Drake’s gaze was too vulnerable; it hurt me to look at it. “Not even the Addict?”
“Just your suspicious arse.”
Drake nodded, but his smile was strained. “It’s midnight. The seventh day. Judgment.”
I screamed, as Flight blazed hot enough to burn through the leather harness, whilst I curled forwards against the pain.
Panting, I screwed closed my eyes. White lights danced behind my lids. There was the stink of scorched skin melded to silk and the blister of skin branded.
Then an unexpectedly cold sword tip pressed under my chin, and I straightened. When I opened my eyes, Flight hovered at my throat. I swung for the hilt, but she dodged out of reach, nicking my skin.
“Enough.” Drake raised his hand, and Flight hung back like a bad puppy. “Flight, I know that the princess is insufferable.” I huffed. “But you’d have executed her by now if she hadn’t passed your high standards. I’m right, am I not?”
Flight whined.
“Good, then return to your new mistress,” Drake commanded.
Flight twisted in what could’ve been a rude gesture, before clattering at my feet.
I didn’t reach for Flight. “Don’t you want your mum’s sword back?”
Drake winced.
I remembered his pleas not to have the one thing he had left of his mum’s torn away from him and given to me.
“Who else can save you in the Trials?” He scuffed his bare foot against the floor. “And I find that I don’t wish you to die. Yet.”
I grinned, before snatching up Flight and tucking her through the belt at my waist. The charred straps of my shoulder harness lay on the stone.
Another repair job for Gwyn.
I grimaced, stretching my back; the burnt dress flapped open.
Drake couldn’t meet my eye. “I just didn’t want you becoming the same monster as your mother. I apologize, however, for setting your mother’s monster on you. By passing my dare, I imagine that you have failed hers?”
I startled.
The bastard knew how to bring a girl down.
I crossed my arms to hide their shaking. “I better not waste the last visit of a condemned woman then.”
He nodded, and we both sidled to our respective cells.
I watched Drake out of the corner of my eye.
He pressed on the stone bars and…to hell with it, magicked them to melt…stepping through into a cell. He crouched down to a tiny skeletal angel, whose black hair tangled to his waist. Then he gently tugged the angel into his lap and rocked him, stroking his wings. Except, both wings were bound with leather, and I flinched.
That had to bastard hurt.
How long had the beautiful prisoner been down here to have wasted away like that?
He curled into Drake’s chest like Drake meant comfort and safety. He hadn’t opened his eyes.
Its painful intimacy made me blush.
This was Drake’s secret?
“A fight. Spies. Lovers. Just add popcorn and it’s movie night.” Ash sprawled on his back. His lips spread in a slow grin. “Hey, sexy, you’re working the Princess Leia look.”
I crouched next to the bars.
Bruises, burns, stripes, and slashes: Ash was holding himself too still in an effort not to show me how badly he’d been pummeled.
You couldn’t beat the Brigadier from my Geek Fang.
I arched my brow. “Does that make my mum Jabba the Hut?”
Ash’s grin widened, although it must’ve hurt his shattered cheekbone. “Only if I’m Han, and you’re here to break me out?”
I slipped my fingers around a bar, wishing that it was his hand. That I could touch him. “I’m sorry…”
He shrugged and then winced. “I’m a Fallen and a Seducer. I wish that I could be something else, Violet, but I can’t wash myself clean. These angels have made my role clear.”
“Screw what the angel dicks have said.”
When I banged on the stone, Ash raised his eyebrow. I longed to stroke through his sable mane and calm the tremors that he was trying to hide in his gray wings.
But he only nodded. “Whatever you say, babe.”
“You know that I can get more creative with butter knife death scenarios if you keep it up with the babe.”
“I reckoned I’d get a pass what with the torture…”
“Guess again, bitch.”
“So hot when you get all commanding.” Ash edged himself up, clasping his guts as he struggled closer to me. “And are you safe with these angel dicks?”
I shook my head.
He ghosted his swollen fingers over mine. “Then the question isn’t how we break me out, it’s how we break you out.”
I stared at him.
