Rebel caught my hands between his. His candy sweetness wrapped around us both, distracting me from the coppery stench that’d followed me from Perfection Hotel, whilst he gently reached over and turned off the tap. Then he pulled me around, drying off my hands on his t-shirt; his chest was solid and reassuring underneath. I shivered at the safety in it.
Tenderness and concern warmed me through the bond.
Stop it, I was desperate to scream, just as much as I wanted to order him to hold me. Yet I battled down both thoughts. After witnessing Stephanie’s abuse of Anarchy — her reduction of blokes to nothing but pets — I could never force Rebel through the Blood Bond like that again.
I blinked, as the weirdest-arsed battle played out in the bunker.
When Ash booted Mischief across a pile of collectibles, something crunched.
Ash squeaked in a way I was certain he’d forever deny. “What have I done? C-3PO…”
“You’ve just managed what an entire Empire couldn’t,” Mischief drawled, although his hands shook as he ran them over his broken Star Wars droid like a funeral rite, before pouncing onto Ash and ramming him against the computer chair.
I started towards them, but Rebel grasped my hand, pulling me away to lounge against the wall next to him.
Tuning in for the Geek Bitch Fight…
Ash scrambled for a weapon, snatching up a mechanical device and cracking it across Mischief’s nose. Mischief howled, cradling his swollen nose.
Ash grinned, hefting the device in his palm. “The Doctor’s sonic screwdriver: useful.”
Mischief swirled in a fury of silver, magicking (and how much easier was it to think that since knowing the Fae Angel?), a sword with a decorative wolf on its hilt out of its display case on the wall and into his palm.
I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Rebel, but he only gave a small shake of his head.
Mischief prowled towards Ash, who threw down the sonic screwdriver and kicked at a tapered spear that was like an icicle, spinning it into his palm.
They eyed each other across the standoff.
Ash was the first to break. “What? You’d battle me, angel, with Jon Snow’s Longclaw?”
Mischief sniffed. “Please never repeat that Game of Throne’s impression; it was embarrassing for us both. And you’d battle me, Fallen, with a White Walker’s ice blade? I hadn’t realized that you were truly amongst the undead.”
Ash sniggered.
Until I lunged from the wall, swinging the wooden hammer, which Ash had dropped earlier.
I spread out my wings; they flamed to glory before I held aloft the hammer. “And I battle with Mjolnir, Thor’s hammer, which means that I’m worthy, bitches. Plus, Ash?” He shifted his feet sheepishly. “You’ve officially fallen off the Don’t Fight Wagon.” He pinked. And no, not feeling the guilty at his crushed and addicted to the trident, please help me look. Because I suffered too. “Stop with the cosplay.”
Mischief and Ash eyed each other warily. Then they counted to three on their fingers, before chucking their swords to the side with a clang.
Hell, did they even realize that they’d found in each other their kindred misfit double?
Ash hugged his arms around himself. “You failed the test, Violet.” Ash glared at Mischief. “He made you fail.”
I laughed. This was about more than Anarchy? “Maybe check with me next time before you decide to beat someone into a fine red mist. I passed. Ding, dong, the bitch is shanked.”
“But who melted her?” Ash asked, softly.
I jolted. My mouth was suddenly too dry to form words.
I hadn’t passed because although I’d shanked Stephanie, I hadn’t killed her: Mischief had.
Yet had Mischief realized? Had that been what he’d intended all along?
Let it be a no…
“I warned you,” Mischief held up his head defiantly, but his voice was soft, “that the king chooses his words as carefully as one would pick up a snake. You were to kill the leader of the Pure. Not wound or have killed. You were to assassinate her yourself. I’m afraid I stole that honor from you.”
“Why?” The word came out cracked and broken.
Mischief shrugged, dropping his gaze.
When I unsheathed Star, she was no prop but blazed with righteous violet like the ancient powers inside that raged to punish Mischief, as I knew Lucifer would punish me for failing the test.
