Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  When Mr Oiled Beard pushed the Pretty Angel to his knees far more gently than I’d been expecting, I was suddenly consumed with…anxiety? Unease? Fear?

  Yet why the hell did I care about this angel? No bond of emotions shivered across him to me. No ripple of memories.

  Then why did my guts roil at the danger that I sensed he was in? Just as my palms itched to snatch my sword and slice him free from it?

  And what in the dwarf throwing heights of craziness did that mean?

  Was I the Big Bad here, not truly the Emperor’s most loved? Was that why he’d been forced to shut me away in the Citadel in the first place?

  When I struggled, the Emperor allowed me to crawl out of his embrace to the end of the bed. I hugged my arms around my knees, whilst I studied the Pretty Angel. Away from the overwhelming agarwood, I could breathe freely; my mind started to clear.

  The Pretty Angel cocked his head and blinked, like this would mean something to me. When I frowned in response, his face became shuttered.

  The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. “Toy or not, my Beloved must be precious to you, novice Drake, to chance the Guardian’s not inconsiderable wrath by attempting to aid him?”

  Drake — the Pretty angel — was in trouble because he’d tried to help the Caged slave? Why did that boot me in the gut as all types of wrong?

  Drake nodded.

  The Emperor rolled his eyes. “Verbal answers, jackass.”

  “Yes,” Drake’s clipped response was cold; his gaze didn’t flinch from the Emperor’s. “He is of worth to me.”

  The Caged Wing crawled closer to the bars. “You’re a muppet, Commander. I’d dwell in an eternity of dark for every one of my family, but instead, you throw yourselves on the fire to try and light my way.”

  Drake’s jaw clenched.

  Did these two angels…love each other?

  “Your golden curled beauty could be trained well by Amitiel…” The Emperor soared off the bed, prowling around Drake.

  The Guardian rested his hands on Drake’s shoulders, almost like he was protecting him. “Burning One, my apologies, but this novice is talented…in many areas. Also, his magical potential is great, but only if he remains unbroken.”

  Drake’s gaze softened, glancing back at the Guardian as if to catch the lie in his compliment.

  Who had made him doubt himself like that?

  Yet why were they so terrified of Amitiel? She’d held…comforted…saved me from the pain of my past. She hadn’t broken me, had she?

  Anael launched himself after the Emperor, catching his arm and kissing down it. “This angel and I were raised as brothers; we both learned fiendish games. Wouldn’t you like a taste?” The Emperor raised a brow, but Anael’s gaze slid to me. “My cherub held the Addict prisoner for forty years; no doubt he only wants to play. If he amuses you, why not allow him the bothersome Beloved?”

  I didn’t miss Drake’s slight nod, or the exchange of glances between Anael and him: a secret code.

  Why did jealousy blossom hot at their closeness like I should have the same code, instead of the numbness, which deadened me?

  When Drake rubbed his fingers together, a cat o’nine tails appeared coiled around his hand: a rope whip with nine lengths of knotted cord, spiked with metal balls.

  My temples throbbed. I massaged them, whilst my skin itched like it was fighting to peel away to reveal something new inside.

  The Emperor threw himself backwards in faux horror. “Oh my! There’s going to be a flogging.”

  Then he clicked his fingers.

  The bars of the cage slid back, the murals bent and warped, and coils snaked down from the scales on the ceiling. The coils wound around the Caged Wing’s wrists, dragging him out, before stringing him up onto tiptoes and dragging his wings wide.

  My breath hitched, as Drake untangled the tails of the whip, shaking them out, before testing his arm.

  The Caged Wing panted, shaking.

  I was a monster. How could I take pleasure in his fear or pain?

  Drake hesitated; his lip trembled, before he froze to a studied blankness.

  I wrung the sheet between my fists; my steel nails shot out, slicing through the bedding.

  Why was Drake making the poor bastard…and me…wait?

  Just do it: hit him, hit him, hit…

  Then Drake drew back his arm.

  Swish — thud.

  The Caged Wing bit back the scream, as the metal balls sliced into his skin, lashing a bloody path across his shoulders.

  Candy sweetness hit me in a dizzying rush, and I was at another flogging, but this one had been in the Bailey of a castle…

  The Caged Angel’s name was Rebel, and this had happened to him before because of me.