Both angel and vampire had urged me to escape. Was the problem that the danger frightened me, or that I didn’t want to escape?
I rolled my eyes. “You know just how to do that, yeah?”
“Rome wasn’t won in a day. And it didn’t fall in one either. Note the cloaked comparison.”
I dragged Ash’s fingers towards mine, pulling him into the bars. His aromatic scent, like a clove studded orange, entwined around me. I breathed Ash in. Desperate to taste, I licked out my tongue, dragging it up his neck.
“Rein in the rebel spirit. The Matriarch’ll pluck you, and I’ll have to watch. I’m the prized princess in the world I rule, and you’re the Fang trapped amongst your enemies. You’re the one we have to save.” I scowled at the black slot of the viewing panel. “Plus, you have an audience, you get me?”
“Figured. My performances were always popular.” Ash shrugged, before asking quietly, “And your retro angel? The idiot was always crazy, but is he…himself again?”
I drew back, stumbling into the shadows to tip a jug of water into a wooden goblet, which was laid at the back of the cavern.
Angels didn’t need to eat human food (and I reckoned vampire captives wouldn’t be offered blood on tap), but they both suffered if they didn’t drink.
Not that the stinking green liquid in the goblet counted as water.
I pulled a face as I knelt in front of Ash, tipping the brackish water to his lips; he gagged but swallowed.
Like that would go down rainbows and fairies: I Marked Rebel, and now he’s my terrified bed slave…
Instead, I sank into the bond, reaching out to Rebel.
Serenity, of a sort that I hadn’t experienced (and no way in hell Rebel had since we’d been bonded), warmed through me.
I grinned: that’d be Harahel and his Glory, Anpiel.
How many other Wings had partners who hadn’t forced them into unwilling submission? Rebel and Ash had knelt for me willingly in Hackney — their princess. Yet they’d been equals in the fight.
Why had I let the Matriarch poison that?
“Drowning…” Ash spluttered.
“Hell, sorry.” I dragged away the goblet.
Ash laughed, wiping at his dribbling chin through his coughs. “Now I’ve had the waterboarding too, I can rate the full torture treatment five out of five.”
I wiped my hand across my eyes to hide the tears. “How can you joke?”
Ash rested his forehead against the bars. “This is war,” he said, suddenly serious; his charcoal eyes flashed silver. “It sucks.”
“Fangs have broken in, when they shouldn’t even be able to find us. Everyone’s acting like it’s the Apocalypse. The Matriarch exchanged captured vampires from the battle for you. It’s not striking up a weird-arsed tune?”
“No tea, bed, or computer. Everything’s weird in here.” Then he whispered, “And it wasn’t some captured vampires exchanged for me, it was all of them.”
“Aren’t you popular.”
“Aren’t you?” Ash wound a strand of my hair around his thumb, as if I’d have to stay with him now. “I was bought for you. You’re a beacon, your possessive little angel said it once, burning brighter every day. Certain Fallens’ superpower is tracking. The Mage shields Angel World,
but he often does a Gandalf and wanders off to do his own thing. They’ll call him back, but if he’s been away… These Fallen spies are here to save you. After all, Violet, you’re our princess too.”
Vampire Princess. How do you like wearing two crowns?
They called me monster, J.
The Pure fanatics branded you monster, but what do the Glories call you? And haven’t the humans always labeled you freak?
Cheers, not feeling better.
I’m not part of the Feathery cheerleading squad, I’m reading you until the Seducer’s truth brands into your stubborn brain.
Whether you want to admit it or not, you belong to the Fangs, as much as you belong to the angels.
This bitch doesn’t belong to anyone.
I staggered up, knocking over the goblet; the last dribbles of water spilled out in a foul pool.
“What?” Ash struggled up as well, unable to hide the wince or the way that he held onto the bars for support.
“If I’m killed tonight,” I met Ash’s startled gaze. Enough of bastard deceits. I couldn’t choose when I was going down, but I could choose how. “Know that I’ve always been your princess. Nothing else matters.”
