Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  Jahael tilted his head. “You play court life like you were raised here.” Then he grinned, flaring his wings in peacock display. “Tonight, I shall hold the most fabulous celebration of our divinity. By its end, none shall doubt either of our glory. Of course, there’ll also be time to play…”

  I forced myself to smile.

  Tonight, I’d pretend to become the Empress that Jahael wished, whilst my family suffered their part. Tonight, I’d put on a show to impress the Seraphim of my worth.

  Tonight, I’d start a revolution.

  27

  To bring down a giant, you must turn his own strength against him because he’ll be guarding his weaknesses. That way, he’ll never notice the shank, until it’s buried in his back.

  Bubbles popped on the surface of the cocktails, which balanced on the glass table next to the sofa. Swirls of sunburst yellow coiled, before being swallowed by tequila scented black-and-violet. I grinned, sprawling amongst the cushions in the Rose Room, which throbbed to the wild party that was being thrown in honor of my new status as Empress.

  Even if it was actually the stage for my coup.

  This time, Istafil hadn’t been in charge of my outfit. Instead, Jahael had issued a new Knight of the Seraphim uniform, which had been polished and brushed until I gleamed in golden perfection.

  Yeah, not missing the irony.

  Godmaker rested heavy in my lap: a queen’s coronation scepter. Godmaker growled, nudging crossly at Jahael’s elegant feet, which also rested on my knees. Jahael lounged next to me on the sofa, wriggling his toes expectantly as if for a foot rub.

  When I raised my eyebrow, Jahael grumbled.

  Whap — Jahael swiped Purah across the back of the head.

  Purah startled out of his position in prostrate. When Jahael waggled his foot, Purah dutifully began to massage Jahael’s feet, whilst Jahael sighed his contentment.

  Acolytes ranked the edges of the Rose Room, kneeling on the tiled floor. A white cloud of knights hovered in guard mode between the columns. Quinn stood on military alert behind the sofa; his damaged wing was folded back, so I couldn’t see the holes but I still knew that they were there. I shifted, squirming with guilt, until Quinn gently rested his hand on my shoulder. Rainbow sparkles tingled down me in a fountain spray; I didn’t need to be able to understand the words to understand his forgiveness.

  The Acolytes and Knights of the Seraphim were a show of power: The Emperor smugly safe, strong, and supreme.

  Let Jahael bastard think that.

  I glanced out onto the dance floor, where my blokes mingled with the Seraphim: Ash never let go of Rebel, just as Mischief held tight to Firebird. The fox brothers prowled around the edges in red flashes. The Guardian clutched Drake and his two clones, slow dancing with them, as he twirled them like lovers. Anael snatched them in his large wings protectively at each spin, even though he had to release them back into the Guardian’s hold.

  Suddenly, Queen’s “Somebody to Love” burst out in its dramatic operatic joy. I gripped Godmaker’s hilt to stop myself jumping up and bouncing onto the dance floor to boogie along.

  I caught Mischief’s eye and tipped my imaginary hat to him; he smirked. He was the Archduke of Satirical Song Choices.

  Seraphim shimmered in and out of the party in their most opulent finery: a statement of status. They hauled werewolves, spotted hyenas, and velociraptors on ruby studded leashes. The sharp faced Glory owner of Shepherd slapped the sky-blue haired elf to the floor, before tying him to a column like a dog outside a bar.

  In a blur of sparking silver, Gabriel tore to the Glory, towering over her. She scowled at him, spreading her wings in automatic shocked defense.

  “One would almost think,” Gabriel’s voice echoed across the Rose Room in full Overseer fury, “that you intended to insult the Firstborn with your vulgar display. But that wouldn’t be wise, would it?”

  The Glory blanched, shaking her head.

  Jahael chuckled. “Well, isn’t that a kick in the ass surprise? You’re a good influence on my Firstborn, Violet-darling; you’ve filled his belly with fire.” He swung his feet around, narrowly missing booting Purah in the nose, before he leaned forward in his seat in sudden regal style. When the music cut off, Gabriel’s shoulders tensed. Shepherd whimpered, cowering lower. “What’s with the scaredy-cat impressions?” He smirked at the frozen Seraphim, who stared back with wide eyes or sipped nervously at their drinks: their god about to pass judgment. Then he glared at the shivering Glory. “Kneel before your Emperor.”