When I shakily held the hissing blade to Mischief’s throat, he didn’t flinch. And this time, he didn’t fight back. “You want a killer? This is me. Killer. Now I know why they call you traitor.” Mischief flinched again, but he still allowed the shank to blister the skin of his neck. Rebel’s hands were suddenly on my shoulders, although he didn’t pull me away. Instead, they were steadying: supportive. I wasn’t alone. “Why’d you trick me? Was it…?” Hell, why was I grasping at anything to explain this away as a mistake? “Does becoming that unicorn screw with your decision making or…?”
Mischief sighed. “Shapeshifting naturally affects your instincts.” I let out a breath that I hadn’t known I’d been holding. Mischief raised his hand, however, in surrender. “Yet I’d always planned to be the assassin in this gig. I’m sorry, did you believe that you were in control?”
I roared, primal. I jerked back Mischief’s head, burning a deeper line along his throat; he whimpered.
“Feathers,” Rebel’s grip tightened, “mind yourself.”
Violet and black blazed, whilst Devil whispered: burn, burn, burn…
“Why…? You let me go through all… Why even let me take the test, just to fail it?” I demanded.
Mischief’s gaze was pitying, even through his pain. “You’re the one who accepted it. That Pure creature… I’ve never relished a death as much as hers.” Silver sparked in his eyes, as venom laced his words; I recoiled from his hatred. Then it was gone, and his expression softened. “You’re not the beast I believed when we first fought in the Cage. I’ve been misinformed about you, at least in some ways. Yet you walk a knife’s edge.” He looked down; his lip trembled. “Enough of this mawkishness. Slit my throat.”
I tightened my hold on Star, but Ash grasped my wrist, edging the flames away from Mischief.
“You couldn’t allow her to become the killer the Devil’s Trident wants?” Ash asked, assessing Mischief with a soldier’s respect. What the hell had I missed? “She was lost in its blood lust, so you took the kill?”
Mischief nodded, breathing hard, as he grasped his charred throat. “I knew it imperative that she didn’t become the assassin the king wishes, or the beast she herself truly fears. And she would have.”
“Sweet Jesus, I’m after voting we can’t any of us allow that.” Rebel let go of my shoulders, fussing instead at Mischief’s neck like a mother hen.
“She is still in the room.” I waved my hand, but Rebel and Ash ignored me, pushing Mischief into the computer chair.
Tyrant or freedom fighter?
A tyrant would’ve chopped off Mischief’s head for disobeying and she’d kick her blokes’ arses for disrespecting now.
A freedom fighter, however, would grin that her family no longer cowered in fear. Although, was it completely messed up that I missed the cringing respect an itty-bitty bit…?
“I’m not packing much in the way of trust.” I sighed, slipping Star into her scabbard. “Why not just tell me?”
“Because you’d have stopped me and taken the kill anyway.” Mischief linked his hands in his lap. “Have you forgotten what losing the test will cost you?”
Bonding to Wild, my blokes belonging to the FF, and not possessing Devil…
The back of my throat burned, as the world warped, tainted with violet. I lunged at Mischief, and he shrank back with an eep.
Then apple-scented wings enfolded me, and I was swept around into Harahel’s arms. When I squirmed, slowly the violet bled away.
It was dangerous how lost my family and I had been in our feuding that we hadn’t watched for the enemies outside o
ur walls. What if it’d been Wild, Trick, or Wings breaking into our bunker rather than Harahel?
What if it’d been Lucifer…?
When my pulse thundered, Harahel drew his wings against mine in comfort, until he glanced at Mischief’s neck. Then his eyes widened, before he held me at arm’s length with a stern glare that wasn’t entirely mock. “Hey, did I train you to barbecue our allies?”
“I’ll guess…no?” I hedged. “But you can wipe off the disappointed teacher look because since when was Sassy Silver here your ally?”
“When wasn’t he?” Harahel slouched to Mischief, ruffling his hair. To my gaping amazement, Mischief allowed it with only the slightest sneer. “What do you think it was like shut away in that nightmare Ossuary? But Mischief helped.” Guilt warred with shock: Mischief had helped the other angels? Had I been right to admire Mischief? But then why had Rebel acted like he hated him? “Plus, every revolution needs a secret agent.”
I cocked my head. “Is that a pretty way of saying spy?”
