Gabriel scrutinized his brother, before sniffing. Then he pulled out of the pocket of his robe a tiny sapphire jeweled thong.
I didn’t even want to think how those gems would feel on a bloke’s private parts.
I grimaced. “What kinky panties you like to wear in private, Gabriel, is none of our business...”
Gabriel almost smiled, before his blank expression slammed down again. “May His glory protect me; the Firstborn would not wear such a shameful thing. It’s for the bastard Archduke, of course.” Mischief hissed, backing away. “It’s fitting for your status as my spoils, brother.”
I winced. I had risked my life and family in Castle Drake to save my own half-brother, Anael. I knew how fiercely Mischief had fought to help his brothers, despite the hardships of the Legion. Now he had new half-brothers, and I hated the flash of pain in Mischief’s eyes, which he instantly buried, at the rejection.
Because I knew what it felt like to be rejected by a sibling.
Yet was Gabriel treating Mischief like this because of Istafil, his own political machinations, or because he truly despised him for being a bastard?
Mischief’s voice was low and vibrated with fury, “It’s interesting how much you loath me, brother, when you know so little about me. In fact, when you’ve cared to discover nothing about who I am. It’s almost as if you loath yourself.”
Gabriel marched across the chamber towards Mischief, who simply tilted his chin higher in defiance.
Crack — Gabriel slapped Mischief, splitting his lip.
“Hold your tongue, bastard.” Gabriel’s breathing was ragged. His earlier softness had vanished to be replaced by a violent volatility: his eyes were dilated, as if he was drunk or drugged.
Mischief was right: Gabriel was dangerous. Could I trust him to hold to our plan and not to take it too far?
I caught Mischief’s gaze and willed him to keep silent for once.
But on that day unicorns would rap “Stairway to Heaven”.
Mischief licked lazily at the beaded blood. “Fiery, aren’t you, brat?”
And that was how to explode a god.
Gabriel’s six wings spread like an outraged swan’s, sizzling with energy that prickled my face and frizzed my hair. “You wish to challenge me, brother?” His voice was suspiciously calm. “Kill me, perhaps?”
Jingle — I leapt between them with a frantic wave of my hands.
“Time out, or you’ll both be put on the naughty step.”
Two near identical eyebrows raised at me.
“We’ll settle it by Shifter Duel.” Gabriel tossed the thong onto the bed.
Mischief shrugged. “What’s that? Transformations at dawn?”
Gabriel snorted. “Has your education been so deficient that you don’t even know such a simple rite?” Mischief flushed. “Oh yes, I’d forgotten that you’re nothing but a bastard raised amongst the Non-Divine. My advantage.”
Instantly, Gabriel shifted into a giant white lion, whose head almost touched the opal lights on the roof. He shook his ivory mane, crouching on muscular haunches, as he glowered at us with bright blue eyes.
Hell…
I swallowed, jingling my way backwards into Mischief, who caught me, resting his head on my shoulder.
Roar.
The lion’s warm breath blasted against my cheeks, smothering me in a rich, earthy scent that clawed me down from the panic because this was Gabriel rocking the Aslan look: his go-to shifter form. And now that I’d calmed enough to study his majesty and beauty…he was legendary.
Until I remembered that Mischief was meant to be battling him.
When I twisted around to Mischief, however, he only shrugged.
“This was meant to convince me that you’re less of an alpha poseur how precisely…?” Mischief sighed. Gabriel shook his mane like Mischief was an irritating fly. “Or are you attempting to prove that there can be only one leader in your pride…? Don’t fret, I’ve no intention of stealing your place or your crown.”
In a spray of silver sparkles Mischief transformed into a toy-sized fluffy unicorn.
The wallad was going to get his stuffing ripped out.
I groaned, but Mischief strutted with all the swag of a warhorse towards Gabriel. Then he looked up at the confused predator above him with his huge eyes. “How about we rebel, and the unicorn lies down with the lion, brother?”