  The Glory’s lips thinned, but she dropped to her knees…next to Shepherd, who raised his head, meeting her eye for the first time now that they were level. I didn’t miss the dangerous spark in his scrutiny.

  “Allow me this, father,” Gabriel pleaded.

  Jahael nodded graciously: favor wrapped in future control. “Daring deserves reward.”

  Jahael waved his hand, and Shepherd’s leash flared. Shepherd howled, clutching at the flaming collar. Gabriel growled, dropping to the floor next to Shepherd and holding him, whilst he wailed.

  Godmaker leapt in my hands, wailing in turn.

  “What the hell have you done…?” I snapped.

  “Returned Gabriel’s dearest.” Jahael’s expression was unexpectedly troubled. “And undid Istafil’s monstrous cruelty. I’ve allowed myself to be blind to my Favored One for too long.”

  The collar and leash melted in a crimson puddle. The elf transformed into a sylphlike Seraphim with untamed hair and dancing eyes, who stared down at his hands in shock, then touched his face, before flapping his graceful wings with a cry of broken delight.

  Gabriel pulled Shepherd into his arms, shuddering with suppressed sobs. “By His holy face, I’m sorry, sorry, so sorry—”

  Shepherd thwacked Gabriel across the back with his wing. “Don’t apologize. Ever again.”

  Gabriel beamed. “Yes, sir.”

  I couldn’t help also grinning to see Gabriel’s best mate returned to him: someone who understood his need for orders, but loved Gabriel enough to only order him as much as he needed.

  Who wouldn’t force him to apologize before punishment…as Istafil did.

  “I believe you sanctioned such monstrous cruelty for your brattish sons.” At first, there was nothing but a blazing shadow, but then Istafil flamed fully into the room in front of the Emperor, so close that her lips almost grazed his. Istafil had decked herself out in party attire: ruby jewels and ribbons mummified her, although in her outrage, the winding ends stood up Medusa-like and ready to strike. “Do you imagine that it was easy to train them for you, when they’re such defiant—”

  Crack — Jahael backhanded Istafil hard enough to knock her to the floor.

  At last, she knew how that felt.

  The Seraphim watched with calculating expressions. After all, this was Istafil’s Court of Whispers: The Emperor’s disrespect could destroy her.

  I smirked. It’d only have been better if he’d made her beg.

  Istafil’s eyes gleamed, as she reached up to her reddened cheek, before touching her split lip; she stared at her bloody finger in shock.

  The Imperial Favorite had been made to bleed.

  The Seraphim burst out in excited, gossipy chatter.

  Istafil’s brow furrowed; her ribbons snapped around her in agitation, before she snarled, “You think that you don’t need me, but you rule only because I allow it.”

  Silence.

  Hell, even I drew in my breath.

  Jahael pulled his robe around himself with a dramatic swish, before shaking his head as if disappointed at a child. “How can a toy allow anything?” Istafil flinched. “You were once my Favored One.” Istafil scrambled to her knees in shock, but before she could speak, Jahael grabbed her chin. “Now…you’re just a toy who couldn’t even produce an heir.”

  A tear trickled down Istafil’s cheek. “My dear one, please…”

  At last, the bitch was begging.

  Jahael tutted. “Wha
t are you doing out of the Forbidden Court, Mongrel Beloved?” Istafil blushed at the Seraphim’s titters. “You’d better hightail it to where you belong, toy, before I spank your sweet cakes right here: we need some fabulous entertainment.”

  Istafil shot me a venomous look. “I shan’t forget, dear heart, what you’ve stolen. And you’ll suffer for it.”

  Istafil’s wings and hair flamed in a furious blaze, before she vanished.

  Jahael sighed, before waving around at the room. “Hey, come on, this is a party! My daughter is working her extravaganza as my Empress and my son… Well, you’ve all seen that he’s now shaking his thing as my Firstborn.” I caught Jahael’s proud tone, and so did Gabriel; Gabriel flushed, finally letting go of Shepherd, although they still held hands. “This is the end of the old worlds and the beginning of the New Age of the Seraphim.”

  This was it…bastard now or never.