  Jahael didn’t love me, I didn’t adore him, and I did have a bastard family.

  I tumbled onto my side, clutching my arms over my head as if that’d slow the memories: an upload of epic proportions. Overwhelming, devastating, and blinding. Pain and yet also joy because the pain was mine.

  Violet, black, silver, and shadows…they crashed over me in majestic waves, binding me in magic and my true nature.

  I’d been free, yet I’d been lost. Now I was shackled but I knew who was I was: A Dragon God.

  And I was bitching back.

  Now I just had to hide my true face from Jahael.

  Yet rebirth was agonizing. I writhed in the satin to the swish — thud of Rebel’s flogging, and I floated in the new dark world, whilst it spun.

  17

  The worst Big Bads don’t believe themselves the villains but the heroes.

  When Jahael had his poisoned claws in my mind, I’d seen his visions of glorious godhood, and I’d been the golden bitch ruling beside him.

  I groaned, pressing at my head. My eyes were too heavy to open. Heroics hurt.

  You’re a hero now, are you, Violet-bliss?

  J, you’re back? Hell, don’t go radio silence on me again.

  You think being stripped like a low market call girl on a stag night was my deathbed wish…?

  But then, you even forgot your loyal little punk: Bonded and Marked, the angel in eyeliner still fell away in the throes of fervor.

  So, now that you’ve drowned in the Emperor’s crazy, are you simply the latest Big Bad with an origin story?

  Golden curls tickled my nose, as I opened my eyes and blinked up into Drake’s serious face. My head rested in his lap, and his fingers stroked over my cheek compulsively.

  I wriggled on the soft covers in the Imperial Bedchamber, sniffing in case I could catch Jahael’s scent. Instead, the sweet tang of Rebel’s blood caught in the back of my throat, and I gagged.

  “Calm yourself, Zachriel’s suffering is over. You’re safe.” Drake’s fingers paused in their stroking; instantly, I missed their touch. “Allow me to reassure you, my Queen, we are alone.”

  “Apart from me.” Rebel popped up over Drake’s shoulder with a grin that although too fragile, still managed not to waver. “I’m in tatters, but you recognize my muppet arse…?”

  Drake huffed. “Patience. Our Queen hardly remembered her own insufferable self an hour ago.”

  “You know what I haven’t forgotten?” I snorted. “What a brat you are, Genie of the Lamp.”

  I twisted, rolling off Drake’s lap and booting him off the bed.

  Drake yelped, tumbling from the high stand in a flurry of feathers and satin. His dressing gown fell open, exposing his creamy chest and perky prick. Flushing, he wrapped the gown around his middle again, before pulling himself tall in indignation. “Extraordinary. You’re already back to the impossible Glory that I…” He bit his lip, before continuing more quietly, “I imagined that Zachriel’s blood spilled in the same trauma as the Bailey would call to you. Blood and love to battle the Head Poisoner’s false reality. Welcome home.”

  Home: not the temple, but the love of my Wings. They’d spilled blood — suffered pain — to save me. Because we were each other’s home.

>   I edged Rebel around, until I could see his lashed back. My shaking hand hovered over the welts like I could heal them, but this time there was no Mischief to take away Rebel’s pain. Yet I noticed that none of the lashes overlapped, and few had drawn blood. Drake had been careful, but rage roared through me still at each carved weal. No one hurt my fam, and to repeat such a flogging deliberately was a calculated cruelty… Why had I forgotten that Drake was a cold predator?

  It didn’t matter that Drake’s actions had been to save me.

  I leapt off the bed, slamming in front of Drake. Startled, he backed towards the cage. He winced, as his shoulders seared against the hot bars.

  “I’m home, bitch,” I snarled. “And blood and love are about to be visited on your girlie arse.”

  Rebel scrambled down from the bed. “Cop on! The Commander’s a bad bastard sometimes, but I trust his plans. He did what he had to; he always does. So, lay off him.”

  “Plans?” Frustrated, I seized the front of Drake’s gown, wrenching him closer, but Rebel dived between us. “What’s with your Rescue an Ice Commander routine?” I stared from one to the other. “Wasn’t this just another one of your Beat the Addict sessions?”

