Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  Then he jolted at the same time as I did. My skin blistered, and I hissed. The air wavered with heat.

  Stephanie’s ax kissed against the back of both our necks, as if deciding who to snog first.

  I was no assassin. This had been Mischief’s plan. He’d been the moment bloke.

  Had we missed it? Because as my skin seared under the ax, and I didn’t dare move for the risk of Anarchy losing his head as well, I was pretty sure that we had.

  “Nothing to say?” Stephanie scoffed. Every bastard’s a comedian. In defiance, I closed my eyes. “No famous last words? How about: I was born a monster,” she shifted the ax to press against my neck alone, “I die a monster.”

  My skin blackened under the flames.

  17

  A roar of pain rushed through my head, branching down the nerves of my spine: scorching, white-hot, and blinding.

  I juddered, as my ears buzzed, choking on my own body turned barbecue.

  Was this death?

  Had my head been lopped off, and only my heart still beat, whilst my body flopped on the table in Conference Room D in Perfection Hotel — heart of the Pure vampire fanatics — like a beheaded chicken running around the farmyard?

  Two words, Violet-pup: nerves and spine. If your fabulousness is still attached to them, then you’re not headless.

  Plus, I’m still working my thing and I’d bet your sweet ass that I’m not welcome inside the Pearly Gates.

  The dead don’t talk…

  Tune down the drama queen. You wanted a moment…?

  This business suited bitch is ruthlessness on a stick. Did you think that you’d get one without being destroyed first?

  So, now the bitch believes that she can kill you. Pull on your assassin pants. Finally, you have a chance.

  I could feel it: the seared line of the ax’s cut across the back of my neck.

  Mischief had simply stood and watched…? Had he even tried to stop Stephanie from decapitating me?

  At last, sensation bled back: the hardness of the table underneath me, the cool draught through the window across my temple, and Anarchy’s hand still squeezing mine.

  When I could open my eyes again, I met Anarchy’s anguished gaze. He was bent over the table next to me. His eyelashes were wet, and he was paler than me.

  I forced myself to give him a shaky smile, even though the muscles of my face felt like they’d been electrocuted with a cattle prod.

  The buzzing in my ears quietened enough to hear Mischief’s low murmur to Stephanie, as they hovered behind us. I smarted with shame then because I realized that Mischief had saved me from execution. Although, I wished I could return to my fuzzed agony if it meant blissful ignorance of how.

  “…The greatest service, my exquisite goddess…may I call you that?” A delighted simper from Stephanie at Mischief’s suave act. “Such a service that I’d, of course, repay undoubtedly in my willing bondage.” This time a moan, followed by the wet smacking of a snogging. I grimaced. “I’d have her watch, before she died, whilst I’m taken by a pure Fallen.”

  I jolted at the cruelty in the jeer, even though I knew that it was part of the test.

  But hell, why did it still have to hurt?

  Yap, yap, yap.

  I booted at the table in frustration. My words were my weapon, and right now I was as kickass as a chihuahua.

  “After, once we’ve slaughtered the monster...” Stephanie kicked the back of my knees, tumbling me to the floor; I tangled in the leash, which was attached to Mischief’s wrist. I twisted, gasping as my handcuffed hands caught on the carpet. “…And you’re liberated of your wings — a purified solider marching into the light — we’ll make a feast of the humans, and they shall worship the shadows because they’ll know to fear them.”

  Stephanie smirked, patting me on the head.

  I bared my teeth, pulling away. I could at least be a hellhound.

  “Worship? Now, I love the sound of that.” I didn’t like the way that Mischief’s eyes lit up. “Do you know, I trapped the monster by seducing her. She’s a simple thing.” Mischief stroked the backs of his fingers down Stephanie’s arm; she shivered. He met my gaze, a twinkle hidden in his eyes. That bumped him to the top of my List of Asses to Kick. “You wouldn’t believe her kinks,” he whispered, hunching his shoulders and batting his eyelashes in the picture of innocence, even as his lips quirked conspiratorially.

  Nope, I was starting a whole new section with a points system just for him.