With a growl, Gabriel swiped his paw towards Mischief; his claws would tear Mischief apart…
I dived forward, snatching Mischief by his miniature twisted horn (ignoring his squeak of protest), and hauling him to safety. “Game over, Mr Plushy-100. It’s time to put away the toys.”
Mischief sneered at me, although on his unicorn face even that didn’t come off as more than endearing, before changing back to his angelic self, sprawled across my lap. He couldn’t meet my gaze.
With one final shake of his mane, Gabriel shrank down into his Seraphim form. He pinned his brother with a piercing stare. “It appears that you are indeed insignificant.”
When Mischief recoiled like the words had been a whip lash, I stroked down his wing.
“Mischief’s my fam,” I said, “whether you choose to claim him as yours or not.”
Gabriel gave a tight nod. “Then you need to tame him. The Burning Temple is one of whispers and secrets. If you’re ever granted audience with my father, then know that he’s guarded by the Knights of the Seraphim and his devoted worshipers and slaves, the Acolytes. There’ve been too many plots…” His intense stare met mine, before sliding away. “Also, assassination and escape attempts. None have succeeded and punishments are severe. Prove yourself or submit to the burning love of the Fire God.”
Gabriel had been testing us…was testing us now.
Yet could I trust him?
“If it’s so dangerous, why are we leaving our weapons behind and protecting ourselves with pretty jewels?” I demanded.
“Because weapons show fear that you’ll need to use them. If you dress in pretty jewels, you look confident that you won’t.” Gabriel snatched the thong off the bed and lobbed it at me.
I caught it, unable to give Mischief the next order and humiliate him; I wouldn’t become that sort of Glory again.
Then Mischief caught my chin, tipping my head, so that our gazes met. He studied me, and I could see his struggle, before he finally nodded.
Why had I wanted him to shake his head, as he said: don’t do this…no…stop…
And I would’ve because I loved him, and for the first time in a long time, I had the dominant bitch balanced with my other natures. I shook with the strength of that revelation.
Instead, however, Mischief was watching me with a soft smile curling his lips, waiting for me to take charge.
I took a deep breath, clenching my hands so tightly into fists that the amethysts sliced my palms; I welcomed the bright burst of pain.
I pushed myself up, before staring down at Mischief. “Strip.”
Mischief scrambled to his feet, before shrugging himself out of his tunic. He didn’t look up from the ground, as he slipped out of his trousers. Then, even though he was shivering and naked in the freeze of the moon-soaked room, Mischief insolently cocked an eyebrow as he looked Gabriel up and down. “Enjoying the show?”
Gabriel blushed but he also rubbed his fingers together, materializing a sapphire jeweled bit gag and bridle.
I pinched Mischief’s tender upper wing, and he yipped, before casting me a sheepish look. “We had a no taunting rule. Let’s extend that to when we’re bare arsed.”
Mischief huffed. “I only see one of us here naked.”
I shoved the offensive thong at him. Wincing, Mischief pulled it on, yelping as he wriggled the sapphires between his arse cheeks. I clenched my own in sympathy.
“Good little bastard,” Gabriel crooned. Please let this be an act, or I was going medieval on the Lion King. “Tonight, you’ll learn your place, and your sister will earn her safety within our temple.” He sw
ung the bit gag and bridle tauntingly on the end of his finger. “How about we save these for later? There shall be time for plenty of fun games. Istafil’s parties are never what you expect and always many times deadlier.”
Gabriel held out his arm to me, and I stiffly took it, whilst Mischief followed behind like our slave. Gabriel swept me through the archway towards the party, which would be as dangerous as a battle.
7
At the snap of a spotted hyena’s jaws, I started, stumbling backwards with a jingle of beads. The hyena shook its sandy head, cackling wildly.
Even maniacal bastards with the giggles can sound terrified.
I glanced around the Rose Room: and my official introduction into the life of Court Two.
Velociraptors, elves, and werewolves…
I hadn’t expected any of these to be snarling, scampering, or stalking past the pink columns, especially as they were on ruby studded collars and leashes.
Maybe I should’ve asked to check the guest list?
But then, this was a realm of gods. Perhaps anything could be owned here, even long extinct or mythological creatures?
