Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  After wanting a mum all my life, I knew now that I’d never be what she wanted.

  Because I’d never be her.

  Yet if I didn’t kill Ash, I’d lose the Trials, my Wings, and my chance to escape and bring down the whole system.

  Why couldn’t I sacrifice one man to save the many? Was that love?

  When I forced Ash’s hands onto Flight’s hilt, his eyes widened.

  “What are you…? Stop…” He struggled, but he was weak from lack of blood.

  I shoved my elbow into Ash’s throat, acting a struggle over the sword. I slowly tipped it between our hands, until the blade nicked my own neck.

  Flight whined but didn’t resist: the bitch knew the play.

  “I surrender,” I hollered.

  Gasps, howls, hoots.

  I pulled myself off Ash, hauling him up, whilst I sheathed Flight. I recoiled against the shrieked outrage and the wild beating of the Glories’ wings.

  They’d taken it well then.

  “To the death,” Ash muttered in my ear, clasping his hands around my waist. “These fights are to the death, not to the surrender.”

  “Then maybe someone should kick their arses into the twenty-first century.”

  The Matriarch’s eyes flashed lightning; her body vibrated with a rage that twisted her thin face into a demented darkness.

  I’d reckoned that I’d seen the bitch angry before.

  I’d been wrong.

  The Matriarch tipped her head back and she howled.

  “And maybe I was trying to save you from the crazy angels.” Ash’s arms tightened around me.

  It was legendary to have him at my back again, even if I shook at the ear-splitting shrieks.

  Rip — the Matriarch tore herself free of her veils, spreading her wings.

  Then she dived with a screech into The Pit.

  My right arm swung useless, whilst my side throbbed, and I lifted Flight in my weak left arm.

  I waited, quivering, as the Matriarch swooped down in all her glory to add to her collection of ghosts.

  24

  When London Fields had been tinged blood-red with dawn, the skies had been stained dove-gray with fleeing vampires, and the ground had been charred black with the dead, I’d been nothing but a weapon.

  Now I had a vampire at my back and an angelic army facing me. And I was finally free to make my own choices, even if they bastard killed me.

  Time to fight dirty.

  Fireballs burst from my palm, sizzling down my arms. I hurled them at the ground of The Pit, blazing a fire that arched in a bubble around Ash and me, electric in the black night.

  All the training had paid off then.

  Like the bonfire tang of fizzing sparklers, my flames burnt away the piss, dung, and blood stench clinging to the valley.

  This was my yard now.

  The Glories bayed, dive-bombing in flaming formations, as the Matriarch landed so close to the fire that it hissed; her feathers caught. She held up her hand, and the Glories pulled back, restless.

  The Matriarch’s hair billowed behind her. Her eyes were cracking ice. “You would dare use our own revered fire against us, traitor?”

  Why did it shank that my mum called me that instead of baby bird?

  “You don’t want to test what I’d dare. You know why?” I exploded the flames higher, and the Matriarch stumbled backwards, as her wingtips blistered. Yeah, bet it hurt like hell when you did it to Drake through his Mark too. “Because trapped here I forgot…who I am. But I remember now. I may be half angelic asshole, but you know what else?” I curled the throbbing fingers of my broken hand into Ash’s, and he clasped it. “I’m the vampires’ princess too.”

  Roars, howls, snarls.

  The Glories were about to get medieval: I’d misjudged my audience.

  The Matriarch, however, only shook out her seared wings. “You claim a shadowed heritage. I wished for you to defeat our world’s maze. Yet I too am guilty of forgetting that shadow in your soul. Because if you’re the Fallen’s princess, who do you believe to be your father? A beast who shall sing in your suffering.”

  I shrank from the cruelty of her smile. Then I shrieked.

  A glimmering myrrh whip lashed my mind, cracking it open as easily as cracking an egg. Memories, each one tumbling out one after the other, bled at the Matriarch’s feet.

  I sobbed, falling to my knees.

  Somewhere, far back in my juddering brain, someone — Ash — was calling my name, wrapping his wings around me. But twenty-one years of life had been laid bare, and I was coming apart.

  The flames above our heads stuttered.

