His fear of punishment itched at my mind.
I shuffled off the bed, swiping my arm to absorb the spill with my jacket.
He smiled shyly. ‘I broke one of the rules. Da would call it a loss of control. Or sometimes just a tantrum.’
‘How about this rule?’ I shoved Rebel back against the drawers. ‘You shouldn’t have rules.’
He didn’t try to escape but his expression was troubled. ‘That’s still a rule. And you’re wrong.’
‘And you’re all healed up. So, does that mean angel kisses work? Or want to tell me about the miracle juice, Zach?’
‘Don’t be after calling me that.’ He pushed me back, but his arms strained with the effort. So, not all healed up after all. ‘It’s not my name. Not now.’
‘I hear you. But what’s with the chores when you should be resting? And how do anarchists rock grounded?’
Rebel pulled a face. ‘I took the risk for you.’ My cheeks pinked. ‘And I’m here to protect you.’ Suddenly he grinned, grabbing my hand and pressing it to his back. I jumped at the feel of his left wing lifting and then settling. ‘We angels heal fast.’
We angels? No one had said it out loud before. Somehow it made it too real.
He must’ve read the doubt on my face because he rocked on his heels. ‘Before, you just hadn’t grown into your powers yet. I know you haven’t wings and…you’re not the same as…anyone. But it’ll be brilliant. You have no idea. The problem is both sides—’
‘Allow it.’
A migraine throbbed behind my left eye; flashes of purple stars haloed Rebel.
The world faded, unreal and distant. Suddenly everything shrank Alice in Wonderland small.
If I hurled, I’d hit Rebel’s red leather trousers.
Yeah, launder that, Evie.
‘You look awful shattered,’ he leaned closer.
‘What I am, is pissed off,’ I snarled. ‘I’ve discovered I’m a supernatural creature dragged up by humans. And now I’m a prisoner of spell lobbers who’ve threatened to turn me to stone. What I want, is for you to set me free.’
Rebel gently brushed the hair back from my forehead, before feathering a kiss there again. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not.’
Crack — I nutted Rebel. His nose broke with a splatter of scarlet.
In a street fight you have a split second of surprise, so you fight vicious. Even if inside you’re bawling.
So, I kneed him in the bollocks.
When he doubled up with a squeal, I shoved him to the floorboards, stamping on his hands with the heel of my boots.
Snap — snap —snap.
His fingers crunched like winter twigs.
My throat burned with vomit, but I booted the left-hand side of Rebel’s back before he could struggle up again, pummeling his bad wing.
He howled.
Then I legged it, out into the wide oak galley that overhung the hallway with its gilt framed portraits of generations of dark witches in ruffs and starched collars. As I hammered down the twisty staircase, my boots clop clopping an alarm to the Deadmans, the adrenaline rush had me soaring.
Utopia’s Bitch was back in control. Nobody’s toy. This was the tip of the shank sinking into flesh.
The moment of god-like power.
If I was part angel — and the fever, tingles, and rages were my growing pains — then I’d unleash my powers.
I wouldn’t be tamed by witches.
When Evie blocked the front door, I was too high to hear her words, or even hesitate.
I elbowed her aside and reached for the doorknob…
Then I screamed.
Blinding electric crimson and gold sparks. Guy Fawkes Night in my head, and I was the Guy, writhing in agony on the bonfire.
I juddered, falling back, as the current coursed through me in punishing waves. The scent of my own singed hair curled up my nostrils.
Rebel caught me.
‘I warned you,’ Evie’s sulky smirk, ‘Rebel’s grounded. The spell works to keep all angels out. And in.’
An invisible electric fence to trap us like animals…?
Or criminals.
Rebel had called himself bad. But why were these witches his gaolers? And what could a pretty boy like Rebel have done to need a witches’ prison?
No way was I doing time because some punk had fallen onto my lap.
I twisted to escape the cool band of Rebel’s arms. Instead he turned me, and I found myself staring into his sad gaze.
Anger, disappointment, hate…they were old friends. I could’ve coped with them. But not the wounded hurt in Rebel’s gaze.