Ash’s eyes gleamed. “Nothing else matters, gorgeous.” I scowled. “I didn’t say babe, babe.”
I laughed, dodging towards Ash, but then agonizing pain, grief, and terror shot through the bond, paralyzing me.
The terror throttled me.
I keened, keeling over to my knees. I clawed at my head, gouging bloody furrows.
The world dimmed to nothing but ballooning fear.
What the hell was happening to Rebel?
And it was my fault because I’d sent him away.
Blinded by agony, and panting through the pain, I forced myself to crawl down the corridor. I was desperate to reach Rebel in time to rescue him from the nightmare causing this terror.
16
A disembodied head tangled in wild black hair and bedded on the feathery backs of dead Merlins, stared at me glassy-eyed across Merlin’s Grotto.
When I crawled closer, crimson crept onto my fingertips from the slashed neck.
Anpiel.
I choked on bile; it burned up the back of my throat.
Don’t hurl, don’t hurl, don’t hurl…
The cave swirled with violet and gray, whilst my mind fractured against the brutal truth: the vampires had broken into my home and they’d killed the Glory Harahel loved to get to me.
Rebel’s scream must’ve been on her moment of death. The echoes still tremored through my mind, along with the guilt.
Because the nightmare that shanks sharper than fear…?
Grief.
Calm down the blame game, you didn’t start the war.
But what if I can end it?
You don’t even know the rules. There are players in this sport who’ve trained in death for centuries.
And you don’t even know their names.
Who the hell needs to know? As long as they never forget mine.
I pushed myself up, shooting calming strands through the Mark. Rebel’s pain dulled like a sword rusted in blood.
I caught sight of Rebel and Harahel: two angels back-to-back guarding Anpiel’s torso, amidst a goth gang of snarling vampires.
Claws slashed scarlet lines down Harahel’s wings and bare chest, but he didn’t even flinch, numbed by loss. Silent tears streaked his cheeks, but his eyes blazed, whilst he swept his hardened wings like a shield. The same fighter Rebel had remembered with respect.
Life’s a bitch that it’d taken the death of his lover to rebirth Harahel.
Rebel lifted his chin, before clouting a vampire in the gut, who had more piercings then skin, as if he could still protect Anpiel. The vampire doubled up, a grin stretching his studded lips — as his fangs descended — and spun his shank.
My heartbeat raced: Rebel was unarmed.
The vampires laughed, closing in hyena-like for the kill.
This time there was no boiling build-up, asking, or ozone air warning. Just a lava wave of rage.
A scorching beam burst from every part of me, super nova.
I stood above a valley of bones, where I reigned.
The monster.
Safe in the desolate land, with feathers beneath me, lit by the ghost light of glowing bones, my powers suckled me. And they whispered: You are death. The End. Destroyer.
Howls, screams, bellows.
Finally, silence.
The fire broke off as abruptly as it’d exploded. I slipped to the hard ground.
Smoking piles of ash were heaped around Rebel and Harahel, who cowered, clutching each other over Anpiel’s corpse.
How the hell did I do that? Because no way was I driving the Violet Train.
You go boom and bring down the house with your feathery glory, girl! Will you sleep better for knowing that you didn’t light the match?
Know what’d help me sleep? Knowing that I can’t burn the house down, whilst I sleep.
Who’s in control?
How hard have you truly been fighting it, Angel Princess? Letting your greedy slut angelic side grow plump in these caves?
I unleashed the Matriarch’s shadow? And now the warring powers inside me want to come out and play?
And they’re mean bitches.
I staggered over to Anpiel’s body, dropping next to Rebel, before hugging him.
No touching? Screw that when Rebel could be the one lying here without a head…
He stiffened but didn’t pull away
Harahel lay with his face buried in Anpiel’s wing, trying to silence his weeping, but his shoulders shook. Rebel’s face was drawn and serious. He pushed me back, nudging me towards Harahel.
When I stroked Harahel’s shoulder, he startled. “Only me, bro, you’re safe.”
“Not safe,” Harahel whispered through his tears. The tips of his brunet curls were stained with Anpiel’s blood. “Never. Safe. Again.”
