Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  “My da owned many slaves.” Rebel rubbed his hands up and down his soaked trousers. “When I turned five, I was given a toy who was the same age as me. A newly initiated: Mihr. At first, it was deadly brilliant. He was like a best mate to play with. But I made a mess of it because I wouldn’t whip Mihr’s arse. Why would I want to hurt him? We’d grown up together; I was always in woeful trouble for not lashing him…or seeing him as less than me.” He dragged himself up against the boulder. “Here’s the thing of it: it was the Mage who’d said he was lesser. That bad bastard tests all Wings at birth for mental and Angelic Powers, and if they’re…banjaxed…in any way, they’re after being taken from their parents and trained as toys. Then the Legion’s Discipliners own them, until they’re chosen by Glories.”

  I wiped my drenched hair out of my face.

  The Mage was the Emperor because he could steal everyone’s kids. Who’d stand up to the bloke who could decide your child should be made a slave?

  “The bastard blackmails the whole of Angel World.” I squinted at Rebel. “But you didn’t Fall. So, why the sudden anti-slavery campaign?”

  He flinched, before locking his hands together, as if it was the only way to stop himself falling apart. “One day, when I was thirteen, Mihr spilled some water.” Suddenly, I remembered Rebel in the witches’ house, spilling my goblet and his terrified panic. “My da told me to whip him; I refused. So, da snapped Mihr’s neck.” He looked down; tears trembled on his cheeks, as he whispered, “To teach me a lesson. And sweet Jesus, I learned it. After that? It didn’t matter how da threatened me, I’d never take another under my power as a toy.”

  “You took me prisoner,” I muttered.

  “Get on with you, I protected you.” Rebel spread his wings; his gaze turned to steel. “And it doesn’t matter how you threaten me either. Levels of Perfection, orders of angels, the swings of power at court: they mean nothing. Any idiot can see that, unless of course you’ve been corrupted by your ma’s Angelic Power…?” He cocked his head. “Are you the one holding the whip now? What lesson do you want to teach me, princess?”

  When he stepped closer, his lips brushed against mine. I shuddered, as my angelic side rose up, growling to take what he was offering…even if I knew that he was testing me.

  “Don’t,” I warned.

  “I’m only a toy,” he breathed; his breath was cold against my wet lips, “break me.”

  Rebel shoved me, and I fell behind the waterfall. I yelped, as my hip smacked against the stone. Then he was on me, pinning my hands above my head. I writhed, booting him in the balls. He howled, loosening his hold, and I twisted him, pressing him down face first. He squirmed, but I ground onto him, panting with the thrill of the struggle and the fight.

  Rebel’s Mark glowed crimson: VZ.

  He struggled harder, but I held my hand over his Mark, and he instantly stilled. A quiver ran through his body, just as I shivered, high on the power.

  I scraped a fingernail around the letters.

  “Please…” He scrabbled against the rock.

  The Mark sang to the monster inside. The one that bellowed discipline: for Rebel’s attack, disobedience, and lies.

  For wanting someone who wasn’t his Marked and bonded Glory.

  It flamed through me: I dove into the fire.

  I punched the Mark, whilst pouring into Rebel every rage-fueled emotion.

  Until Rebel’s screams died to silence, and in the green glow of the waterfall cavern, my toy lay broken.

  20

  An orphaned kid in Jerusalem Children’s home had to watch out for three types of bastards: the violent, the indifferent, and the kind.

  All had power over you, and sometimes, the kind were the worst.

  Sandy hair, soft hands, and a gentle laugh. He’d listened, noticed me, and cared…

  Even though J had never left me when those soft hands had touched, singing his tone-deaf lullabies to block out the bastard’s grunts, as his sandy hair swung in my face, I’d sunk into the same blankness as Drake.

  I’d hidden, whilst something I could never get back had been stolen.

  Men were bastards; they tricked you with kindness.

  Rebel lay broken underneath me on the frozen ground.

  I shuddered with the cold, wet, and horror.

  Rebel had wanted to open my eyes. And congratulations, because no more blindness for this bitch.

  I was the Matriarch’s shadow.

