Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  Silence.

  Drake hung above The Pit; his gaze was locked on mine. His wounds had healed already, but I regretted that the last thing I’d said to him had been a promise to kick his arse. When he swooped down, I stood my ground because a bitch had to have some dignity. Even if I did eep, when he landed so close that the beat of his wings sprayed dirt into my face from the muddy floor like dark freckles and stained my armor.

  Drake smirked as he sauntered closer, folding back his wings. He wiped the grime from my cheek with his thumb. “For shame, princess, you could at least have cleaned for the big day.”

  I smacked away his hand. “See how much I’m not dying with hysterics. Let’s get to the dying by Trials.”

  “Today, I am in charge.” His voice had raised for the benefit of the audience. I bet he had a stiffie. “The test is mental; I shall utilize my Angelic Power and I shall be the judge on pass or failure.”

  “No playing in my head without permission.”

  He hesitated. “Then grant me permission. You must be willing on your Trial. This girlie pretty boy isn’t forcing you.”

  I winced: how much had I known that was going to bite me on the arse? And now Drake could fail me with a word.

  Here we come, Land of the Screwed.

  I nodded.

  “Close your eyes,” he said quietly.

  I took one more glance around the rancid pit, with the creatures behind bars and the angels watching me from high perches.

  When I screwed shut my eyes, there was a light touch on either eyelid.

  Then I was falling, Drake’s arms were catching me, and I was lost to my nightmare.

  Rebel was stretched naked and bound across the bed, except for his spiked collar. His wrists and ankles were strapped in hard leather cuffs, even if he lay on gold silk sheets. Slashes stood crimson against the moon-white of his skin.

  The air was thick with the scent of cinnamon, candles cast cavorting shadows, and the room was a sunburst of velvets and damask.

  The witches’ house…

  Dazed, I shook my head.

  That wasn’t right, was it?

  Driven by a raging desire that consumed me, even if somewhere far back in my mind I was battling against it, I climbed onto the bed, straddling Rebel. I ground down on him, and he groaned.

  “Truth,” Rebel whispered. “Is this what you wish? Me, bound and underneath you?”

  Wait… He hadn’t said that, had he?

  “What do you reckon?” I pinned him down, circling his nipples with my tongue.

  They peaked, until I caught the delicate nubs and twisted.

  Rebel arched, breathing hard.

  Stop it, stop it, stop it…

  I shook my head against the voice, instead scoring my nails down Rebel’s sides.

  “So, you dream of taking me against my will?” He gasped.

  I scowled, wrenching back his head, as I sucked bruises at his fluttering pulse point, marking him. “Of course I don’t. I dream only of your submission.”

  I yanked his head harder but jolted; the red strand became a golden curl.

  What. The. Hell?

  I struggled to scramble away, but then he reached up and snogged me, and I forgot everything.

  Rebel had never kissed like that.

  Passion, yearning, despair: beautiful pain flying on tender love. It was too much; I had to breathe and escape the flaming intensity.

  I caught his lip between mine. Then I bit.

  Blood burst in a magical burst like frankincense stars.

  Frankincense…?

  “Drake,” I snarled, tumbling off the bed.

  The image of Rebel faded, leaving Drake bound instead on the golden sheets. He was a creamy vision of slender limbs stretched out.

  Naked and achingly beautiful.

  My hazy brain focused in a startling moment of clarity: this wasn’t real.

  I was still in The Pit.

  Blood dribbled down Drake’s chin from his lip; he poked at the cut with his tongue, before giving me a sad smile. “I invade dreams. If you fail here? You never escape the nightmares again.”

  “This is a nightmare?” I scoffed, pushing myself up. “All you’ve got? Because I’ve been on scarier rides at the funfair.”

  Drake snapped the leather bonds, rising off the bed with a beat of his wings. By the time he’d curled his wings back, he’d magicked on his silk trousers.

  Although he couldn’t magic away the hard cock. A bitch knows, however, when it’s not the time to point out a bloke’s condition.

  He strolled closer. “Your interesting psyche could fill a year of trials. But you’re too special to risk. I didn’t need to test you; I was always going to give you a pass.”