“You’re my mate,” I reassured him. “Ally. I’ve got your back.”
Harahel gripped Anpiel’s feathers, as if he could resurrect her through the touch. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Just what has that rotten madam and her daft troops done…?” Battle stormed into Merlin’s Grotto, her boots clattering in the quiet and trailing crimson footprints through her sister’s blood.
“Stop…” I called out.
Yet not before Battle’s toe had sent Anpiel’s head slithering like an ogre’s football against the ledge.
Battle scowled, tilting her head in confusion. Then she swung to us, examining the body that we were huddled around.
Harahel clung closer to me, trembling.
When Battle prowled towards us, I shrank back. “Look, I’m sorry about your sister…”
I choked, as Battle snatched me by the throat and chucked me across the cave.
I slammed into the wall.
Crunch.
I slipped to my knees, dazed.
Rebel growled, launching himself at Battle, but she backhanded him across the jaw.
Crack.
I flinched, as Rebel’s head snapped to the side.
Battle howled. She raised her hands in grief to the stars peeping through the high cave’s tunnel. Then she drew her bow and pointed it at me.
My head pounded; my arms were too heavy to lift. I tried to shuffle backwards, but the room span.
The sputtering flames on Battle’s arrow trembled in the black. “You, destroyer. You’ve taken everything. I’ll burn you for—”
“Watch your grief-laced words, Hasmal. She’s still my daughter. Or do you forget your place?” The Matriarch’s rebuke called from behind Battle.
An emotion that I’d never figured on experiencing? Relief on being surprised by the Matriarch.
But what was with the still my daughter?
Battle stiffened, and her finger twitched on the string of the bow.
The Matriarch glided towards us. Her hair hung loose,
without feathers woven into its cascade, over a simple dress. Even her stilettos were missing: her feet bare and vulnerable.
Like she’d been woken in the night. And of course, she bastard had because of the vampires.
Because of me.
Shadows stained the hollows under her eyes, and as she glared between Battle and me — her two daughters — hardly bothering to glance at Anpiel’s corpse, she looked…ancient.
How old was she?
“Aye, right. How can I forget my place?” Battle swallowed, as if fighting not to let tears fall. She didn’t lower the bow. “My sister lies dead because your idiot daughter has stolen it.”
“I wished to fly with my baby bird. I called her to grow amongst us. Do you call me idiot?” The Matriarch’s voice had dropped dangerously low.
Yeah, call her idiot, bitch.
Battle fumbled with her arrow. “Never, Queen Miniel. By the Wing, forgive me.”
She hurled the bow against the wall, before swinging to Harahel. He cringed back, clasping Anpiel’s wing.
How many times had Anpiel saved him from her sister? Except, Anpiel would never be able to protect him again.
Battle’s eyes narrowed. “And you, wee man? Did she die rescuing your worthless, sniveling, Imperfect backside?”
She wrenched Harahel up by his bloodstained curls. At the sight of the burgundy tips, her hand tightened, before she slapped him across one cheek and then the other.
He bit his lip to stop himself crying out.
I remembered the pit of nightmares inside the library’s Gateway and Harahel’s command over the beasts.
He was one juiced up bastard; he could kick Battle’s arse.
Yet here amongst the Glories? Without Anpiel by his side? He was just another toy for Battle to use to bitch slap out her grief.
When Battle raised her hand again, Rebel snarled.
“Muzzle your Marked.” The Matriarch crouched next to the corpse of a Merlin, stroking its head tenderly. “Or I shall give him to Hasmal for a lesson. In truth, she’s never understood the balance of pain and pleasure, delighting in pain alone.”
I froze, shooting Rebel a glance. Dizzy still, I had no mojo to fight again.
Rebel met my eye, miming locking his mouth and tossing me the key.
Battle grinned. She yanked Harahel over Anpiel’s corpse in a shower of feathers. Harahel sobbed, grasping a violet feather in each hand like they were Anpiel’s ashes.
Rebel Angels: The Complete Series Page 41