Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

Vampire Devil

  This is why Fallen angels fear the light…

  Snatched to the Under World, Violet discovers that the father who abandoned her as a baby is the tyrannical king of hell. She’s forced to battle in the Bone Carnival to prove her loyalty in a court of the wildest vampire rebels ever to be cast out of Angel World. Or else she won’t be able to save the angels…or her sister.

  When she defies the anarchic vampire court, she’s tested in three impossible Devil’s Quests, which risk letting out the worst monster of them all: and it’s inside her. If she fails, she’ll be bonded eternally to a ruthless general, whilst the vampire geek and sexy angel she loves will become the elite army’s playthings.

  The Apocalypse is coming, and Violet may just be the weapon that destroys the world…

  1

  Vampires? Angels? I once hunted the bastards.

  Now I’m the bitch who rules them.

  I reign over a valley of feathers and bones: death, the End, destroyer. Half vampire, half angel, I’m a monster amongst monsters.

  My human life of gamers, shanks, and sister burned on my twenty-first birthday, when my powers arose phoenix-like. They marked me out as anything but human, until tricked into the harem boy Angel World — an angel princess with the vampires’ king as dad — I torched the corrupted court, only to become a captive in hell.

  I squinted through the migraine light, stumbling in the heat. My hands clawed around the bars of the Cage; I grimaced at the slurp, as gloop clung to my fingertips.

  My violet-and-black wings, which had broken from my shoulder blades and flown me free from Angel World, beat slowly, as I wrinkled my nose at the stink of tar and oil, wiping the ooze down my leather trousers. Then I backed away from the sides of the Cage: a giant birdcage, which swung from chains.

  Rattle — clank. Rattle — clank. Rattle — clank.

  I peered out at the shadowy vampires beyond the light who were running bones along the bars.

  Humans called them vampires, but I’d discovered that they were Fallen angels who’d been cast out of Angel World where my mother reigned, leading to centuries of war.

  And now…?

  Captured, I was trapped in the Fanged Wild West: only the most savage rebels survived.

  Oh yeah, and my dad was the sheriff.

  I spun, whirling my ash-blonde hair like fire, before raising my hands. “Place your bets, bitches.”

  Because this was the Cage: the fighting ring where anything went, and you proved your worth in the Under World through pain to win the prize.

  I was a huntress, princess, King of the Under World’s daughter and undefeated Champion since I’d been brought here — reluctant guest — eighty-seven fights ago. How else could I judge time trapped below the City of London in this Fallen Under World?

  Alone.

  Each time that I fought — and won — without the blokes who’d saved me and battled by my side, I couldn’t help the worming thought: did I need anyone but myself? Would I ever be allowed to see my family again?

  A shadowy veil of pain, grief, and despair touched me through the bond with Rebel: my bondage Irish angel.

  Could he feel it…my rejection? Hell, I could only pretend that I didn’t miss, need, and crave him.

  I shuddered, allowing the ache for only a moment before I shook it off. Exhaustion clung to me like spiderwebs. Then I straightened my throbbing shoulders. The thrill of the fight lit me up. I fiddled at the straps on the black leather armor, which was slashed down the back to release my wings, tightening it over my latex top: I was being roasted inside.

  Rattle — clank. Rattle — clank. Rattle — clank.

  My obsidian wingtips quivered.

  It was never a sign of singing unicorns when they got with the bone rattling.

  I eeped when the steel floor tipped like a ride at the fairground, and I skidded…towards the tarred cage bars.

  I furled my wings behind myself, as if I was a kid holding its hands over its arse to hide itself from a smacking.

  Titters and hoots.

  I scowled, flushing, but couldn’t help closing my eyes and waiting for the thud. Only to trip backwards, as the floor gave a metallic hiccup and leveled.

  I gasped, just as I was caught in a gray-winged embrace; cherry scented feathers swept around me, cloying in their sweetness. A tongue flicked out and, lazy as a cat, licked up my throat.

  I arched, wriggling closer.

  This cowboy either had a shooter in his pocket or…

  I shivered. “No more fights today, Misrule, this bitch is toasted to a crisp. Stick a fork in me: I’m done.”