  “Is that not my place, to always play the villain?” Drake sneered.

  I paled at the pain shanking through Drake’s gaze and the way that his clenched fists trembled.

  Rebel glanced up at me from underneath his eyelashes. “Mind yourself, Feathers. You don’t know—”

  “Zachriel,” Drake whispered, low and desperate, “we promised each other never to tell.”

  Rebel spun to Drake, clasping him by the neck. Why did such a simple touch suddenly look so intimate that I shuddered? Hadn’t they always been enemies?

  Yet before, whilst I’d been drugged, I remembered the spark of love that I’d witnessed between them.

  What in an alternative universe of screwed-up shipping was going on?

  “Secrets?” I growled, and Rebel flinched. “From the moment an angel’s punk arse fell into my lap, all I wanted was the truth, but instead I’ve been poisoned on lies.”

  I wiped angrily at the tears with the back of my sleeve.

  You don’t always want to know the answers, Feathery-candy, even if you need to.

  I can’t be blind anymore.

  Drake and Rebel have known each other for centuries; they’re part of a war and allegiances that I’ve only just begun to understand.

  Truth is a bitch.

  So am I.

  Drake pressed his soft lips to Rebel’s with as much yearning as he ever had to mine.

  I held my breath, unable to look away, whilst my skin tingled. My violet thundered at the outrage, and I shook with the effort of holding the flames inside, along with my wails.

  Rebel clasped his hand tighter around Drake’s neck, whilst he melted into the kiss. Then he shoved away, with the murmured, “By all the saints, I can’t.”

  Drake’s gaze froze to ice. “My apologies. Our Queen pretends love but she thinks so little of me in truth, and now you… I’d forgotten that I was to be alone.”

  “Don’t,” Rebel said, sharply.

  Drake flinched like Rebel was his Commander or like he’d never truly been Rebel’s jailer.

  I snatched them both by the hair, ignoring their owws, as I bent them close. “Listen up, lover boys,” my voice shook, but I didn’t let go of either of my Wings, “one — or both of you — is spilling on what’s up with the snogging, or you won’t like the Violet Monster under my skin.”

  “Get on with you: Violet Monster is hot,” Rebel sniggered.

  I shook him by his hair, and he yelped. “Unless… Jahael’s listening on this frequency?”

  “Be calm,” Drake ordered. “The Emperor’s omniscience is a lie; his propaganda outstrips my father’s. He can only watch those who he possesses, or through his spies and seeded. Are you shielded?”

  I nodded.

  Drake exchanged a glance with Rebel, before he said, more softly, “I’m the disappointment of a son, Marked Wing to the Matriarch, and whipping boy to Prince Anael. I commanded the angelic armies, whilst being molded into a zealot by my father and the Matriarch. Truly, even now you consider me only deserving of receiving pain or delivering it.”

  The objection died on my lips. Isn’t that exactly what I’d accused him of in the flogging of Rebel?

  Drake’s expression tightened. “Consider how everyone sees either what they wish to or expect.”

  I blinked. “I’m not following.”

  Rebel growled, twisting in my grip. “Jesus, will you let us go, woman.”

  I loosened my grip on his hair and Drake’s. They both slipped under my grasp, ducking away. Drake smoothed down his curls.

  “We’re screwing up the tale.” Rebel crossed his arms. “It started ages ago, when we were young ones, and my da…murdered my slave.” I startled; I hadn’t forgotten the story of Rebel’s dad’s brutality. “I swore that I wouldn’t let another Wing be hurt but I was alone and different to the others…” When Drake rolled his eyes, Rebel nudged him. “So were you, Commander. That’s when I discovered you bawling and trying to hide it—”

  “Irrelevant.” Drake slammed his hand over Rebel’s mouth. “I apologize for his digression. I’d been gifted as Marked Wing to the Matriarch, as you know and—”

  Rebel bit Drake’s palm; Drake hissed, drawing away his hand. “The Commander was bawling, so he was, although hiding because he never let anyone see that he was hurt. But I found him and promised to protect him.”

  I stared at them. They’d known each other since they were teenagers?

  Yet Rebel was Drake’s protector?

  What Judas level bastard was Drake that he’d gone on to hunt Rebel and torture him in the dark, simply because Rebel had become a Human Addict?

