“Don’t be narked, but I have a second brother who was too young to Fall. Back then, I ballsed things up, and in the chaos, he was taken by the Legion away from Angel World. As a Son of the Fallen, he’ll be suffering for all our sins.”
Rebel peeked at me, as if I wouldn’t understand. After what I’d witnessed in the waterfall cavern…?
I wished that I didn’t.
Flame-red hair, pale white skin, yet two perfect wings. In sackcloth and with bruises purpling his cheekbones…
Mini Rebel: his brother.
And I hadn’t saved him, just like I hadn’t the twins.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“When? After you ordered me to my knees? Tattooed the Mark on my neck? Made a holy show of me at the ceremony to enrage the Mage…” I stared at him; he looked away. He stroked through the nest’s feathers. “It’s my fault that my brother was taken. That makes it my responsibility to get him back. Now he’s older, he may have been brought along on the Legion’s visit, and I’m free to find him.”
“I reckon that I saw your bro. The bloke was a pocket-sized you. He was the bitch of that brat Nathanael: Haman?”
Rebel jerked. Then he nodded.
I touched Jade’s necklace in the pouch at my neck, before linking Rebel’s pinkie with mine. “We’re fam, pretty boy. So, your bro? He’s fam too. You’re not alone in this. We’ll get him back together.”
Rebel smiled; his swan-like neck tilted back. “There’s the huntress I trained!”
“If Haman is Nathanael’s servant, he’ll keep him in his chambers.” Gwyn bounced on his toes. “Here’s the problem, see, they’re next to the Mage’s.”
Rebel bit his lip.
Not the puppy dog eyes…
“That’s not just walking into the lions’ den, that’s sticking our heads into the lions’ mouths and yelling grubs up.” I winced. Not the power pout too… “We can’t just nick him from the Legion. Even if we did, you’d become my Poly-Wings.”
“Dry up, I have to see him,” Rebel abandoned the puppy dog eyes and pout for simple truth. “What would you do if this was your sister?”
Bastard.
For Jade? I’d risk the Mage, punishment, and death.
I’d promised that Haman was family too.
Trust: I couldn’t break Rebel’s now, even if that meant sneaking into the Mage’s chambers and stealing from his magical cult.
21
On the streets of Hackney, I’d never dreamed of angelic harems.
Instead, I’d been lost in the world of my avatars, designing new computer games. Queen of the Geeks, not Princess of Angels.
Yet now I hunted for my first Poly-Wing, and in an epicness of wrong, it consisted of Rebel and his brother because there was no way in hell I was leaving Haman with the Legion brat who cut off kids’ wings.
I edged into Nathanael’s golden chambers. They were smaller than the Mage’s but otherwise identical: leather couch, openings that flooded sunlight across the oriental rugs, and real books with gilt spines. I ran my hand over the closest wall, however, which had been pinned with the flaking barks of hazel and birch: striped wallpaper with leprosy.
Nobody home.
Rebel huffed at my side, storming past, as if he was still swirling in red-and-black leather, rather than ash silk.
“Go stealthy,” I muttered.
“Away with you, princess, you’ll make me blush.” Rebel prowled around the room, touching, sniffing, and searching…
I crawled behind the sofa, hunkering in front of the books. When I rubbed my thumb along the shelves, I noticed something scrawled in charcoal behind them on the wall: Angels without wings…
“What’s with these stick drawings?” I asked. “Have they been keeping Broken kids here?”
And just how much didn’t I want to know the answer?
Rebel crawled in behind me, leaning over my shoulder to see. “They’re cave paintings from ages ago. And these…?” He tapped the charcoaled pictures. “Aren’t angels, they’re humans. We drew the animals that we saw, like humans drew pigs or bulls.”
“Did you just call me a pig?”
He opened his mouth and then shut it again. “But you’re not human, which means that I’m calling you the most blessed light in my darkness, princess.”
“Well dodged. So, these were drawn by the first Addicts?”
He pouted. “Princess, you’re a pig.”