I still bristled, however, when the Seraphim owners dragged the trembling bastards along the decadently tiled floor or threw themselves down into piles of satin cushions on the sofas that surrounded the raised dance floor, whilst their…toys…were shoved onto the floor at their feet.
A pretty naked elf with sky-blue hair that matched his large eyes, looked up from his kneel at the feet of a Glory Seraphim, meeting my gaze.
I flushed, shrinking backwards.
Hell, were the collared pets humiliated — tamed — shifters…? Seraphim who were being taught their place in public?
And I’d have to do the same to Mischief.
My stomach churned; the cloying scent of roses caught in my throat. The garish walls throbbed as if alive; scarlet lines bled snaking into dusky pink petals like opening mouths.
Even though Mischief had agreed to allow such a violation — a forced shift, when shifting should be something empowering and glorious — I didn’t know if I could forgive myself.
Didn’t I tell you to play the politics, Feathery-gem?
There are too many bare arses…and pointy-eared elves…for this to be Parliament, J.
Here’s a dose of hot reality: real politics happens at parties, in bed, and when you least expect it.
Dry meetings with even drier assholes are just smokescreens. You need to shake your thing tonight.
How?
Gabriel’s channeling the Cain and Abel vibe with his brother, and the Mongrel Witch is playing the Big Bad.
You’re the Dragon God: find the power and claim it.
Or do you want to end up as the one on a sparkly leash?
I shuddered, twisting to Mischief.
Mischief crossed his arms over his naked chest, tilting his chin as if to defy the obviousness of being presented to the Seraphim as Jahael’s son in nothing but a thong.
That took swag.
Not that Mischief looked out of place: every toy was naked.
For party read orgy, Roman style.
“I detest these excuses to flaunt power.” Gabriel’s dark gaze swept the crowded heat of the room.
Despite his grand robes, Gabriel hadn’t made a grand entrance but had slunk into the party next to me, shadow-like. Now he hung back, watching with distaste.
Slap — the Glory Seraphim smacked the elf across his pale cheek.
The elf whimpered and bowed his forehead to the floor.
Gabriel’s jaw tightened, before he caught himself, straightening his shoulders. “By His glory, Istafil never disappoints. Drink, dance, and indulge.”
How had Gabriel hidden his hatred for Istafil’s party so easily?
I blinked, before rapping Gabriel on the forehead. “Where’s the bloke and not the puppet? What happened to your campaign for elf-help?”
Mischief sniggered.
Gabriel scowled. “I realized that I was being elfish, when I remembered why we’re here tonight.”
Mischief’s gaze shot to mine, before flickering to his brother. “Do tell. Does it involve chocolate fountains and such larks?”
Gabriel seized a naked Seraphim by the arm, who was carrying a tray of sizzling cocktails, before snatching one up and passing it to me. “Drink,” he insisted, whilst not raising his gaze to mine. “Believe me, these functions are much more bearable when you’re—”
“Pissed?”
Gabriel’s lips quirked. “Merry.” He grabbed a smoking martini glass and tipped back the lime green drink in one go. Hell, he was desperate to get merry. He wiped his mouth, clutching the next glass and gulping the swirling concoction.
When he swayed, the server Seraphim steadied him.
Why did the servers only have four wings?
I eyed Gabriel. “You OK?”
He waved his hand dismissively, even as his pupils dilated.
When I stared down at my glass, the sunburst yellow cocktail transformed into violet-and-black, like it’d read my mind, subtly changing to suit my needs, even as I smelled the waft of tequila.
Gabriel had poisoned me before, but a bitch had to drink, and I wasn’t in the Angel Games anymore.
Plus, this was the best bastard drink ever.
Mischief snorted. “I should’ve known that it’d only take the bribe of tequila and a party trick. I suppose you’re more at home than I am. Don’t mind me, go make your introductions.”
I winced. “You can stick the rest but you’re right that the tequila has a one-way ticket to my Throatsville.”