  I heaved Rebel towards the back of the waterfall, away from the fizzing spray. The silence in the sea-green cavern, apart from the thundering falls, was like having sunk to an undersea world. A screwed sideways Atlantis, where I’d just murdered a merman.

  I dropped Rebel in a limp puddle, curling next to him. I pulled my arms over my head and keened.

  Keep it down: you’re splitting both our heads, Violet-juice.

  Or should I just call you killer?

  How can you…? Don’t take the piss about this or—

  You’ll make me scream and not in the rocking the bed to heaven way?

  Don’t worry about your Irish toy, worry about the Legion brat coming over the bridge.

  Sprouted a third eye now?

  If you weren’t wailing like a kid yourself, you’d hear the true babes wailing.

  The punk’s a tough sugary cookie, and you’ve nibbled his edges but you haven’t swallowed him whole.

  Yet.

  Uncurling, my shoulders twinging with stiffness, I turned Rebel on his back, before clambering over his still body. I pulled myself up behind a boulder.

  Sobbing.

  Two tiny Wings in crimson silk trousers stumbled across the bridge. Their black mops of hair and tearful faces were identical.

  Twins?

  They wrapped their wings around each other in a desperate hug.

  Nathanael marched in front of them, holding his nose in the air.

  A second teenager with shoulder length hair gently ushered the boy Wings. His trousers were brown sackcloth like a penitent’s.

  What sin could a kid younger than Jade have committed?

  Except, when they reached the end of the bridge, the sackcloth kid glanced towards my boulder, and I saw that he was a miniature Rebel. Flame-red hair, pale white skin, yet two perfect wings.

  Hell, Rebel had family.

  I gasped, before slamming my hand over my mouth and peeping over my shoulder at Rebel. He was blamed for corrupting me, and if I left him here I was serving him up on a platter.

  But then one of the twins caught his foot on a rock and stumbled.

  Thwack — Nathanael twirled, slapping the boy in the face.

  The kid’s head snapped to the side, and his brother enfolded his wings tighter around him to stop him falling.

  No bastard way.

  I was marching around the boulder towards Nathanael, sparks crackling aura-like around me before I’d even decided to move.

  Mini Rebel had pressed himself between Nathanael and the boys. His head was ducked respectfully, but I saw it: the same courage and attitude as Rebel. Closer, the bruises purpling his cheekbones and swelling his right eye were more obvious, as was his beauty.

  Yet he was about to be beaten again to protect the Broken.

  “Are newbie kids your new sparring partners? Maybe the others felt bad kicking your arse and want to give you a fighting chance?” I called, tearing across the cavern and leaping up the shelved ledges of gems to block Nathanael’s way.

  Troll’s at home, bitch.

  Pink dotted Nathanael’s high cheeks. “I believe that you shan’t wish to witness the Initiation, princess. An orphaned freak may not understand its importance.”

  I fluttered my eyelashes. “You’ve memorized my speech, fanboy. Do you moon over my poster too?”

  “Savior…” Mini Rebel darted to me, kissing the back of my hand, before enfolding me in his vanilla-scented wings and swooping me around.

  I tensed, before laughing, caught in the first true explosion of inno
cent joy since I’d been entangled in Angel World.

  Mini Rebel giggled against my neck but then yelped as he was dragged backwards by his long hair.

  Nathanael shook him. “Do you wish to also lose your wings today?”

  The twins whimpered, pulling their small wings over each other as if they could hide.

  I stalked to Nathanael, shoving him back from Mini Rebel, before stroking my hand across the twins’ trembling shoulders. “No one’s plucking a single feather.”

  A smug smile spread across Nathanael’s face. “Haman is a Son of the Fallen and a servant of the Legion. You may indulge your toys as you wish, allow us to deal with ours the same. And today…” His gaze slid to the quivering twins. “…is the Ritual of the Wings. The Initiation into the Broken. I shall do far more than pluck feathers.”

  I gripped Nathanael by the throat, slamming him with a roar against the cave wall. The stink — coppery sweetness with a hint of rotten decay — was stronger here.

  He clucked his tongue. “The Matriarch has the choice of the prettiest Broken. You’ll be allowed second pick, I imagine. Don’t worry, I’ll train them thoroughly for you, if they’ve taken your interest.”