  “Then what was the disturbia-1000 scene that we just shared?”

  Drake shrugged, pulling up his trousers as they slipped: the sudden blushing maiden. “It was for me,” he muttered. “I wished to know…” He swung away with a hiss of frustration, booting the bed and wringing his hands in the sheets. Then he turned to face me again, and his face was shuttered. “It was the only way to be certain whether you had in fact succumbed to Angel World and become the true Glory that you so convincingly played yesterday.” I flushed. I was well and truly bitten on the arse. “After all, you could’ve been acting all the time.”

  I lifted my eyebrow. “Welcome to my world. It sucks.”

  He nodded, cautiously.

  “Am I the Bitch of Utopia still or an angelic bitch?”

  “Who amongst us is not tempted? But you still fly in the light.” When Drake leaned closer, his lips ghosted over mine. I shivered. “Your turn: did my kiss pass? I’ve been practicing, princess, as you believed me to be…lacking.”

  I slapped Drake without even meaning to, and he raised his hand against his hot cheek like it’d been a caress.

  I didn’t know if the image of Drake practicing with other Glories (and please brain don’t blast my mum across my retinas), ignited the fury worse than his stolen kiss with me in the guise of Rebel.

  “Save your ire,” Drake said coolly, even though his eyes blazed. “This afternoon in the second part of the trials, you shall face real nightmares. And you won’t have me to hide behind.”

  I’d have slapped him again; except, he was right.

  This afternoon, I’d face true danger.

  Alone.

  The velociraptor’s narrow snout snapped at my guts.

  Except, this bitch had feathers: jade wings, iridescent tail, and an emerald crest.

  When did dinosaurs accessorize?

  There was no mistaking the large sickle-shaped claw on each foot that it held aloft like it was gifting death or the slashing claws.

  A creature from any time period…? These angelic bastards didn’t mess about.

  Click-clack, click-clack.

  I backed up across the filthy floor of The Pit, whilst the Glories watched from their ledges in the orange glow of late afternoon. And down in the shadows a monster stalked the Monster Princess.

  Click-clack, click-clack.

  I shuddered at the clicking of the dinosaur’s nails. The reek of rotten meat blasted from its snorting nostrils.

  I inched out Flight; flames flared in the dark.

  Bringing the bastard here to battle was wrong.

  It turned its head to look at me, inquisitive, whilst tapping that long claw.

  Click-clack, click-clack.

  Then the velociraptor opened its mouth and its tongue stabbed out, as its claws reached for me.

  Screech — its shrill call was a nightmare brought to life.

  I hollered my own war cry, lost to the terror; my palm was sticky around Flight.

  Air wafted behind me from the open cave: the one whose bars had raised, inch by inch, to allow out the fluffy lapdog from hell.

  Click-clack, click-clack.

  I froze.

  A gust of rancid air was snorted against my back: I’d been herded into an ambush by a second velocirap
tor because I’d never been anything but their prey.

  Stealthy bitches.

  I glanced up at my mum, who watched impassively on the ledge above.

  Heavy claws rested on my lower back, as Velociraptor One weaved closer.

  Screech — both dinosaurs called to each other in victory.

  I raised Flight, even though I trembled, caught between two monsters.

  23

  When they jumped on my back, the velociraptors hadn’t expected me to duck.

  I skidded under their flailing bodies, tumbling into the wall of The Pit with a crushing jolt to my shoulder. Black pebbles tumbled in an avalanche down the sides, and I shielded my head with my arms, as the rocks pelted me.

  The velociraptor sisters collided in a green and blue tangle: all teeth, claws, and predatory rage.

  I shook off the pebbles, reaching for Flight, but my arm was pinned by the stones.

  Hell, hell, hell…

  The velociraptors had broken free of each other, ruffling out their feathers, before stalking towards me.

  I stared up at Drake, who knelt beside the Matriarch. His back was stiff and his expression tight, but he didn’t swoop down and kick the feathery bitches’ arses. He simply watched, like he’d promised and like the Glories around the arena, even though any moment, I’d be just another ghost angel pinned to the walls of The Pit.