Before I could raise the glass, however, Mischief dived for the stem, stilling it. “Two glasses of this toxic…well, you see, we don’t even know what…and my brother Suleiman the Big-head is flying, whilst in a room with the cast of Jurassic Park. How about you don’t join him?”
I lowered the glass. Then I noticed the stares, half-concealed glances, and contemptuous looks of the other Seraphim. We were being watched, just as Gabriel had warned, and by the scornful glances, we’d been found wanting.
Mischief had come here dressed as a toy but he was pushing my drink away from me like the Archduke that he was.
J had been right: this was about politics. I had to tame Mischief for this world of whispers and secrets.
I forced my gaze to become steely, as I wrenched Mischief’s wrist away from the glass, ignoring his gasp. “How about that’s none of your business, bitch?”
I downed the cocktail in one go to avoid seeing Mischief’s hurt expression; the alcohol burned the back of my throat, and my eyes watered. I slammed the glass back onto the tray, whilst the room spun.
My nerves tingled, whilst the sounds of the party were amplified, and the blood bubbled in my arteries. When Mischief supported me at my elbows, his skin seared mine. It was so intimate that I squirmed, desperate for more, more, more: every inch of his skin on mine, his mouth, wings, and prick…
What the unicorn elfing hell was going on?
Then Gabriel’s hands were on my cheeks, as his lips pressed chastely against mine, just once. “Intense, isn’t it? In the name of all that’s holy, on my first time, I had no one to protect me. But you have me.”
Mischief waved his hand in the air like an ignored schoolboy at the back of the class who had a particularly kinky uniform. “Not to be an attention seeker, but she also has me: the angel who she actually loves.”
Gabriel flinched, but he didn’t let go. He pressed one final soft kiss to my lips, before grabbing my hand. Then he shot a disdainful glance at Mischief, as if he was a disobedient puppy. “Follow.”
Gabriel pulled me further into the Rose Room, between a snapping velociraptor and its tiny Seraphim owner. When I brushed against the fur of a gray wolf, each strand lit my nerves on fire, until I vibrated with the ecstasy.
Inside, my violet and black were entwining and enmeshing like they never had before.
I burned.
I no longer ne
eded a shank for power: I was the power.
Because I was a god.
When I laughed, Gabriel spun me. I could hear other Seraphim laughing as well, between the gasps and groans of a swingers’ party deep into its swing.
Except, how many of the swingers were consenting? How many were drunk or drugged? Is that what had happened to Gabriel on his first time at one of Istafil’s parties when he’d had no one to protect him?
I stumbled, instantly sobering. How had I been sucked into this world, even for a moment?
The plaintive guitar grunge of Radiohead’s “Creep” burst through the room in all its spinetingling angst. Gabriel twirled me, before dipping me, like we were salsa dancing. I grinned, lost in his earthy scent, before I caught Mischief’s smirk over Gabriel’s shoulder.
“Has someone been fibbing to his big brother?” I asked, whilst Gabriel held me tightly: my godly Prince Charming at the Raunchy Ball.
Mischief shrugged. “He asked if you had any special songs, with which to court you. I believe that he wished for a romantic moment. Don’t you find the song fitting?”
Whilst a song about an alienated outcast, who aches for someone out of his league, sang through my soul, Gabriel wrapped his wings closer as if he could ward off his own understanding of the insult. I saw the moment that it broke through, however, and he snapped.
Gabriel jerked away from me; his eyes blazed, and his cheeks flamed.
Mischief had turned his own humiliation on its head, and I was torn between whooping at his epicness and devastation at Gabriel’s mortification.
Had Gabriel ever been allowed to choose a lover, whilst trapped in his Gilded Cage? Had he courted anyone?
Whack — Gabriel backhanded Mischief.
Mischief yelped, sprawling onto his back next to the startled blue haired elf. The elf reached out, stroking Mischief’s swelling cheek, as if in Oppressed Seraphim solidarity.
I snarled, slamming Gabriel into a column in a jingling blur of amethyst fury, but he reversed my hold, faster than anyone I’d fought before.
Rebel Angels: The Complete Series Page 108