  Crunch, crunch, crunch.

  I smashed the heel of my palm into Nathanael’s nose, until he spluttered scarlet.

  When Nathanael grinned, his teeth were stained with blood, as if he’d just savaged my throat. His Assassin Knife hovered like an attack dog over my kidneys.

  I stilled.

  “Do you not wish to learn, Bastard of the Fallen, how the Lowest Order of angels are controlled?” My gaze flickered to the twins who gaped at me with terrified eyes like I was the monster. “It’s their fifth birthday. If you interrupt their Initiation further?” Nathanael flicked the shank with a blink of his eyes, slashing my dress. “I’ll assign them rejects.”

  Mini Rebel clasped the twins to his shoulders. “Please, I’ll do whatever—”

  “If that happens?” Blink. Nathaniel lazily slashed my dress again, carving a N into the back: marking me. “They’ll be terminated. Because they’ll have missed the proper date for the Ritual.”

  I stumbled backwards.

  By rescuing these kids, I’d have murdered them.

  “Are all Legion bastards psychos, or do you get the dirty jobs because you’re twisted?” I hurled Nathanael; he crashed further into the cave.

  Shaking with indignation, he drew himself up. “This is an honor. I don’t have to be forced to do my duty: I’m not Commander Drake. Only children don’t see the great vision.”

  “Are you brainwashed? You have a dick yourself; how can you be such a dick to other Wings?”

  “I wonder whether you reckon yourself savior to every Glory merely because you have no dick?” Nathanael beckoned at Mini Rebel, who reluctantly ushered the twins deeper into the cave. The kids’ wails suddenly rose in petrified crescendo. “I’m not a Wing, a Broken, or an Imperfect. I’m a Brother of the Phoenix. And we will rise.”

  He swept into the dark.

  I hesitated in the cave’s entrance. But when had I been a bastard coward?

  Step by painful step, I forced myself into the sweet stench. Towards the babbling begging.

  My boots cracked and popped over delicate wing bones.

  Whish – thud.

  A shrill scream: it chilled me.

  White ghost-faces, crimson pooled, a violet wing lying cut in a basket…and a child-sized guillotine.

  I hurled, bracing myself against the wall and desecrating the kid’s wing bones and the graves of what had been stolen from them. Stolen from Gwyn. Because this had been done to him when he’d been a quaking five-year old.

  Yet if I stopped this, I killed the kids.

  How could I save the Wings, if I couldn’t even save myself?

  I hugged my arms around my knees, pressing myself into the tight space between the stalactites and the plum crystals at the back of my room.

  Numb, I rested my chin on my knees and rocked.

  Whish — thud.

  I shook my head, whilst the phantom sound echoed again, gagging as the corrupted sweetness clung to my dress. I scratched at the silk, dragging my dress over my head and hurling the damp ball at the opposite wall, before huddling back down. I refused to peek around at Rebel, who was laid out on the nest.

  I was no damsel but when I’d run coward from the Initiation, I’d carried Rebel damsel-like in my arms. I wouldn’t have been able to lift him before, but now he was so light.

  Starved.

  Gwyn’s look of hurt betrayal when, Sleeping Beauty in reverse, I’d rested Rebel’s still body on the feathers, had shanked me.

  Gwyn had betrayed his mate because he’d trusted that I wouldn’t hurt him.

  If you trust a monster, expect to be mauled.

  When I shivered, a shaggy sheepskin rug was draped around my shoulders. I glanced up.

  Gwyn knelt in front of me. “Are you hiding, princess?”

  I avoided his eye, nodding.

  “What are you hiding from, wuss?”

  I frowned. “He hasn’t said a bastard word. And I know that he’s awake.”

  “Zachriel’s scared.”

  I licked my lips, barely able to force out the words, “Of me?”

  “That you hate him. Won’t ever trust him. That he’s…less than you.”

  My eyes widened in shock. I picked at the strands of wool, tearing them apart. I wasn’t made up of sugar and spice but how had I made Rebel feel that? Had I done the same to Gwyn?

  I traced over Gwyn’s stumps, and he arched into the touch. But could he pull away or tell me no?

  You ride the white-haired sweetie-pie for months and only now you ask if he had a choice?