Slap — I wiped off that look.
I raised my hand again, but this time he snatched my wrist to stop the blow.
Now there was a glare I recognised: cold, serious, and determined.
‘I’m telling Uncle Richard,’ Evie pouted, ‘that your precious here tried to escape—’
Rebel curled his arm tighter around me, ‘I’ll deal with her.’
I’d busted the bastard’s nose, fingers, and balls…
Deal with? I’d heard that before. It always meant screwed.
‘Angel mine, what will you do for me if I keep yet more of your secrets?’ Evie flitted around Rebel like a scarlet butterfly, kissing his shoulders and the tip of his broken nose. As she lisped secrets, she licked at a dribble of Rebel’s blood, and I struggled not to rip out her tongue for tasting what was mine.
Maybe Rebel’s blood was addictive?
He dropped his gaze. ‘Anything that pleases you, Evie. I’m yours.’
The world lurched, as I was tipped over Rebel’s good shoulder in a fireman’s lift.
My migraine shrieked to an inferno. I snatched at my glasses to stop them from falling as I dangled upside down. Each step up the staircase jolted me; I hung, staring at Rebel’s tight arse.
He didn’t say a word as he carried me into my wolf stone bedroom. Nor as he dumped me amidst the rose pillows. Instead, he studiously undid my handcuffs, before dragging my hands above my head, rechaining me.
I figured protesting was taking the piss, especially as my slap had shadowed to a bruise along his cheekbone.
I fidgeted.
Guilt? It was for losers who looked back, rather than living in each danger-tainted moment. And if you did that, you missed the acid spraying at your face.
Yet why did an ice-cold ball chill my gut when Rebel drew the wolf fur throw one-handed over me because his right hand was swollen with shattered fingers?
There wasn’t room for guilt; fear melted it.
I was chained, alone, with a killer angel.
When Rebel lay next to me on the bed, tucking the throw over himself with gentle strokes of the soft strands, as if the wolf was still alive, his studs nipping into my side like pinprick reminders of my stupidity, I shrank away.
Not this, hell, please, not this…
But this was what happened if you disrespected anyone on the Estate. Pain and sex. Despite everything, we were still enemies.
Yet all I heard in the dark was Rebel’s quiet distress, ‘We had a deal. I help with your sister, and you don’t try to escape. I’m a muppet for trusting you.’
It shanked — his simple, honest words — sharper than any rant.
How had I become the untrustworthy one in this world of child-like angel crims and skank witch gaolers?
When Rebel didn’t touch me but only turned over, gasping with pain when his reinjured wing jostled, that ball of ice in my gut grew.
After everything, he was guarding me.
Rebel wasn’t the man I’d expected.
Yet here was the screwed truth: I wasn’t the woman I’d reckoned either.
I’d become the worst monster in this witches’ house because I’d hurt an angel.
J had warned I’d die in the House of Rose, Wolf, and Fox. Now I feared that by trapping us together, the witches had condemned us all to die.
And I’d be the killer.
/> 6
The Death by Chocolate mix dripped from the spoon, only for Rebel to catch it with his long tongue. His moan should’ve been rated Suitable for Adults, as his eyelids fluttered like he was taking a hit.
Evie trilled with laughter. She dabbed a rich splodge on his (perfect once again) nose, before licking it off.
A punk angel and dark witch baking and flirting in the kitchen?
If Rebel hadn’t beamed with such relaxed happiness, like the simplicity of slipping the baking tin into the yellow Bertrazzoni Range fed a need — or calmed a demon — I’d have figured him under a spell.
Lucky bastard.
Except this twisted, homely morning after the storm, with me handcuffed on a charcoal swivel stool at the central island, Rebel doing his baker of the year impression, and Evie prancing around like it was Christmas day already and Rebel was her pressie, only reminded me of one thing: Jade was still missing.
My family was broken.
I clutched at my throat, stroking my sister’s crystal necklace.
I promise you, Jade, I’ll find you. And when I do, I’ll hunt down any bastard who made you suffer.