Bang — the Master of Misrule soared through the door, before slamming it shut behind him.
When Misrule thwapped his cane on the wall, Harahel flinched. “Would you welcome in the king and his spies as easily? Shall we line up now in obedient rows and walk into Lucifer’s Light rejoicing?”
“Open door, hung drawn and quartered time, point made.” Ash sprawled against the wall.
Misrule nodded, sauntering to Mischief, before examining his neck; Mischief arched into the touch.
Had the world gone mental or had I woken in an alternate dimension where Mischief was the princess and I was the reject?
Have you forgotten already, Feathery-pride, what it feels like to be the freak in the circus, rather than the princess on her throne?
I’m always the monster.
You’re the Monster Princess, and we both know that it’s not the same thing.
That feeling, dark and festering? It’s jealousy.
Why would I be jealous of Mischief’s tiny wizard arse?
You tell me.
Misrule swung around, twirling his coat. He pointed the end of his cane at me like an accusing finger. “You damaged the star of the show.”
“It was always a risk with her temper. After all, she has eighty-eight fangs on her necklace…and my feather.” Mischief shrugged.
What the bastard hell…?
The ancient powers inside roared to teach Mischief what happened to blokes who challenged the Champion. I should’ve pulled the stuffing out of his unicorn belly when I’d had the chance.
Instead, I forced down the flames, flushing. “I’m not wearing any bastard necklace,” I muttered. “I’ve been trying—”
“Princess,” Rebel caught my chin, ghosting his lips against mine, “we’ve explained this all arseway, so we have. Harahel’s my mate and legendary at planning battles.” I’d forgotten how much of a Harahel fanboy Rebel was. “So, if he says that Misrule can… Look, there’s no plot. I mean, there is a plot but it’s against the king, not you.”
“Wait, you all got together in a merry band and decided that because I was the king’s daughter I couldn’t be trusted? I’d choose my dad over you? I’d turn out to love the FF life-style?”
“Pick one.” Mischief rose out of his chair; silver sparked around him in sudden dark splendor.
How much of his power had he been hiding? And why?
I crumpled, clutching onto Harahel’s arm to hold myself up because I wasn’t going onto my knees before Mischief.
Harahel soothed his thumb over the back of my hand. “Look, amongst the Fallen I can chat to you like we’re mates and I’m not less because I sacrificed…” He lifted his arm with its missing hand. “Yet there’s also the Bloods, Shadows, Bones…and Seducers.” He glanced at Ash, who was staring pointedly at the wall. “It blows my mind how they can punish the Children of the Dark merely because they’re born here. Plus, how could I turn down the chance to light a fire under the King of the Under World?”
“I knew there was a reason that I liked you, angel,” Ash smirked.
“Et tu, bastard?” I growled.
Ash winced. “Rebel told me that the angels were planning something,” he muttered. “My sisters are Bloods. I’d do anything to save them. And your eyes, Violet, on that first night…they had the king’s spark in them.”
“Everything since has been playing me?” Hot bile burned the back of my throat.
All of a sudden, my chest was too tight. When I swayed, Rebel caught one side of me, Ash the other, and between them and Harahel, they nested with me on the floor, cocooning me in their warmth, sweet aromas, and kisses.
I should’ve been safe. But they’d betrayed me.
Now caught between these Judases, I was unwittingly at the heart of a dangerous civil war against Lucifer. Yet by failing the test, turning to him would only mean pain.
In this anarchic Under World, there were only traitors and rebels.
19
The sweet scent of candied apples studded with cloves wove the lie that I was sheltered from the Under World: Lucifer, the civil war, and secrets…
On the cold floor of Mischief’s bunker, protected in the hot wings of angels and Fallen, I could make-believe that I was still leader of the gang of rebels.
I shuddered, as Ash kissed along my neck, Rebel’s breath spectered across my cheek, and Harahel’s curls tickled my shoulder. Yet I hadn’t stepped-up and become the leader that they’d needed: Mischief had. And I’d been too blind to see it.
I punched my fists against my thighs, welcoming the thudding pain.