  A sigh. “Your audience awaits, Bone Princess. The show must go on.”

  “Then are you stepping up, bro, or can I get with the Fang whomping already? Public groping’s not on my to-do-list.”

  A deep-throated chuckle. Then I was swung around.

  When the Master of Misrule stroked my wings, heat coiled through me, along with zinging desire at each light caress. His black eyes blazed, as he gazed down at me. I was lost in his towering shadow: he was a punk god.

  The ringmaster of the Cage had bones threaded through his afro like pearls; a frilly lace cravat hung tongue-like over his PVC catsuit and coat.

  The ancient vampiric black inside me rejoiced at Misrule’s hold, even as the angelic violet chanted warnings.

  Oomph — I elbowed Misrule, and he let go.

  Misrule bowed, before kissing the tip of my nose. “We shall hasten to the main act, as the lady desires it.”

  I snorted. “In your dreams.”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “In every Fallen’s, since our princess so cruelly denies us…entry…”

  Whoops and cheers.

  I reddened. “Congratulations. You’ve just achieved Gold Level Brat.”

  Misrule laughed, dodging back, as I dived after him.

  The spotlight dimmed, and I could see beyond into the cavern. The fiery violet tips of the vampires’ gray wings lit up the gloom, as they hovered in gangs or clutched the sides of the bars like they were the ones in cells.

  In Angel World there would’ve been regimented division: the male Wings kneeling at the female Glories’ feet. Here the gender divide, however, had been torn down. All were equal in the bedlam. Fishnets, leather, bondage. The flash of silver piercings, tattoos, and Mohicans. Below, rose the sound of shagging — slap of flesh against flesh, howls, and smacks.

  I guess that they didn’t have a problem with public groping.

  It was a wild chaos of desire, passion, and pain. And I was the star of the show.

  You don’t know who you are, Feathery-fangs, too lost in the dark.

  How sweet does the fight taste? Sweeter than your candy heaven angels? Or have you forgotten that they’re held prisoner by their worst enemy, whilst you dance in the mayhem?

  I’m not knocking back tequila shots here, I’m—

  Letting the monster out to play.

  Trapped, J. I’m fighting for my life.

  ‘J’ was the sassy voice in my head who’d plagued me, as well as raising me, since I’d been discovered as a baby on a gravestone in Hackney cemetery, clutching nothing but a violet feather. I loved him, although I was never certain whether I should trust him. He’d never admit it, but I’d come to believe that he loved my angel blokes, even though it wasn’t with the same possessive passion that he loved me.

  So, what if I kill some vampires? I’ve had to survive by myself.

  What about your angelic Irish red-head and cutie pie librarian? They’re trapped somewhere here too. In the anarchy, you’ll need their biteable little asses.

  Trusting fam got me betrayed and caged. I’d say that I was done with the needing dance. I party alone now.

  You’re never alone. You have me.

  When Misrule twirled, his PVC flying out in bat wings, an expectant hush fell over the vampires.

  A slow grin spread over Misrule’s face. He unhooked an ebony cane, which was topped with a wing b
one, waving it around the audience: a ghoulish pointing finger. “Welcome to the Bone Carnival, where only the bravest enter the Cage! The prize?” He stepped back dramatically, and a skull lowered from the roof. I gagged at the thick scent of human blood that pooled in the center. Misrule licked his lips; his eyes were glazed. Blood: the currency in the Under World and every drop had to be earned. “The opponent?”

  Clang — the side raised, and a bloke was shoved through.

  He stumbled to his knees, blinking up at me through a cascade of shimmering silver hair, which tumbled to his delicate shoulders. His trousers were silver leather with a matching tunic that hung open over his chest.

  He could’ve been a fae. Except, the glimpse of his eyes through his hair was violet.

  Why the hell was I battling a captured angel?

  And who was he?

  Whistles and jeers.

  The Fae Angel shrank in on himself, before straightening his shoulders and tilting up his chin with haughty indifference.

  His gaze met mine.

  He looked younger than I’d been expecting with aristocratic cheekbones that were as sharp as a shank. Then his wings unfurled… Gray feathers dappled the violet. The angel was Falling, becoming a vampire because he’d been away too long from Angel World. In the Under World that made him one of the lowest ranks: The Shadows.