  “You became best pinkie mates, yeah?” I mocked.

  Drake eyed the violet swirling on my palms uncertainly. “Of a sort. When he was away, Zachriel would visit me in my dreams and console me. We both had fathers who were—”

  “Bastards,” Rebel finished, like they were an old married couple.

  “And in the next episode…?” Flames hissed and sparked down my arms; the air scented violet.

  Rebel licked his lips nervously. “My da took me to visit Angel World again. This time, what Drake told me changed my promise into a pact.”

  Drake’s gaze met mine. “I begged him to help a shut away prince.”

  I gasped. “My brother?”

  Why had I ever taunted them…?

  Drake nodded. “And later, Barakiel. In the frenzied days when the angels Fell, neither Zachriel nor I rebelled because of that pact. I regret…” Drake grasped Rebel’s hands; only then did I notice how much Rebel shook. “Allow me to be scourged of this guilt: because of me you lost—”

  Rebel kissed Drake to stop his words. This time, unlike their first kiss, it was tender and gentle, singing forgiveness. Then Rebel drew back and smiled. “Stop sticking thorns up your own arse. My family view me as a traitor, but I made that choice, not you. And if I hadn’t…” He glanced at me. “When the Matriarch was after forcing Lucifer to create a child, as she had Phoenix, I wouldn’t have been able to make the same pact for you. Except, I became a Human Addict and…”

  I stumbled backwards.

  Drake and Rebel caught me on either side, lowering me to the floor. The world spun, whilst the fire fizzled out.

  Rebel and Drake had been my protectors jointly all along?

  What. The. Hell?

  My gaze swiveled between them. “I don’t…? You’re bastard kidding me.”

  Drake smirked. “Eloquent as always, my Queen.”

  “And you’re two-faced as always, pretty boy genie. What’s been with the Severus act? The whole Hunt the Addict?”

  Drake’s face became grave. “Patience. It was no act. Zachriel truly became addicted, and I was tasked with his capture…” Rebel looked away; his cheeks pinked. “We had to pla
y our parts, and we suffered for them. I was the villain in your eyes, and Zachriel the bad angel in the world’s.”

  In a sudden flurry of feathers and yelps, I clutched Drake and Rebel, pulling them on top of me and tumbling us around in a tangle of limbs. I kissed their cheeks, noses, necks, and wings… I basked in the mix of their candy sweet and rich frankincense aroma. I laughed, even whilst the tears streamed down my cheeks.

  Rebel and Drake were both the true heroes of the story.

  For centuries, they’d been connected to Anael, sacrificing their families and love to protect him — and then me. Yet like Mischief, they’d worked from the shadows, suffering the humiliation of being Marked Wing and Son of the Fallen.

  Then what did that make me? If I was neither the hero nor the Big Bad? No way would I be the damsel, after all.

  “You’re not narked at us for fibbing?” Rebel ventured.

  I licked along the length of Rebel’s feathered shoulder blade, and he shuddered. “I’m proud of you.” I nibbled at Drake’s lip, as I read the insecurity in his gaze. “Both of you. And I love you. You’re my heroes, and I’ll never let you be alone again.”

  Drake quivered, tightening his hold around my waist. “Yet we shall all be suffering heroes if we don’t discover Anael’s long game. After his behavior with the Emperor, I assure you that he has one. The Guardian has shown me but a slice of the Emperor’s power, yet even so, it dims that of other worlds: he can see multiple possibilities at once, alternate universes or resurrect anyone…or versions of them.”

  I shrugged. “Sorry, I’m not fluent in geek.”

  “Firstly, I believe that you are and secondly: I shall show you.” Drake untangled himself from my hold. “The deadliest court in the temple is its final one: Court Six. The Gateways in Infinity Court would make Harahel swoon, but are just as likely to eat us alive. Shall we?”

  He held out his hands to Rebel and me.

  Rebel met my gaze, then gave a bright grin as he bounced to his feet. “Brilliant! I’ve always wanted to know what came after infinity.”

  I took Drake’s hand, gently rubbing my thumb over the back of his knuckles.

  His breath hitched, then he pulled me up. “Good. Now come with me. We have one hour before the Guardian returns, and if he discovers us, we shall wish that the Gateways had devoured us.”