  “This does not need to be hard,” the Matriarch crooned. “I do not fly so high in arrogance that I cannot admit my mistake. You corrupt love as well, but it’s your own: for the humans. Your memories are clearer than sparkling pools.” Get out of my head, bitch. The Matriarch only smiled thinly. “By sending you to live amongst them, you’ve become as weak as an Addict.”

  “Then let me leave, as I’m such a…” I licked the salt wetting my lips away, forcing out the last word, “disappointment.”

  “You’re my precious daughter.” She crouched over me, reaching out her hand. “The miracle to end all miracles. My marvel and our weapon. If you have such a perverse attachment to the humans, I shall appoint you their Guardian. Do you not wish to be a savior? I have you back; I’ll not lose you again.”

  My chest ached. Why the hell did she have to say those words? Alone in the children’s home, I’d dreamed of having a mum who’d want me and would never abandon me.

  Except, the Matriarch had just waded through my memories. As a smile danced on the corners of her lips, I curled over, withering inside.

  The bitch had played me.

  “I’ll pass on your Satan’s temptations,” I rasped.

  Another lash of the myrrh whip; the last traces of my fire shield flickered out.

  Ash leapt in front of me. Unarmed and naked, he still looked deadly.

  When the Matriarch rose to her full height, she was no longer smiling.

  And that was deadly.

  I tensed, as she stalked towards me.

  Gold…violet…curls…

  A tumble of angel swooped from the side, dragging away the Matriarch: Drake.

  Shocked, I staggered up.

  Drake rammed the Matriarch into the wall, slamming her head into the rock with every pent-up ounce of repressed fury. Then he scowled over his shoulder at us. “Run, you fools.”

  Ash grabbed my elbow, hauling me stumbling towards the stinking cave that he’d come through earlier.

  Crunch — the Matriarch smashed her fist into Drake’s chest, shattering his ribs.

  When he howled, she lifted his body, before slamming it down over her knee. Then she shoved his shattered body tumbling to the floor.

  A skewering jolt of fear shot through me. Was Drake dead? How could I just leave him here?

  Ash’s grip tightened. “He said run.”

  I forced myself to nod, before we dashed for the cave’s shadows.

  Scolding, chattering chirps.

  Hundreds of swaying brown pears hung from the cave’s roof: bats.

  When leathery wings brushed against my cheeks in a plague-like cloud, catching in my hair, I twirled away from the horseshoe nosed freaks.

  Ash slipped his arms around my shoulders. “Don’t fear the bats, Violet, fear what’s calling to them.”

  “Naughty child to make me break my toy,” the Matriarch roared from behind me. “I shall play with your Wings, and you shall watch.”

  No way was that bitch touching what was mine.

  At the sudden sound of beating wings, I glanced back. And then swung Ash around, tangling our feet, as we tripped against the dripping wall of the cave.

  Once more, dove-gray stained the night-time sky in a trembling haze. But this wasn’t vampires fleeing a battle, this was vampires attacking, and the bats flew with them.

  One painful momen
t of shocked silence.

  Then the Glories rose in blazing, outnumbered ranks, tearing into the ambush with echoing war cries. Severed hands, singed feathers, and scorched heads rained down on The Pit’s arena like favors.

  In the chaos, I shrank against the cave wall.

  Who the hell did I battle for? Angel or vampire? Or something else?

  I reached for Rebel through the bond.

  Alarm but no fear.

  At least the vampires hadn’t overrun my chambers where my Wings were being held during the Trials.

  Yet.

  Ash gripped my chin, tilting my head so that our gazes met. “The Ice Commander went all Gandalf and held the monster back so that we could pass, and you’re staying behind to watch? This is our best chance to escape.”

  “You’re right.” How, even for a moment, had I forgotten Drake’s pulverized body, defenseless now under the coming surge of gray? Because he’d saved us. “But I’m not abandoning the Broken.”

  “Why?” Ash scrutinized me with a sudden intensity. “You’re a princess. Has no one told you that the perks include perfection, rather than the Broken, Addicts…Seducers?”

  I pressed my lips to Ash’s mouth, flickering my tongue across his, until he squirmed. “Nobody’s perfect. And the imperfections are hot as hell.”