  Was that why he’d been put in here to fight? Even though I knew that I had to fight him and win, my chest still ached at the thought of his pain.

  Misrule snatched the Fae Angel by the scruff of the neck, hauling him into the center of the ring opposite me, whilst he bristled, cat-like.

  The Fae Angel eyed me warily. So, he had some street smarts.

  “At the order of the king,” Misrule announced, bopping the angel on the head with his cane, “the next fight will be between the Bone Princess and Mischief.”

  My dad had ordered it?

  I twisted around, straining to see if — this once — my dad would be in the crowd, watching. I didn’t know how I reckoned I’d recognize him: he could be the bloke in sequin dress and nose stud for all I knew. But with the familiar way two vampires were rubbing against Sequins, I was going with non-royalty.

  Eighty-seven fights, and eighty-seven no shows. How was that for Parent of the Year?

  Why didn’t dad want to see me now that that I was caught? Why the hell didn’t my own family love me?

  Then my opponent’s name hit me: Mischief. He was the traitor angel who’d traded becoming my dad’s whore for his freedom. Even in the Cage, I heard the rumors about his ambitious arse because most hated him for trying to get so close to the king.

  Just because the gossips tattle dirty secrets about this new fighter, doesn’t mean that you have to curb stamp the Lord of Mischief.

  Leave some of his pretty white skin for licking, not kicking.

  But what the rumors whisper about him—

  Is no worse than what they whisper about you, hooker. What tales do you think he’s heard about the king’s daughter?

  I was awash with oily black that Mischief was free, whilst my angels were hidden from me.

  I spun, clouting Mischief in the nose. Mischief yelped, staggering back.

  “The bitches around here talk. And the names that they have for you…?” I readied myself to attack, but I launched it with words first because they were the best advantage in any street fight and shanked deeper, “…Shadow, traitor, whore… Why have you been put in the Cage? Did you piss off my dad by not bouncing on his lap the way he likes?”

  To my surprise, Mischief’s lips curled, but he didn’t flinch. “Why, I’m flattered that you’ve heard of me.” He touched his finger to his lips as if in thought as he cocked his head. “Remind me: you are who again…?”

  And that’s how you shank with words.

  I snarled, launching myself at Mischief. He merely giggled, side-stepping so quickly that I landed on my face. I scrambled up, sweeping my wings around, but suddenly he was behind me.

  My skin prickled: a static silver electricity and popping bubbles of…

  Magic, Violet-cakes.

  I don’t believe in fairies; I don’t believe in—

  He’s your daddy’s floozy and a powerful mage. Only a jackass trusts their rival.

  If he discovers me, you won’t be the Vampire Princess, you’ll be the freak, even in this world of freaks.

  Hide me.

  I jolted at J’s fear, battling to throw up the mental walls that I’d practiced in Angel World to shield J.

  Mischief shoved me forwards, and I hit my kneecaps — crack — on the metal. I growled, before noticing the flaming arrow that sizzled behind me, which had fired from the roof directly to where I’d been standing the moment before.

  The Cage was just bag-of-tricks fun.

  Yet why the hell had Mischief saved me?

  I ached for my own weapons: Flight and Star. They’d been stolen from me. I couldn’t blaze on their ancient light against the Cage’s attacks or my opponents’. Instead, I’d learned new weapons, training through every battle to adapt.

  Mischief sauntered forwards, holding out a hand to casually pull me up. What did he think this was, a polite round of fisticuffs? Yet why did it make me want to take his hand, push his hair back from where it’d fallen over his forehead, and stop this fight?

  Bones and blood. Bones and blood. Bones and blood.

  I shuddered, as the chant rose around the cavern, animalistic and raw. It triggered something in me that I couldn’t stop. Mischief had no idea what he was inciting. Dark blasted through me; it roared to savage Mischief and revel in the battle.

  I snarled, batting away his hand.

  Mischief gave me a cool look, as I crouched ready to spring. “Oh yes,” he sniffed, “I remember who you are: the beast that they keep in this cage.”