  “Do tell,” Stephanie leaned in closer.

  List of Asses to Kick: one point.

  “She loves to hurt because she doesn’t know how to feel.” Two points. “She dreads losing control, so she controls you: bondage.” Three points. “Then there’s marking, tattoos, the whole kneel before the great princess thing…”

  Three, four, five…

  He sniffed. “But what she loves best…? For you to pretend you don’t know any of that and treat her like she’s just a regular human with no ancient powers inside and all she needs is sweet romance.”

  Bastard a million.

  Yap, yap, yap.

  “How sad, you’ve made your puppy cry,” Stephanie cooed. “Now my pet is tamed, it’s so much harder to truly make him weep.”

  I was desperate to wipe away the tears, tugging at the cuffs behind my back.

  For a moment, Mischief looked stricken, as if he hadn’t meant to flay me to the bone in front of the bitch who wanted me dead.

  Except, he had.

  Just as fast, Mischief’s mask was back in place. He wrapped his arms around Stephanie’s waist, pulling her hard against his chest. “Every sacrifice, however, has been worth it. Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of you, the Pure’s leader, wrapped in the warmth of my feathers?”

  He cocooned them both in his wings — the ones that she intended to steal from him, and it was sick and twisted, and I wanted to look away but found that I couldn’t — as he stroked his sensitive wingtips along her cheeks.

  Stephanie shuddered, relaxing in his hold. Her eyes closed, and she licked her lips.

  Now.

  The word quivered through the silky leash, humming through the collar.

  Now, urgent and insistent.

  Mischief’s signal: the moment.

  Our gazes met over Stephanie’s head. Mischief nodded, and his mouth thinned. He caressed Stephanie in his wings, as my leash silently snapped, before slinking back into Mischief.

  My throat tingled, and although I couldn’t test it, I was certain that my voice had returned. My angel proof cuffs vanished because they’d never been more than an illusion.

  I rose up to a crouch, reaching to pat Anarchy’s shoulder. He glanced around, his eyes widening, before he hunkered, ready to attack.

  Mischief waved his hand — although I knew that was just showing off for Anarchy because he could teleport with a thought — and Star materialized in my palm.

  Its sudden weight was like a blessing.

  “Kill, kill, kill,” Devil chanted, a lurking presence at the back of my mind, thrilled at the shank glinting in the light, the victim held ready for the blade, and my transformation from prey to executioner.

  The trident stirred, hungry for death.

  I was just as hungry as Devil. This kill was months overdue, and with it I claimed my throne.

  I lunged, plunging the knife into Stephanie’s throat.

  Stephanie squawked, flapping her arms in shock, as scarlet flooded around the blade, slicking my hands and spraying across my face.

  A red sea.

  I blinked my eyes, which were coated in Stephanie’s blood. She tried to push me back, but Mischief held her firmly in his wings: the ones she’d wanted to steal like the ones that she’d taken from every other Pure and Anarchy…whose gaze was as hungry as mine.

  “Nothing to say?” I spat. Stephanie hung in Mischief’s hold, drowning in her own blood. Was this what it felt like to defeat a Big Bad? I struggled not to hurl. “No famous l
ast words?”

  She gurgled, low in her throat. Her desperate stare swung to Anarchy, as if he’d spring forward and defend her.

  Instead, Anarchy pushed himself up, leaning against the table with crossed arms and watched her death as calmly as she’d watched his torture.

  He didn’t look tamed now.

  “How about: I was born a bitch,” I wrenched the shank out of Stephanie’s neck; she jerked, and her eyes rolled back, “I die a bitch.”

  I raised the blade to bring it down again, but Mischief hurled Stephanie to the side.

  The ancient powers inside flamed with fury. The Devil’s Trident howled at its feast being ripped away. A rush of violet-fueled psycho slashed the knife through the air…at Mischief.

  But he was no longer there. Instead, glittering hooves knocked me back on my arse.

  I stared, dazed, at a silver unicorn, the size of a Shetland pony. But his violet eyes glowed like a war horse.