  Does a toy choose who plays with it?

  I didn’t hear you stopping me.

  Some things you have to discover on your own. If you hadn’t witnessed the Ritual, would you be having this crisis now?

  I could’ve stepped on Gwyn’s wing bones in that cave.

  What kind of ruler…woman…am I? Because Rebel was only a kid but he stood up against the slave trade.

  Normally, I’m the one whipping your ass, but here’s the realness: you were a prisoner and didn’t know the truth.

  Except, and here I will beat your ass, becoming a slave owner warps everyone into something ugly.

  No more Matriarch’s daughter. No more giving in to the cravings inside. I’ll break the whole bastard system.

  “I’m sorry.” I brushed my fingertips down Gwyn’s cheek. “A Legion brat showed me the Ritual of the Wings. I couldn’t save…”

  Gwyn caught my fingers, kissing them. My breath caught: it was the same gesture as Mini Rebel. Had they been trained by the same Discipliner? Was anything Gywn did real?

  “Look you, the Matriarch rules,” he murmured, “but if you survive the Trials, so will you. Then you can change… You can help us.”

  My chest tightened.

  If I stayed longer in Angel World, I’d lose myself to the growing angelic bitch. Was that why the angels had Fallen, to rebel from without, rather than within?

  Epic fail.

  But could I lead a better rebellion…?

  “The Matriarch’s not hanging up her crown and pissing off to play chess at a retirement home. And the Mage gets a stiffie every time he sniffs the throne.” I pulled my hand away from Gwyn. “How soon do you reckon I can change anything if I stay here?”

  He twisted his fingers in his lap. “You’re leaving.” Sad and flat.

  “Why? I love you, but do you even want me, Gwyn?”

  He met my stare defiantly, even though he trembled. “I’m not allowed to want anything.”

  My cheeks flushed. “Stick the Broken bollocks. I’m asking.”

  “Of course I love… This is the first time that I’ve felt whole since I lost my wings. Safe since… I’ve never felt safe.” Gwyn’s huffed laugh hid his sob. “You’ve ruined me. Once you’re gone? I don’t know how I’l
l return to…”

  I hadn’t saved my sister or the kids of Hackney, Eah, or the twins’ wings.

  I was bastard saving Gwyn.

  I shoved the sheepskin rug off my shoulders, encircling Gwyn instead. “How could I dream of leaving without you? Who’d feed the chocolate monster?”

  He quivered, grinning. “And Dill…?”

  I bit my tongue as I forced a smile. “Just call me Spartacus, bitch.”

  Gwyn whooped, dragging me up. Then he slapped me across the back of the head.

  I rubbed the sore spot, glaring at him in shock. “Ow, ow, and what the hell?”

  He held his hands behind his back, shifting on the spot, but he peeped at me as if checking something.

  Trust: only a slave owner punished; Spartacus took a joke.

  The bitch wanted to play that game?

  I dived on Gwyn, pinning him to the ground…and tickled.

  He giggled, as I dug into his ribs, armpits, and hips. He howled, weakly pushing at my shoulders. When I sat back, he stared up at me.

  “Tidy! You’re a Tickle Champion.” When Gwyn squirmed, I doffed my tickle crown. “Now go and talk to your cariad. He’s watching us like we’re crazy.”

  I sniggered, bottom shuffling towards the nest.

  Rebel scowled at me but he couldn’t hold it: his lips quirked. “Tickle Champion?”

  I flinched at the raw sound of his voice. “After what I did to you…? It suits me better than princess.”

  Rebel waved his hand in the air. “You’re a muppet.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Love is pain. But lay off the Mark, for the sake of all things holy.”

  “No more writhing in agony, I get you.”

  He gave a wide smile. “Bang on! And no secrets.”

  I leaned closer, studying his face. Gwyn must’ve cleaned away the traces of run mascara and tears. The tips of Rebel’s wings, however, were still blackened.

  I nodded. “So, why the stealthy trip to the caverns?”

  “I was searching for someone.” When my breath hitched, he rolled his eyes. “Not a lover, you dope.” His gaze dropped, and his voice shook with sudden distress, “My brother.”

  “I know about your Fang brother, Wings. You’ve already paid for that secret.”