I elbowed Rebel as I grinned, but he stiffened, pointing to a pile of clothes that was pushed at the base of the sofa: emerald shirts and a pair of sackcloth trousers.
Footsteps.
When Rebel crouched to pounce, I dragged him back. I clutched my arms around his shoulders; his tremors shook through me, as we hid.
Three sets of bare feet padded past the sofa’s edge.
“Brandy,” the Mage’s voice, almost gentle.
Alcohol? The bastards were as much Addicts as Rebel.
Hypocrites.
“Yes, Mage Drake.” At Haman’s soft voice, Rebel struggled, and I slammed my hand over his mouth.
Except, with the Mage’s powers, hiding here was like a kid closing their eyes and hoping that the monster wouldn’t see them because they couldn’t see the monster. If he wanted to, the Mage could discover us.
I froze, before forcing myself inwards to the skills that I’d been honing over the long weeks captive with only Drake and Gwyn, one feather a day dropped in the cupboard. I threw up mental walls to hide myself from the monster in the room, before thrusting them outwards into both bond and Mark to mask Rebel, binding him.
Our gazes met, as Rebel cocooned me in his wings, whilst I cocooned our minds.
Please, don’t let the walls break…
“Why’s Haman bare?” The Mage demanded with a cold hardness.
A hesitation, before a disdainful, “The boy pissed himself. He’s such a child still.”
“Is this true?” The Mage asked.
Haman whimpered. “S-s-sorry.”
“Hush. The matter is not that it happened but why. What did you do to him, Nathanael?”
“Me?” Shrill and indignant. “All I did was take him to the Initiation.”
“Is he a Brother of the Phoenix? Trained in the Legion?” The Mage’s calmness was more terrifying than his fury. “Do you think that I shall risk our missions to allow you to carry out petty humiliations?”
“Haman is nothing but a worthless Son of the Fallen. When we rise, his sort will be the first to be burned to ashes, along with every Fallen. We shall wipe them from earth to the last corrupted creature.”
Genocide?
Not war, but the wiping out of the vampires and their children.
Smack.
Rebel flinched, closing his eyes against Haman’s yelp.
“Gentle with the sweet boy.” The Mage slurped his brandy.
“Why do you take that…impure thing…on your lap?” Nathanael sneered. Jealous: the prick had daddy issues. “Petting him like he’s the Matriarch’s Merlin?”
The Mage chuckled. “Would you like that, Haman? To be my little bird?”
“I-if you wish, Mage Drake.”
Nathanael snorted. “Just resurrect another angel if you want a slave to—”
“You’ll regret the punishment if you complete that sentence.” The Mage slammed his fist down — bang. “This impure thing may be a Son of the Fallen, but I reward talent. And believe me, he shows more potential than you ever have.”
Nathanael hissed, flouncing away to the flaking wall.
The room was melting. Fuzzy at the edges, only Rebel’s wings held me up. If my mind broke now, Haman would witness his brother being killed in front of him, just like Rebel had seen his own dad executed.
And I wasn’t bastard having that.
This time, it was Rebel thrusting his hand over my mouth, as I shuddered, shoring up the crumbling walls. But it was too late because they were tumbling down, and violet tendrils were snaking in-between
the cracks. I thrashed side-to-side, but they crept through the bond and into Rebel as well. He grasped me closer, but we were lost.
Except, the tendrils weren’t ripping us apart, exposing us, they were rebuilding the wall…shielding us.
Rebel and I blinked at each other in confusion. Suddenly, there was a waft of frankincense.
“Father, please may I speak with you?” Drake, but more subdued than I’d ever heard him.
I wrapped the tendrils in white candyfloss, stroking until they shivered.
Drake was in our minds.
“Did we not chastise you thoroughly enough? You should not be walking so soon,” Nathanael laughed. “Go and lie down. Stop bothering—”
“Duma is both a Commander and my son,” the Mage snapped. “He’s taken his punishment. He knows his own worth. Do not seek to take my place, or you’re the one who’ll not be walking.”
Guilt booted me in the gut; Drake had been punished because of me.
“The Fallen are massing for another attack,” Drake murmured. “You are called for.”