  I picked myself up and reached out, touching his mane with my scarlet fingers. For one crazy moment, I craved to swing my leg over him and ride the wild bastard. Mischief was no longer a toy unicorn.

  Then he threw himself forward, stamping on Stephanie, who was attempting to crawl towards the door. A flare of metallic light, like liquid mercury, shot from his twisted horn, slicing off Stephanie’s head. It blasted out so rapidly that her feet still twitched.

  This time, I did hurl.

  The unicorn snorted, before rearing up on his hindlegs and neighing.

  Bent over, covered in Stephanie’s blood and my own puke, I shushed a killer unicorn to stop an army of vampire fanatics from kicking our arses.

  My life was screwed-up.

  Anarchy tentatively laid his hand on the unicorn’s pink muzzle, before petting his nose. The unicorn gave a rumbling nicker, pushing his head against Anarchy’s hand, before calming.

  Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  Slowly, Mischief transformed back into his Sugar Plum self, panting and self-consciously pulling his cheek away from Anarchy’s caress.

  Anarchy gaped at him. “Legendary, mate. Cheers for the rescue.”

  “I’ll start with a what and end with the hell?” I gasped.

  Mischief glanced at me uneasily, pulling at the crimson strands in his hair, where I’d stroked his mane. “I have a lot of repressed rage. I don’t like…people making me hurt others. Or threatening to kill you. It’s a thing.”

  “And the killer unicorn God-out?”

  “It’s my go to when I’m stressed.”

  I stared at my hands: red.

  The blue-and-white room was sprayed in scarlet like we’d fallen into a slasher film. My face itched with Stephanie’s blood; my hair was plastered with it.

  Lucifer had wanted to learn if I’d become his assassin, and I’d jumped through that hoop. I’d stained myself with blood. Was that what it meant to be a Bone Princess amongst vampires?

  Suddenly, two sets of arms were wrapped around me. Anarchy and Mischief, amidst the sour milk stench of Stephanie’s blood, held me close, as I shook.

  I’d killed before, but never as an assassin.

  I hated it.

  “I knew that you’d never just forget me.” Anarchy pulled back, vibrating with joy. “I survived every day, worked my way up to second-in-command even, thinking you and Ash would figure a clever way to save me and the rest of us. Because I trust you.”

  New levels of guilt booted me because although I hadn’t forgotten him, I hadn’t come here to save Anarchy but to win a test and the trident.

  I avoided his gaze, shrugging.

  “You and your mate,” Anarchy glanced between Mischief and me, as if puzzling out how we fitted, “you’ve freed us. It’s not just me. Most of the other poor wankers here didn’t want the whole lose your wings package either. I can’t give them back their feathers but I can give them back themselves.”

  “What about the whole eating humans package”’ Mischief asked.

  Anarchy pulled a face. “The militants who get their jollies tearing out throats? They’ll break away and form a new group. But the rest of us prefer Blood Lovers. Blood that’s unwilling tastes…off.”

  Bang, bang, bang.

  The large door to the conference room shook to the thumping on the other side.

  I raised my eyebrow at Mischief.

  He raised his own right back at me. “I locked it, of course, as soon as we were so kindly shoved inside. The bitch was distracted, and I’m sneaky, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  Anarchy, however, had blanched. “Stephanie’s next meeting… Every important wanker in the Pure’s army are out there waiting for her.”

  “I have a hunch,” Mischief lounged against a chair, “that she’ll be missing it.”

  I snatched up the ax that still blazed at the head of the table like an abandoned guest, slicing it over the cut on Stephanie’s neck and decapitated head, struggling not to gag at the sizzle. Then I tossed the ax to Anarchy, who almost dropped it like I’d chucked acid at him. “Your trophy. When you let in the bastards, you stand over her: the winner takes the prize, you get me?”

  Anarchy nodded.

  Mischief materialized a second knife, swiping it through the blood, before shoving it into Anarchy’s other hand. “Now you look like a real warrior. Not a pet. Ever. Again.”

  Mischief leapt for the window, unlatching it and beckoning for me.

  I hesitated. “Your brother—”

  Mischief sharply drew in his breath. “One would suggest now is not the time.”