  I raised my hand from Godmaker, who jiggled restlessly on my lap, whilst wisps of flame licked from the crescent head, and picked up the violet-and-black cocktail from the table. I wet my lips at the scent of tequila. “Hell of a toast.”

  When I passed Jahael the cocktail, however, he sniffed it, suspiciously. I stiffened, as he examined me over the lime encrusted rim. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Amitiel sweeping across the dance floor towards us.

  Jahael smiled, although it was crooked, as he grabbed Purah’s curls, yanking him to his feet. Then he shoved the glass to Purah’s mouth, tipping it up. “My Official Taster gets the first sip of heaven; a hunted Emperor like me can never be too careful.”

  I bounced my leg up and down, whilst I forced a smile, even though my fangs itched to descend. When Purah spluttered, wiping a dribble of cocktail off his chin, I leaned forward. Purah simply folded back to his knees, however, when Jahael dropped him.

  Jahael laughed, sprawling onto the sofa. “To the New Age of the Seraphim!”

  His throat bobbed, as he downed the cocktail in one go.

  I bastard had him.

  A dark grin — vengeance and justice entwined — spread across my face. Godmaker rose in the air between us.

  Jahael recoiled. “W-what did you…? I don’t feel…” He glared at the glass. “Traitor…”

  Smash — the glass rolled out of his motionless hand, smashing on the floor.

  Jahael collapsed, paralyzed from the neck down; his eyes were wide and terrified.

  And that’s how you poison, bitch.

  I remembered the sensation of being paralyzed by the scorpion in the bone cave because Jahael had sent me on the Test by Monster: the panic and fear of being trapped inside my own body. I hoped that Jahael was now experiencing it too.

  Gabriel always had a long game, and building up Purah’s resistance to this poison had been the work of decades.

  I thrilled on a high of adrenaline and betrayal: let the revolution begin…

  Click, click, click.

  Amitiel surged towards me on her metallic heels; her onyx dress slithered behind her. “Do you even know what you’ve done, perfect project? The Emperor is the balance, control, and love—”

  “Stick it, potion master.” The Godmaker arced in front of me, curling doodling patterns like he was imagining cleaving through flesh. “It’s not my fault that your drinky poos are an acquired taste.”

  Amitiel’s dress whipped out in furious tendrils; Godmaker slashed at them, holding them back, until Gabriel dived at Amitiel from behind, wrestling her to the floor. Now it was her turn to be straddled and helpless.

  “My, my,” Amitiel panted, “if you’d wished for another taste, Gabriel — one that’d you’d fully remember — then you’d need only have asked.”

  Gabriel’s expression became grim, as he reached out his hand to me. When I passed him a cocktail, Amitiel finally began to thrash but she couldn’t squirm free.

  Gabriel pressed the glass to her lips. “Drink, please.”

  I shivered: how many times had I heard that in the Citadel?

  I caught Purah’s eye and realized that he was reliving the Head Poisoner’s attempts to break him, just as I was.

  Purah crouched next to Amitiel and kissed her hair, just like she’d held him close in the Citadel, whilst she’d forced him to suffer; she shuddered. “Why fight anymore, when you can be happy?” He mocked, nudging the glass against her lips.

  Her hands fisted, but she reluctantly swallowed the drink. Then her head lolled back, and she was lost in a drugged haze.

  Purah scrutinized her in fascination. “What’s it do?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing worse than she did to us.”

  Purah allowed himself to be swept into Gabriel’s arms, as Gabriel twisted to the silently watching Seraphim. “Shame.”

  “If anyone’s intending to aid my father, they should consider one thing.” Gabriel flared out his wings in crackling majesty. The Seraphim backed away from him: even snuggling a slave Acolyte, Gabriel exuded an Alpha persona that would normally make Mischief roll his eyes. Now Mischief was poised with his own magic spinning. “I am your Emperor now. Questions?” When the Guardian raised his hand, Gabriel broke into a wide, feral grin. “Oh, it is a true delight that you’re the one to challenge me, Guardian. Don’t worry, Commander Drake I believe shall answer you.”

  The Seraphim shifted away from the Guardian, whilst Drake and his clones draped themselves closer.

  The Guardian blinked. “But I haven’t even…”

  The three Drakes gripped their hands around the Guardian’s neck and twisted, cracking his spine with a snap.