Footsteps sweeping out of the room, followed by tendrils sliding back out of the bond and my mind.
I slumped into Rebel’s arms, alone in the golden chambers, where humans had been animals, angels were toys, and vampires would be exterminated.
I burst into the quartz throne room.
The clacking of my boots echoed up to the high arches. I tilted my chin, sensing Rebel at my shoulder, and forced myself not to reach for his hand.
The bastards were holding a War Council.
The Matriarch lounged in pearl perfection on the giant throne of feathers. Behind her, the Mage and Nathanael lurked on the dais: shadow men. Drake knelt at their feet. His chest and shoulders had been seared raw. No wonder Nathanael hadn’t figured that he’d be up and walking. Drake clasped his singed wings around Haman, as if he could shield him.
Like he had us.
How long had Drake known Haman? Shielded him?
Rebel stumbled mid-step at the sight but then stalked on again, gaze carefully down.
“I’ve seen the light! This is me, humanity stripped.” I gripped Rebel by the scruff of the neck and hurled him to his knees; he let himself be thrown down with a painful crack.
Haman gasped. His wings beat frantically. “Zachriel? You came for me…”
Rebel struggled to rise, but I pressed him down.
“Be silent,” Drake warned, tightening his grip on Haman; he studied us warily.
I didn’t bastard blame him.
“No, you be silent, bitch. Dragging me out of my own party like you’d shapeshifted into a girl and not just a girlie pretty boy.” Drake stared back at me with wounded eyes. I forced my expression to harden. Even though I needed my act to be convincing, it hurt to make Drake believe that I’d become the monstrous shadow of my mum that he’d once feared. “How about I kick your arse right now?”
The Matriarch didn’t even turn her head. Instead, she continued to scrutinize Battle, who lounged at the side of the throne room against a column.
I was veiled with smoky violet because Harahel knelt in front of Battle.
Or what broken toy was left of him.
Bruises swelled over his ribs, his curls were matted, and his feathers were bloodied.
And his eyes…? There was nothing in them but a flat despair.
“Aye, right. The wee madam’s suddenly behaving like a true Glory? I’m not daft. She wouldn’t even take a Poly-Wing.” Battle snorted, shaking her snake braids and raking her nails through Harahel’s hair.
Finally, the Matriarch turned her gaze on me. “You would have us believe you fly true now? My, you must think me as trusting as a human.”
Humans taught me how to shank, bitch.
I spread my hands in the universal gesture for nothing up these sleeves. “Test me, then. Come on, hit me.”
“Don’t tempt me, lass,” Battle growled, before her dark eyes lit up. “Matriarch, may I?”
The Matriarch nodded.
“Will you prove it this way then?” Battle challenged. “Take a Poly-Wing and show your support to the whole of Angel World.”
I shook my head, stepping back.
When I caught the Mage’s gaze, I wished that I hadn’t because he wasn’t conned by my act for a moment.
I blinked, steadying myself on Rebel.
Could the Mage read minds?
“Now is the time for your choice: my shadow and the heights, or the shadows and the depths.” The Matriarch tapped her fingers on her knee. “Who do you wish as your Poly-Wing?”
I noticed that the Poly-Wing had no say in it…
I twisted away, head in hands, before peeking back at them. “Harahel.”
“What in the Jesus…?” Rebel leapt up, springing towards Haman.
At the same time, Harahel dived across the room towards me with more strength than he looked to still have in him, throwing his arms around my neck. “Thank you… You’ve no idea… Just, thank you…”
In the chaos, Battle snarled, storming towards me and drawing her bow.
Drake clutched Haman, caught in a tug-of-war with Rebel.
“I’m not finished, bitches,” I hollered.
Silence.
The Matriarch steepled her fingers.
Poker face, poker face…
“We need an epic example,” I explained. “This greedy bird wants a third Wing. I’ll take Haman too, cheers.”
Drake let go of Haman, and he fell in a tangled heap with Rebel.
I couldn’t look away from the two brothers, as they wept, clinging to each other and stroking each other’s wings.
Hell, I missed my sister.