  “My daughter…” The Matriarch’s urgent plea broke into my mind telepathically, jerking my head around.

  I stared into my mum’s eyes, as she stood stranded, alone in the center of the Pit.

  Just as I’d stood during the Warrior Trials.

  Except, instead of the impassive Glories lining the walls, vampires crawled like giant bats.

  My throat tightened.

  High on the ledge, the Mage was making a final stand. He raised his arms above his head, Thor-like, holding back the vampire tsunami with blasts of invisible power.

  “Soar as savior at your mother’s side.” The Matriarch forced herself into my head again, holding out her hand to me. No games this time. “If you save us, failure in the Trials will be counted as nothing. Monster, Rebel, or Vampire, I care not, simply be a princess. Redeem yourself.”

  My eyes burned. Who the hell was I?

  Then I knew: I didn’t belong to either side. I wouldn’t be owned. And I did have a choice.

  I licked Ash’s lips. “Han, it’s time we broke you out.”

  He grinned. “What did Sexy Snake Drake say?”

  Ash and I gripped each other’s hands as we hollered, “Run!”

  Then we dived together into the cave to the screams of Angel World, chatter of bats, and the Matriarch’s howl.

  I hacked through the leather bonds, which bound Dillon to the outcrop of rocks.

  Clank — Flight sparked against the jade, which shone as if it’d been greased in oil.

  Dillon snarled around the harness gag, and for once I was thankful to the kinky bastard angels. I’d promised Gwyn to free the alpha prick, but I didn’t want to lose my fingers in the attempt.

  Battle’s chambers fitted the warrior bitch. A vast open training space with thorny brier growing along the back walls and supersized Venus flytraps with purple tongues.

  I blanched. “I’m not wearing my geek pants but I’ll take a punt that those blooms didn’t crawl out of the Gateways?”

  Harahel shrugged one shoulder. “The Gateways aren’t your computers. Just facts and our past. These giants are one of the Gateways’ infinite evolutionary possibilities. Although, they’ll only thrive here on Angel World.”

  “Bastard shame,” I muttered, shivering against the spray of the waterfall that thundered over the leather bonds.

  How long had Dillon been trapped in the freeze?

  First, Ash and I had rescued my Wings.

  It’d been epic to throw Rebel his red bondage trousers and black leather jacket and t-shirt. His face had lit up like I’d gifted him the world or maybe had erased the bastard Mark. He’d slipped my sister’s iPod into his jacket pocket. Then he’d have broken his nose, tangling his legs in his trousers in his excitement, except Ash had caught his arm.

  Something had passed between the two of them, before Rebel had simply nodded, “Brigadier.”

  Ash had sprawled against the wall. “Angel.”

  Haman had growled, tossing his long hair over his shoulder like a tiny tiger, before launching at Ash in defense of his brother.

  Rebel had caught Haman’s arm. “He’s a muppet but he’s our muppet.” He’d strapped on Eclipse, shining with surging power. “I know who I am; I remember.” A grin spread across his lips. “Now, let’s make Angel World remember too.”

  Clank — one final blow, and Dillon fell forward onto his knees, free.

  He fumbled with the gag’s buckle, whilst Gwyn darted through the waterfall away from Rebel and Harahel, who guarded the entrance. Gwyn dropped at Dillon’s side.

  I sheathed Flight, wiping the wet hair out of my eyes.

  Dillon wrenched out the gag, hurling it with a plop into a puddle at my feet.

  I raised my eyebrow. “A cheers would’ve done.”

  “Put me back,” Dillon growled, winding his fingers in Gwyn’s hair. “What do you think my Glory will do — to all of us — if she discovers me free?”

  I tapped my chin. “Is drop dead and die too hopeful?”

  “You’d risk Gwyn? Do you not remember how I’ll hurl you off a mountain?”

  Slap — Gwyn’s tiny hand smacked across Dillon’s cheek; Dillon didn’t even flinch but he looked like a whipped dog. “The princess is our savior. She’s risking herself to save you seeing as you’re my cariad, and I love you.”

  “That gives me the boke: two big Jessies.” At Battle’s mocking voice, Gwyn shrank back.