I saw myself atop a mountain of feathers, above a sea of bones and for the first time, I didn’t fear the vision I’d been hiding since I’d turned twenty-one, I opened my arms to it.
I embraced the new creature inside me, or maybe it was the true me, if only I hadn’t been raised human. Maybe I’d fought, and shanked, and kicked against the world because I didn’t belong. And if in turn I’d been rejected, abandoned, and shunned because the human world sensed it too.
But now I could open my mind and let out the darkness.
Revenge was purifying. Righteous. It would be my christening.
Evie chucked a wicker angel effigy at my head, and it bounced to the oak floor. ‘Trance-girl, at least help me weave these. They’re for your protection.’
I shook myself. ‘You see slave tattooed on me, bitch?’
Evie rested her hand on her hip. Sunlight pierced the high arch window, flaming the edges of her hair to bronze. ‘Behind those glasses, I do believe you’re blind.’ I shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’ve lived in a shadow of grief all my life, but you, my lovely, are the shadow.’
Then she snatched Rebel’s hand and twirled around, spilling the flour in a ghost cascade.
The kitchen was cocooned in the warm scent of baking. A deceptive safety that I ached to sink into. Until I caught sight of the panel behind the Bertrazzoni.
A painting of a red rose entrapped a howling black wolf and snarling golden fox.
I bet those poor bastards had been deceived by the addictive offer of family by these spell casters too.
Rebel smiled, grasping my hands in his flour mitts to pull me up, but stopped when I sneered, ‘Anyone would reckon your daddy had given you to Evie.’
Rebel blinked. ‘He did.’
Why did that not surprise me?
Evie yanked Rebel towards her, pushing him into the ceramic mixing bowls with a clink. Swiping her forefinger through the chocolate, she fed the mix to Rebel, who sucked on each offering, as she teased him, in and out.
Disgusted (and I didn’t know whether with them or myself), I turned away.
Evie’s iPhone: sleek, scarlet, and slipped out of her pocket to the oak floor in the dance.
I struggled to keep my breathing even, whilst I peeked at the finger fellating couple.
Nope, still at it.
I edged the iPhone forwards with my foot and then ducked down to snatch it, hiding it in my jean’s pocket. I could work wonders with a mobile. But I had to be alone.
I peered over at Rebel. ‘Get a room, yeah?’
Evie wrapped her arm around his neck. ‘What a perfectly splendid idea.’
I didn’t miss Rebel’s wince, his raised eyebrow at me, or that now familiar flash of hurt in his kohl-smudged eyes.
Scarlet, silk, and more gadgets than a teenage boy: Evie’s bedroom, overflowing with glitter, selfies stuck to heart mirrors, and trophies.
A Queen Bee’s bedroom.
I sank down into the embrace of a fluffy beanbag, as Evie thrust Rebel, with a lick of her lips, onto the satin sheets of her bed.
Naked.
The wallads were both naked, of course.
Hell, Rebel was beautiful.
I didn’t mean to watch, but Evie had insisted they were babysitting, so here I was. The most irregular baby meets the most irregular babysitters.
Rebels wings were outstretched, hanging over the lip of the bed. They pulsed, as Evie straddled his lower back, gently running her fingers up and down from shoulder blade to tip, until he was arching off the bed and…
‘Turning around now.’ I bottom shuffled on the beanbag, facing away from the…couple.
My brain — heart — rebelled at the thought. At Evie’s hands on Rebel’s wings. At the sound of Rebel’s purr and Evie’s groans.
A hot possessiveness snaked around me in tight coils. It craved to whip Evie bloody.
Evie’s laughter chased me. ‘Suit yourself, prude.’
I bristled but then slumped.
Wet snogging smacks, flesh slapping on flesh, and grunting squeals. Rose oil hung thick and cloying.
I slipped the iPhone out of my pocket; the couple had forgotten all about their babysitting duties.
When I pressed on the iPhone, it sprang to life without a password locking it down; so much for protection.
Then again, who’d dare steal from a witch?