  Screams, wails, whimpers.

  The spoiled Seraphim shimmered out of the Rose Room in a fluttering panic.

  Drake sighed, dropping the Guardian’s limp body. Then he pulled his clones closer in comfort, sweeping a kiss over both their cheeks, before pulling them back into himself.

  I glanced down at Jahael, whose steady stare unnerved me: even paralyzed, stripped of his imperial title, and abandoned by his own cowardly people, he was divine.

  Godmaker whizzed above Jahael, flaming a curl of letters above his head: KILL?

  The storming silver and shadows inside hissed death, just as sharply in answer.

  It’d be an execution in answer to Jahael’s crimes: untold centuries of them. Yet the unsettled ache in my heart screamed that Jahael was my creator: love, love, love…

  I shoved it down because how much of that was even real?

  I edged closer to Jahael, whilst Godmaker trembled at his throat. Jahael’s eyes were glassy with tears.

  Yet were even they real?

  “My Violet-darling,” Jahael murmured, “I chose you above everyone.”

  I bit my lip. “I know. And I chose everyone above myself.”

  The ax swung but hesitated at the skin of Jahael’s neck, still not slicing down.

  I wasn’t an executioner, and this couldn’t be a bloody coup. If we killed Jahael, then it set a dangerous precedent; next time, it could be Gabriel’s head under the ax.

  Jahael let out his breath, when Godmaker pulled back. “You shady dicks think that my strength lies in the Seraphim? BOOM! You’re going to be gagging, bitches! Quinn, kick their asses.”

  Quinn stalked around the sofa. His emerald eyes glowed with a savagery that shook me. He ran his fingers over his scimitar, before black flashed from his fingers like a thundercloud: Jahael was getting a bastard of a scolding.

  Jahael stared at Quinn like he was seeing him for the first time, and had suddenly been reduced to a naughty kid before his daddy. Quinn raised his arm with a fiendish grin, and the fae fluttered down in an attacking bloodsucking wave: Jahael screamed, as they alighted on him like he was wearing a glittering new robe.

  Then the fae bit.

  At last, Quinn shot out a burgundy arc, and the knights rose back up into the air. They remained hovering about Jahael’s head, however, warningly.

  I grinned. “That was some arse kicking.”

  Jahael’s robe was ripped and blood
ied, whilst his breathing was ragged. He refused to look at me as he stubbornly persisted, “Acolytes, defend your Emperor. Worship me by killing these traitors.”

  The rank of Acolytes behind the sofa finally rose to their feet from their position in prostrate, glancing at Purah for courage. But they didn’t attack. Instead, they circled, predatory: our army. Their wings sparked.

  There were no chants of holy, holy, holy now.

  What was Jahael without anyone to worship, serve, or love him? Did he need that simply to survive?

  At last, Jahael let out a wail. Next to me, Gabriel shifted uncomfortably. I knew the devastation of betraying a dad. Mischief marched forward, resting his hand on Gabriel’s right shoulder, whilst Anael prowled forward to rest his hand on his left one.

  Jahael looked between them in shock. “Gabriel…sweet bastard Archduke…Anael, my cute prince…help me.” In the silence, when not a single one of us moved, Jahael closed his eyes, whilst he shivered. When he opened his eyes again, however, his gaze had become cold and hard. “You nest of scheming vipers.”

  “Turn down the Shakespearean drama.” I met his frosty glare. “This is a game, and you lost.”

  “I take it back; I might’ve created you, girl, but you’re nothing but your father’s daughter: a corrupter with a dark spark.”

  I winced, but looked the Seraphim up and down who would’ve toppled worlds, as he slumped on the sofa with drool slipping out of one side of his mouth, which he couldn’t even wipe away. “Your problem, bro? You underestimate people. Gabriel, my fam, and your legendary knights and Acolytes didn’t need me to lead them to rise up against you because they were by my side all along.”

  “All hail the conspirators, traitors, and rebels,” Jahael snarled. “You have my fabulous self at your mercy. I’ve feared such a moment all my life and now it’s here…I don’t feel anything but wretched that it’s you, my children.”

  Gabriel tore at his lip with his teeth, whilst Mischief tightened his grip on him. “No one’s assassinating you.”