  I understood then what Harahel and Battle had been teaching me: this was my Warrior Trial. I either showed the warrior that I’d become or I laid down and died.

  And this wouldn’t be the day I died.

  I strained against the rock that was crushing my right arm. When Velociraptor Two snapped at me, I booted it in the head.

  Blinking against the fractured orange sunbeams that lanced across the wall, I inched my left hand over the pyramid of pebbles to the fallen Flight.

  And I bastard took my eye off the monsters.

  I screamed.

  Feathers, claws, beaks…

  When both velociraptors leapt on me, the air was driven out of my lungs. I fell back, away from Flight, as the velociraptors pinned me under their swaying bodies, balancing themselves with their wings and stiff tails. Then they pierced their extended sickle-shaped toe claws deep into my ribs and guts, hooking me and stopping my escape.

  And I screamed again. Except, this time nothing came out but a gurgle.

  Screech — the velociraptor sisters’ triumphant predator call seared across my cheeks.

  If I didn’t piss myself now, then I’d earned myself the Big Girl label for life.

  I struggled to lift my right arm. Although it tingled with pins and needles, however, rushing with the beginnings of remembered pain, it was screwed.

  A broken arm, however, was bottom of my Freak Out list when I was about to be eaten alive.

  I’m in Jurassic Park here, J, and I’ve long since reached the screaming. Bring out the Violet, before I’m chomped.

  These feathery turkeys are only shaking their thing, girl. They hunt and kill: it’s their nature. Did they ask to be brought through the Gateway to battle your ass? What would be righteous about unleashing the fire?

  What’s righteous about me being eaten?

  Then save yourself.

  I’d been on Angel World too long: I’d forgotten Rebel’s lessons. Yet it was Battle’s training on discipline, which forced me to stillness, even as the velociraptors’ jaws tore into my armor to feast on my guts.

  I slid my left hand down to my waist, edging out my dagger, Star. I vibrated with the need to touch.

  Velociraptor One tilted her head; her eyes were cold and hard. My breath stuttered. Then she ripped into my side.

  I hollered, as crimson stained serrated teeth, swinging Star; the shank burst alive in piercing violet, shooting out shards of light. The Velociraptors squealed, trying to scramble backwards against the heat, but they’d hooked themselves into my flesh, denying their own escape.

  “How do you like being the prey?” I shoved the shank between their heads.

  An imploding sun, Star burst into points, frying the dinosaurs’ heads; their heavy charred corpses fell onto me. I squirmed, rolling them off, before I stared up at the leaden sky above, whilst my arm and side throbbed.

  And to my victory?

  Silence.

  I wiped my fingers through my bleeding side, daubing my forehead and cheeks. “Now do I look the part of warrior?” I hollered. The Glories shifted in rustling disapproval. “Next time? Book a bastard clown for your party.”

  “You’ve passed the second part of the Trials,” Battle spat out, hovering above The Pit.

  I smirked despite the pain. “That must be a bitch of a disappointment.”

  Battle swooped lower. “Nay, wee princess, I’m your Trainer: I’m proud.” She looked to be swallowing glass. “But tonight, you face the final and hardest part of the Trial. Your enemy. And if you die…?” She pointed at the feathers on the wall of The Pit. “Will you take a look, lass? We pluck them out of the losers’ wings. This here is the memorial of the dead. Maybe we’ll flay you and pin up your skin?”

  I collapsed against the wall, allowing agony and blood loss to carry me into oblivion.

  The enemy could wait until tonight, and so could the angels to claim my skin for their wall of the dead.

  The Matriarch stared down at me, as I shivered in the rank valley below, from the ridge above The Pit.

  Tonight, on the final part of my Warrior Trials with the breeze billowing the snakes of her veil, which hooked her hair with pearls to the corners of the ledge, and flaming wings lighting the wall behind her in the black, the Matriarch stood alone.

  I hugged my aching right arm across my chest: even with angelic juiced healing it hurt like a bitch.