Looks like the Bitch of Utopia.
I swiped to send a message to Gizem because the girl had always had my back. All through our time together at Jerusalem Children’s Home, and then afterwards when she’d studied hard, swinging the swanky job at Spirit and Fire Gaming Company and vouching for me.
But then I hesitated.
This wasn’t school bullies beating me up because I didn’t have designer trainers.
This was angels and witches.
And I was one of them.
Could I drag Gizem and her sis into this world?
A slap and bad angels are punished hissed from the bed behind me, jolted me to action.
I tapped Safari, searching for Toben’s murder.
It was still a shock to see a photo from my college yearbook of my pallid face without glasses — one violet and one black eye staring out like the psycho villain in a Bond movie — up as the suspect.
‘Do not approach,’ screamed the text underneath.
The way I looked? I wouldn’t have approached me.
Yet as I scanned the report, flicking from page to page, face after face of disappeared teenagers the same as Jade, stared back at me.
Boys and girls. All young, beautiful, and from Hackney.
I hugged the iPhone, as if I could hug those kids.
Why hadn’t there been more press coverage of their disappearances before or was it only getting the media circus now because of the murder? After all, when a kid goes missing in middle class suburbia, it’s headline news. But when a bunch of kids disappear from an estate in Hackney, it’s shunted to the back pages.
Before, I’d have guessed a grooming ring. But now I knew the supernatural existed…?
I read through the info more slowly. Nothing but names and dates of birth. Yet for a hacker, that’s a gift.
I lost myself in the Internet, crosschecking sites to tease out the truth of those missing kids.
And then I found it. The link.
My stomach lurched.
Jerusalem Children’s Home.
Our children’s home.
The disappeared kids were the cared for: orphans and the vulnerable. And they were being targeted.
Just like Jade.
‘Fascinating, your precious new toy is a thief.’
Crack — I startled, dropping the iPhone to the floorboards. The screen smashed.
Evie snatched me by the arm, hauling me up. She and Rebel both wore matching red silk dressing gowns, with gold t
hreaded initials RWF over the pockets like they were newly-weds.
Rebel’s gaze was cool. ‘She’ll only be after avoiding our shenanigans.’
‘You shan’t blarney your way out of it. Not this time.’ Evie gripped my elbow, dragging me out into the galley, before forcing me in front of a high oak door. ‘We shall take a trip to Uncle Richard, and you shall confess her wicked behaviour.’
I craned to see Rebel, but he trailed behind, his hands stuck deep in his dressing gown pockets.
Bang — bang — bang.
Evie’s sharp rap on the oak door echoed to the timbered roof.
‘Come in.’
Had I travelled back in time to a Victorian boarding school?
Evie smirked, before twisting the door knob. She gave a simpering wave as she pushed both Rebel and me inside. She didn’t dare enter herself; she disappeared back into the gloom of the galley.
Bitch.
Da examined us from behind an oak desk that was carved with a wolf head at one end and a fox head at the other; its feet were paws. Then he carefully closed the leather-bound book he’d been reading, before making a mocking gesture for us to stand in front of the desk.
There was a spot marked by a luxuriously soft fox tip sheepskin rug
I’d never shrivelled inside with nerves like this before. I rubbed my boot backwards and forwards through the mottled red of the sheepskin.
Behind Da, an arched window looked out on a golden garden, which had been stripped bare by winter. I glimpsed a fountain and a maze, as well as the ragged line of woodland. It was easier to study the garden than Da’s stern face.
Da leaned back in his chocolate leather chair, steepling his fingers. ‘Do you wish to expand on the reasons for your unscheduled visit to my study?’
Rebel’s bare toes squirmed into the rug. ‘It’s nothing, so it is.’
‘Do I allow you to lie to me?’ Sharp as a fox’s bared fangs.
Just for a moment, I reckoned Rebel wouldn’t grass. Then his toes curled deeper into the fleece. ‘Violet stole Evie’s phone.’
And my trust burst to flames.
Karma’s a bitch.
Vampire Huntress Page 6