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Anarchy’s gaze snapped to mine. “What about Key?”

  “Without you, he was—”

  “What good can come of telling his brother?” Mischief’s gaze was hard. “Or do you wish to knife him too? I hadn’t realized that we were here to assassinate them both.”

  I recoiled.

  Was I wrong to tell Anarchy? Since when had the truth become so much more dangerous than secrets and lies?

  Anarchy’s eyes glistened; he swallowed with difficulty. “Tell me. Please…”

  “The Bones. They put him in…”

  Anarchy keened, falling to his knees. The knife fell from his hands.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  The knocking on the door had become more frantic now. Hollering had been added to the mix.

  Mischief clenched his jaw. “Two Pure slain in a single night. Quite the record.”

  “Ash is looking out for him, feeding him, and…,” I stumbled over the words in my desperation to reassure Anarchy. What the hell were the Bones that they terrified everyone? Mischief had been right: I should never have told Anarchy. “Ash has—”

  “Given enough. The wankers already hurt him. If he’s also having to help…pay…for Key as well…?” When Anarchy looked up at me his cheeks were tear tracked, but he straightened his shoulders, pushing himself up again and glaring at the door.

  Crash — the door trembled; the bastards were battering their way in.

  “Anarchy, yeah? Like I understood where it’d lead.” Anarchy gave a small smile. “When we rebelled, however, I was barely more than a kid… We never thought about the world we’d build after. So, it became Lucifer’s world because he’d been the Matriarch’s Wing and the wanker claimed that made him king. He’s a hard bloke to say no to. We were all half wallowing in despair at being thrown into the shadows, and half partying because we were free of Angel World. Welcome to the Bone Carnival, lose yourself in chaos! And now we’re stuck in Lucifer’s show.”

  “I’ll free your brother,” I breathed. “Free all those in the Bones. I won’t… I’ll stop the Carnival and the chaos.”

  Creak — the door splintered.

  I laced my fingers through Anarchy’s curls, touching our foreheads, even as he quivered.

  “You’ll bring the whole show tumbling down on your head. And the king will try to burn you to ash. Only a bastard would ask you to risk yourself like that, princess.” Anarchy took
a deep breath, as tears trembled on his lashes and he whispered, “Please do it anyway. Help my little brother.”

  I nodded, squeezing his shoulders with my bloodstained hands, before I soared out through the window with Mischief into the night.

  The one advantage that we held over the Pure? By sacrificing their wings, they couldn’t take to the heavens after us.

  Yet I wasn’t safe.

  I’d promised to save a Pure’s brother from the King of the Under World — my own dad.

  Lucifer had said that I suffered from conflicted loyalty. Yet he was wrong. My loyalty wasn’t conflicted: it lay with the blokes who fought for me and had my back.

  My true fam.

  Yet even though I’d passed the test and killed the leader of the dangerous vampire fanatics, I was returning not to claim my throne but to overthrow Lucifer’s.

  18

  There’s nothing more dangerous than the shank tongue of a traitor.

  Or rebel.

  When Ash smashed Mischief against the wall of the bunker, I winced at the bang. Even the concrete ceiling shuddered. I didn’t look up, however, as I bent over, washing my hands in the stainless-steel sink: rub, rub, rub.

  My skin stung, pink and raw underneath the water. I scrubbed the bristles of the brush over my knuckles like the blood still stuck to them, Lady Macbeth style.

  When you lose it? Always copy the greats.

  Pull your head out of your pretty ass. The Queen of the Pure’s chopping days are over. The rebellion in your ranks, however, is only just starting.

  I’m not a leader; I gave that up, along with Angel World.

  You never stopped being a leader. The only question is whether you’re a tyrant or a freedom fighter.

  What if I’m both?

  A struggle, hollers, and sparks.

  Smash.

  Another squeal from Mischief, as Ash crushed him beneath a Viking hammer.

  As soon as Ash had learned the details of Stephanie’s defeat, including Mischief’s kinky playtime with Anarchy, I’d known that Ash would go postal.

  I rubbed my hands again: blood, must get out the blood, red, red, red…