Lost in the whirl of the Bone Carnival, I’d forgotten who I was. But the Bitch of Utopia was back and I’d become what my family needed.
Finally, your feathery arse has joined the party!
But wearing what costume, J? Rebel Princess? Bone, Monster, or Vampire?
All of the above, or none. You’re just you. When will you realize that’s enough?
I shook myself loose from the blokes’ embraces, refusing to meet Rebel’s wounded gaze, as I backed against the computer chair.
When I hit Mischief’s legs, I glared; he simply raised his eyebrow. “Why the big conspiracy?”
“The only conspiracy,” Harahel murmured, “is against Lucifer and the FF. We don’t even know how or what we’re going to do yet, it’s simply a bunch of folks swearing loyalty to the cause for when the time’s right. Do you think that I could leave you with Lucifer, any more than I can the Bloods? When the king was cruel to you in the Crypt, I was all for — BOOM! — taking him out there and—”
Misrule swung Harahel up, catching him close by his waist. “Remember the fascinating discussion we had afterwards about tantrums?”
I stiffened.
Harahel pouted. “That your mean spanking twin would pay a visit…? I hate that bully.”
Misrule adjusted his cravat with the tip of his cane, even as his other arm tightened around Harahel’s waist. “No respect….”
I launched myself up, sparks buzzing beneath my skin.
Misrule had forced Harahel into becoming his Blood Lover. In Angel World, I’d rescued Harahel from his brutal Glory, although I’d regretted allowing him to be claimed by her in the first place, but here I’d left him in Misrule’s ownership.
Because I’d trusted.
“Sorry, Master…” Harahel looked down, blushing. Then he burst out laughing, twisting out of Misrule’s grip with a smirk. “How does anyone ever call you that without cracking up?”
I gawked at them: I’d never seen Harahel so unafraid. Or equal. Misrule was an important vampire, and Harahel was an angel prisoner, yet here he had more equality than he’d been allowed on Angel World. Maybe I was right to trust.
Even if they’d all lied to me.
Misrule swung his cane with a dark grin. “Oh, because I can put them into the Cage if they don’t.” Way to kill a mood. “And Harahel?”
This time, Harahel forced himself to keep a stra
ight face, whilst he nodded.
“I’ll take a wild stab and say that you revealed our secrets to the princess?” Misrule asked sternly.
Harahel squirmed, staring up at the ceiling. “On the flip side, I revealed our secrets and now she can help, like I’ve been saying that she would.”
“If you manipulated this on purpose, my sweetest angel, I shall—”
“Enough with the tedious lovers’ tiff,” Mischief interrupted with such authority that I couldn’t stop myself taking a step back. “He told her in defense of me. It’s done. She’ll join, lead, or betray us.” He calmly checked off the options on his fingers.
I bristled. “They aren’t choices.”
Mischief tilted his head. “Did I say choices or consequences?”
My jaw clenched. “I’ll lead you, and that’s my choice.”
“Surely you can understand the reason that we hid this from you, since you’re under such scrutiny…?”
“You were protecting me?”
“This is all about you,” Mischief snarled, yanking me closer by the elbow. “Your dad is a tyrant, but you could be the worst dictator who has ever ruled. To save the Under World, we’ve been trying to save you.”
My vision blacked; I swayed in his hold.
Dictator?
“I’m not…that’s not me, bro,” I whispered.
Mischief’s expression gentled. “I have come to believe not. But the Cage changes you. As does Lucifer’s Light and the Devil’s Trident. We have all — here — sworn to hold onto you. To keep you away from the flames.”
“Why? What do you care?” I regretted the words as soon as I said them.
Mischief’s eye twitched; his mouth set in a thin line. “Isn’t it enough that I do?”
I nodded. Then I flamed my wings behind me in a blazing arc, lighting the shadowy bunker in their glory.
Yeah, sometimes go for the dramatic classics.
“This is your new leader, bitches: no fighting between fam, or I’ll make you all drop and give me twenty,” I barked.
Ash grinned. “Don’t turn all Full Metal Jacket on us.”
I smiled, eying Mischief. “Where’s your Che Guevara hat?”
Rebel Angels: The Complete Series Page 68