

  “Bats?” I asked.

  “Merlins.” Battle whistled to Dillon, and he crawled to her side.

  “I’m taking it that’s not a sign of singing unicorns and all things good?”

  “Nay, it’s the sign of killer Fallen and all things bad. It means that the enemy has broken into Angel World. Yet our new home is shielded. The bastards shouldn’t know where we are.”

  I hugged my arms over my chest. “Then how…?”

  Battle shouldered me to the ground; only then did I realize that Rebel knelt next to me. “Because of you.” She swept up her bow. “What more can you take from us? Destroyer.”

  I turned away my face, staring up at the Merlins imprinted, like the prehistoric silhouettes that were flamed on the corridors, against the moon.

  The vampires had come for me.

  Now the whole of Angel World was in danger.

  15

  Growing up on the Hackney Estate, where we cradled shanks like dolls and sprayed acid like bubbles, the only bastards who didn’t fear were either crazy or the soon-to-be killed.

  Fear seeped into your bones.

  And that night — whilst word sparked of the Fallen spies who’d slithered into our nested safe haven — fear ate out the angels’ hearts.

  I pressed myself against the wall of the cavern, shivering in the freeze.

  A panicked gang of Glories in gold armor charged past, lighting the dark in a dwindling flair.

  Rebel whimpered, pressing harder against me.

  I sighed.

  Don’t you dare go all Death of the Valkyries on me, Violet-death, I know that look.

  The Fangs are here for me. And I’m a huntress; I’ve scored the points to take on these Big Bads.

  If you learn nothing else from the Ice Commander, learn trickery, stealth, and when to hide.

  I dragged Rebel around the corner towards the cells, but he dug in his heels.

  “Bad angels are punished. Bad angels are punished. Bad angels…” Rebel’s eyes were wide and unfocused; his chest heaved.

  A bastard panic attack.

  I shoved him against the wall, slamming my hand across his mouth. “You’re here with me; you’re safe. And you’re never going back into the dark. I promise.”

  Slowly, I pulled my hand away from his lips.

  “Feathers?” Rebel blinked.

  “It’s me, punk boy. It’ll always be me.”

  He grinned, but it was edged with an insecurity that stung, as he peeked at the gloomy corridor. “You’re not taking me back there, are you?”

  I kissed his neck above the collar; he tensed but then lounged against the wall, whilst I feathered kisses further up to his ear.

  Yet did he even want me touching him? Or was he submitting out of fear?

  Reluctantly, I drew back. “We were sneaking in to visit a mate. But I’ll never force you to go down there again.” He sagged. “You know Merlin’s Grotto?”

  He nodded.

  “There’s a decent bloke there, Harahel. And his Glory too. You go and hang with them, whilst I take care of business.”

  Rebel’s eyes lit up. “Brilliant! Harahel’s a bleeding deadly fellah. Ages ago he fought in the most legendary battles.”

  And how much was I not touching the whole Harahel’s lost his hand and been made an Imperfect thing?

  Harahel had himself a fanboy.

  I smiled. “You know my new mate then?”

  “He was my mate first,” Rebel pouted. Jealousy? And this time not over me. “I didn’t grow up here, but da was after bringing his young ones when he visited and planned battles. I hated those visits. Except for Harahel.”

  Rebel shot me a grin over his shoulder as he trotted away: the dark, vampires, and my likely death forgotten.

  Yeah, I wasn’t sulking.

  I dived into the caverns, gagging on the dankness, as I traced my hand across the walls. I edged forwards step-by-step. Violet flared weakly from behind rock that speared up in birdcage prisons: other captives in their cells.

  I shuddered, whilst my breath wheezed. Then fingers throttled me with surprising gentleness, dragging me back against a slender chest. Wings wrapped around me, winding me in the scent of…

  Frankincense?

  “Let go of the goods, or I’ll join your mistress in another game of Punish the Genie.” I tore at Drake’s fingers.

  “Why are you lurking in
the dark, princess?” Drake spun me around, dropping his hands from my neck to my waist.

  His cool eyes were disconcertingly close to mine.

  “Hiding from the Big Bads. Because word on the street? There are Fang spies after my arse.”

  Drake’s thumbs dug into my hips. “Lie.” When he pushed me away, crossing his arms, he looked suddenly shaky. “You’re spying for the Matriarch, are you not?”

  I rolled my eyes. “The bitch locks me away, threatens to kill me, or has a little kinky time. I hardly know my mum. But you? What are you doing lurking in the dark?” I stalked towards him, and he backed away, cracking his spine against the stone bars with a wince. “Who are you spying for?”

  “My jail.” He waved airily. “I don’t need your permission.”

  But he’d hesitated too long over the permission.

  I’d been enough of a bad girl, when I’d been stuck in Jerusalem Children’s Home, not to know when someone was breaking a rule and trying to hide it.

  “So, you’re not creeping in here all stealthy because you reckon the attack’s distraction will be your cover?”

  “Calm yourself, did you not think the same? I didn’t even need to play in your mind to read that one. You’re here to visit your vampire whore.”

  “My turn. Truth: why are you sneaking when you’re the jailer?”

  Drake stiffened. “I’m here to visit…a prisoner. One the Matriarch doesn’t allow me to see, although I do my best to bring him comfort. If she’s watching through the viewing panel now…? Then we’ll both of us suffer. Yet I shall keep your secret, if you keep mine.”

  I snorted. “You’re Mr Trustypants now?”

  Drake’s gaze darkened. “Strange. Until I bargained for Zachriel’s release, you trusted me here above all others. At least, to initiate me in your warrior’s game of Truth or Dare. Or was that yet another one of your deceits?”

  The combination of innocence and pride (woven with a desperate insecurity like Drake had never had a mate before), which I’d built up and then burned out of boredom like he was the toy that my mum pretended, made my retort choke on my lips.

  I looked away. “Everybody has secrets. But I wasn’t messing with you. I don’t play that game with anyone else.”