  Earlier, my new harem of Poly-Wings had tended to me. Gwyn had cleaned the wounds, Rebel had kissed the bruises, Haman had stroked my hair, and Harahel had fed me a lamb stew that was better than anything I’d eaten since I’d been held captive.

  Yet they hadn’t said a word. And that was the reason I’d die for the clever bastards.

  Because I was theirs, the same as they were mine.

  Funny, the revelations you have over food.

  Above me, the Glories hung in a cloud behind the Matriarch, blocking out the night-time sky: a perfect army. Their wings glowed in splendor, whilst I hunched in my tattered amour: unarmed.

  Battle had stripped Star from me. But my gaze slid to the tumbled rock pile that buried Flight.

  What was that trick Drake and the Legion played, controlling their weapons with their minds?

  “My daughter,” I snapped my attention back to the Matriarch, whose voice echoed around The Pit, “tonight you either fly to the heavens, or condemn yourself forever to wallow in the filth of the Lowest Order, given to the Legion with your Poly-Wings for their base desires.” I shuddered. “Remember who I am? I control with love, yet it is your weakness.”

  I snorted. “You’ve been watching the wrong channel, bro. I don’t do love.”

  “Then prove it. The final Trial is to face your enemy. Kill them!”

  Scrape.

  I spun around; the bars of the cave pulled up.

  If more velociraptors nosed out, then I was dinosaur steak.

  Prime.

  Instead, a naked vampire staggered out. His olive skin was darkened with grime and bruises; his chest was welted with lashes.

  When the vampire peered up at the arena and the watching angels, his eyes widened. Yet he straightened his shoulders, as if to hide his injuries.

  Ash.

  I stumbled towards him, but he held out a shaking hand to wave me back. His wary gaze shanked, before the thought jolted me: he’d been dragged from the dark — naked — to this gladiator’s pit to face me, in front of an army of his enemies.

  Screw it, I’d be wary as hell too, and the Brigadier had his pride.

  “I take it that you’re playing Maximus in this wargame?” Ash asked.

  “E
xcept, you’re more like a panther than a lion, Geek Fang.”

  Ash’s look was pleading, as he stalked towards me. “Then let’s give them a good show.”

  Had my mum known my weakness from the start, setting up the pieces of the game to take Ash hostage, just to produce him now for me to kill? To force me to prove my alliance with the angels over the vampires? And slaughter my love for the enemy?

  Ash’s spinning kick slammed into my bad side, and I doubled over. His hook to my chin knocked the breath from me. I swallowed blood, grinning.

  Shooting out my left arm, I caught Ash around the throat. He scrabbled at my arm, before I hurled him across The Pit.

  Crack.

  Ash sprawled against the wall, before hauling himself up and wiping away the scarlet from his split lip.

  I bounced on the balls of my feet, flying on the thrill of the fight. Joy rose at having Ash at my side because we were in this battle together, against the bastards sucking their sick pleasure from our pain.

  When Ash spun, his dove gray wings were cutting steel; their tips pulsed fiery violet.

  I caught sight of the rocks behind him…and the glinting hilt of the buried Flight.

  I’d suffered seven days of sassiness to win that sword: she’d obey my command.

  Drake had promised.

  I held out my hand, kicking it Jedi-style, as I threaded white strands through my bond with Drake and then flowing into his weapon: my sword.

  Intimate, I gasped at the connection to both Drake and Flight. A maternal love for a son, tiger fierce. Flight flew in a shower of pebbles across The Pit and into my hand.

  Ash ducked from the stones; grit grayed his black mane. He lowered his arms, before slouching closer.

  Flight flared to life, trembling with flames.

  When I swung, Ash lunged, tackling my legs out from under me and tangling us together on the floor.

  He twisted us, until he lay beneath me. His charcoal eyes were soft. “Kill me.”

  I froze.

  Ash nudged Flight’s blade towards his throat as he lay motionless as a sacrifice.

  And this was the bastard line: to kill an unarmed vampire for twisted sport, initiation into a Warrior class, or acceptance. I wasn’t a weapon to be manipulated to prove the epicness of vampire genocide.