Laughter and clapping.
I stared up at the Matriarch who, as if she’d just watched the most entertaining dark amusement, had thrown her head back with delight.
I guess harems truly did it for her.
“In truth, you are my daughter.” The Matriarch leaned forward on the throne; the feathers in her hair rustled. “I won’t keep you from your new toys.” I fought to suppress my shudder. “Just imagine, if we can only capture the older brother, you’ll have the full set.”
When Rebel growled, I steeled myself to shoot him my best fake stern Mistress look. “Spoils of war? I’ll look forward to owning all three matching pretty bitches.”
Battle prowled around me, blocking my planned hasty exit. She still held her bow at her waist. And she had a twitchy finger. “Passing that test was a belter. As her Trainer, I say Princess Violet is ready for the Warrior Trials.”
When Battle smirked, it was clear: I’d won Harahel, but she’d condemned me to death.
Harahel limped forwards. “Hey, are you crazy? No one’s ever taken them so soon and survived. I’m her Trainer too and I say—”
“Nothing. Because you’re an Imperfect. You are nothing.” The Matriarch’s voice boomed through the throne room; Harahel cringed.
“Still, all those down with me surviving raise their hands…” I half-raised my hand, before I quailed under the Matriarch’s glare.
“You may refuse,” her voice was lethally soft, “but your Poly-Wings would be forfeit to the Legion.” When Haman whimpered, Rebel clasped him closer. “And that vampire in our gaol? In truth, I’ve already promised him to the Mage if you dance with such cowardice. Plus, your hands are too beautiful to lose…”
I grinned weakly. “Bring on the Trials!”
The Matriarch inclined her head. “Tomorrow, my daughter, you’ll take the Warrior Trials and make me proud.”
I gave a curt nod, ushering Harahel around Battle, as Rebel and Haman followed.
I’d saved the Wings. But sacrificed my morals, stand, and principles.
What the hell did that matter?
Because tomorrow I fought in the Warrior Trials.
Tomorrow, I died.
22
Discovered as a baby on a gravestone, raised in a children’s home, and then stolen into a supernatural
world as soon as my true powers exploded in a fiery haze, my mind became my safe place.
Refuge.
But today nowhere was bastard safe because it was the day that I took the Warrior Trials.
Alone, I stood in the center of The Pit: a valley sunk so deep that I shivered in the dark. I squinted up into the weak morning light and at the huddled forms of the Glories who perched like eagles along the valley’s peaks, which were wreathed in mists.
I had to fight not to retch; the fetid air stank of piss, dung, and a spoiled copper sweetness that I wished I didn’t recognize.
You can do this, Feathery-fighter.
Who rescued Harahel and Haman? Who became the Rebel Princess? Who saved herself in the dare?
And who’s about to get ganked gladiator style?
Look at this pussy party. There’s not a dick in the crowd, except for the Mage and his Goldilocks son.
So, are you bowing down before these skanks or are you bitch slapping their angelic asses?
I smiled.
Time to crack on with the bitch slapping.
As I stared up at the Matriarch, who was high above me on a ledge that jutted over The Pit — the Mage and Battle at her shoulder, with Drake kneeling in front — I jolted.
Feathers had been stuck around the ledge like the spirits of a hundred dead angels, the same as the prehistoric wing imprints on the corridor walls.
I dragged at my golden armor, checking the straps with trembling fingers.
Screech.
I twirled around, resting my hand on Flight’s hilt; Flight moaned and jittered.
Gleaming eyes shone from a cave on the far side, behind stone bars. The Gateway’s pit of nightmares.
Screech.
I turned back to my mum, who was forcing me to fight in this ultimate twisted sport.
“What you waiting for?” I hopped up and down, boxer-style. “Let’s get this party started.”
The Matriarch raised a cool eyebrow. Her dress glittered with pearls and silver-threaded lace; her hair had been braided into two wings on top of her head, with pearls and feathers entwined. But she spouted no words or speeches.
Instead, Drake rose into the air; his flaming wings were like judgment.
Rebel Angels: The Complete Series Page 46