  I howled. Nothing but darkness filmed my eyes. I leapt onto Mischief, seizing him by the throat; my wings banded around him in a trap. He struggled, but I choked him. “Where are the other angels?”

  “It almost sounds as if the beast cares.”

  Beast…

  I quivered. How could words still hurt, when I’d owned the monster inside? A monster that now wanted to crush the angel who’d dared to insult me.

  I tightened my grip, and Mischief’s long fingers scrabbled at my hands. “The name’s Violet, Feathers, or try princess on for size.”

  He pursed his lips. “If you call me Mischief, rather than whore.”

  Guilt trickled into my fury-soaked brain, and I eased off his throat, nodding.

  Mischief lifted his eyebrow. “So, you keep angels as pets? I’d rather have every feather plucked out than see them under your care.”

  I swept Mischief’s legs out from under him, slamming him to the floor, then pinning him down. He stared up at me with startled eyes. “How about we start now, bitch? Where are my fam?”

  Except, suddenly I wasn’t glaring down at Mischief’s face but a flame of red hair and thick eyelashes, curling over violet eyes that were smudged with kohl eyeliner. My hands weren’t gripping silver leather but a ripped black t-shirt.

  “Rebel,” I breathed, lost in the candy sweetness of his scent. How had I ever reckoned that I didn’t need my bonded and Marked angel? Need this? The feel of him beneath me, whilst he bucked into my touch, his wings pulsing. Mine…mine…mine… I kissed Rebel tenderly. “I promise, you’re off my List of Asses to Kick.”

  “Can I have that in writing?” Mischief’s mocking voice out of Rebel’s pink bow lips made me recoil. “Preferably in blood.”

  “What the hell…?” I gasped.

  “Just a trick. A mere glamour.”

  “Turn back to your Gandalf self.” I closed my eyes, unable to look at the false Rebel anymore; my bond ached more fiercely than it had in weeks with Rebel’s despair.

  It wasn’t dimmed now through the red haze of the fights or the drugged euphoria of the Bone Carnival.

  The False Rebel fluttered his ey
elashes. “Why should I do that? You’ll simply beat me.” I shifted, unable to meet his gaze. This was a fight to prove strength and fearlessness and…I didn’t know anymore. Why was it suddenly complicated, when before it’d seemed so clear? “Also, your father ordered it not because of my…performance…but because I spoke out for your pets. Oh, I’m sorry, does that make it harder to despise the cowardly user of magic?”

  “One winner, one loser. Then I get to wash, eat, and sleep. You’re just a number.” I smashed my fist into his gut, and he doubled over groaning at the same time as he transformed back into his silvery curl of angel.

  Mischief peeked up at me. “Fine, but you pushed me to this.”

  In a sizzling spray of sparkles, he changed…into a tiny silver unicorn.

  I gaped at the fluffy creature. My fingers were cramping with the effort to control my urge to stroke.

  What. The. Hell?

  “Your favorite, I believe?” That same cool voice but from the unicorn’s sweet mouth; it blinked its large eyes. I’d always wanted a unicorn toy as a kid. But we don’t get what we want. I’d learned that lesson before I could toddle. Could this angel read my memories…desires? “Surely you couldn’t harm a—”

  I yanked Mischief up by his adorable twisted horn, dangling him high above the ground. His little hooves kicked, as he mewled.

  Guffaws, beating of wings, and clapping.

  Yeah, so I was playing to the audience: sue me.

  But it wasn’t enough to simply defeat your opponent. The Bone Carnival demanded blood. I shrank back, however, at the thought of kicking a unicorn’s arse…or even Mischief’s.

  The bloke had played with me like I was real and not the freakshow.

  When Mischief’s cute pink muzzle attempted to pull back into a snarl, I tried to smother my grin.

  “I claim the prize.” I shook Mischief again for good measure.

  Misrule edged forwards, twirling his cane. “Bones and blood…?”

  This was the point that I should be splaying Mischief’s guts across the Cage, unless he truly had transformed into a toy and had stuffing inside him. Mischief was right, however, the black had retreated, and even though he’d been sly, I admired that Mischief was a sneaky bastard.