  I blinked the water teardrops out of my eyes, peering up at the jade roof; Battle descended, bow already in hand, from a tunnel.

  Why had I expected less from the Supreme Commander?

  The tip of Battle’s arrow flamed. She jerked it at me, and I backed away from the Broken, out of the waterfall’s spray. Gwyn whimpered, and Dillon tightened his hold.

  “No whipping boy this time; you take your own beating. Do you know what I do to head cases who try and steal my toys?” Battle’s grin was feral. “I burn off their hands.”

  Then she aimed her arrow and fired.

  25

  I swerved Battle’s flaming arrow, but the whispered kisses of its fiery trail singed my cheek.

  The jade walls of the chambers pulsed like a heartbeat, bleeding goo across the training space.

  I drew Flight but slipped, landing on my hip with a crack and spinning arse over tit into the Sleeping Beauty brier patch; Flight clinked towards the waterfall.

  Curved thorns, as long and sharp as the velociraptors’ sickle-shaped claws, slashed my skin, marking my cheeks and palms in crimson tears.

  Through the sting, my vision clouded; I flushed with fever. My tongue expanded in my mouth. My breathing shallowed at the pungent scent, which was like rotting cabbages.

  Bastard poison.

  If Battle reckoned that this princess was sleeping for a thousand years, she didn’t know how tough they raised them in Hackney.

  My Wings dashed towards me, but I held up my hand, which ballooned in front of my poisoned mind: monstrous. “Bastard stop. Don’t step into the Hunger Games.”

  Battle chuckled, notching a new arrow to her bow. “Have you forgotten your first lesson? Notice the predator, not the pretty.”

  I rolled onto my stomach, skidding in the green gloop, as I worm crawled away from her. “I’ve had a bitch of a day: mind molested, dinosaur whomped, and now I’m caught between two psycho armies who both want my arse. So, stick your evil banter.”

  A giant purple tongue licked out, curling around my waist and pinning my arms at my sides. It dragged me into its sticky embrace.

  I shrieked, dangling in the air; the world shifted like funfair mirrors. The Venus flytraps swayed; their mouths hung open in salivating expectation of
their treat: Little Shop of Horrors plays Angel World.

  I wriggled but then stilled, whining at a fiery brand on my forehead. I forced myself to focus on Battle, who stood with her bow raised and the arrow resting on my head.

  Fight this.

  What…?

  Remember who you are, sweet thing: the side you’ve chosen and the power in your blood.

  Even through the swirling confusion in my mind, I jumped at J’s urgency.

  “Why settle for your hands, when I can take your daft head?” Battle pushed the arrow into my skin; it sizzled. “You stole my place at the Matriarch’s side, I’m just taking it back.”

  I closed my eyes against the agony in my head and the hate in Battle’s glare. I was going to be killed for pushing my adopted sister out of the nest…a nest that I didn’t even bastard want.

  That even topped the dinosaur whomping.

  Scuffling, clanking, shrieking.

  A flood of apples: refreshing and piquant.

  I cautiously opened my eyes, before I gasped.

  Battle huddled in a scarlet pool, clasping her gushing stumps to her chest. Harahel stood over her, his gaze flinty, gripping Flight with white knuckles. His trousers were sprayed with crimson.

  Flight had allowed Harahel to fight with her?

  Maybe because Harahel was protecting me. And maybe because he was revenge on a stick.

  Harahel kicked Battle’s bow, skidding it into the venomous thorns. “Who’s Imperfect now?”

  Battle rocked. Her eyes were vacant. She pressed her stumps against her knees, painting them red. “Don’t leave me like this. Will you end it?”

  Harahel slouched closer. “Let’s see, did you end it for me? Or did you beat me and…” He looked away, running a shaking hand through his curls, “…because you said I was weak? Weak for this?” He raised his right arm. “For sacrificing on the battlefield?” He crouched over Battle; she flinched when he turned her head to meet his hard gaze. “Concentrate. Anpiel trusted you: we’re family. And if she was here, she’d have done worse than slice off your hands for touching me.”

  Battle jerked away from him with a snarl. “The Matriarch will fry you for touching me.”