He clucked his tongue. ‘The Matriarch has the choice of the prettiest Broken. You’ll be allowed second pick, I imagine. Don’t worry, I’ll train them thoroughly for you, if they’ve taken your interest.’
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
I smashed the heel of my palm into Nathanael’s nose, until he spluttered scarlet.
When Nathanael grinned, his teeth were stained with blood, as if he’d just savaged my throat. His Assassin Knife hovered like an attack dog over my kidneys.
I stilled.
‘Do you not wish to learn, Bastard of the Fallen, how the Lowest Order of angels are controlled?’ My gaze flickered to the twins who gaped at me with terrified eyes, like I was the monster. ‘It’s their fifth birthday. If you interrupt their Initiation further?’ Nathanael flicked the shank with a blink of his eyes, slashing my dress. ‘I’ll assign them rejects.’
Mini Rebel clasped the twins to his shoulders. ‘Please, I’ll do whatever—’
‘If that happens?’ Blink. Nathaniel lazily slashed my dress again, carving a N into the back: marking me. ‘They’ll be terminated. Because they’ll have missed the proper date for the Ritual.’
I stumbled backwards.
By rescuing these kids, I’d have murdered them.
‘Are all Legion bastards psychos, or do you get the dirty jobs because you’re twisted?’ I hurled Nathanael; he crashed further into the cave.
Shaking with indignation, he drew himself up. ‘This is an honour. I don’t have to be forced to do my duty: I’m not Commander Drake. Only children don’t see the great vision.’
‘Are you brainwashed? You have a dick yourself; how can you be such a dick to other Wings?’
‘I wonder whether you reckon yourself saviour to every Glory merely because you have no dick?’ Nathanael beckoned at Mini Rebel, who reluctantly ushered the twins deeper into the stinking cave. The kids’ wails suddenly rose in petrified crescendo. ‘I’m not a Wing, a Broken, or an Imperfect. I’m a Brother of the Phoenix. And we will rise.’
He swept into the dark.
I hesitated in the cave’s entrance. But when had I been a bastard coward?
Step by painful step, I forced myself into the sweet stench. Towards the babbling begging.
My boots cracked and popped over delicate wing bones.
Whish – thud.
A shrill scream: it chilled me.
White ghost-faces, crimson pooled, a violet wing lying cut in a basket…and a child-sized guillotine.
I hurled, bracing myself against the wall and desecrating the kid’s wing bones.
The graves of what had been stolen from them. Stolen from Gwyn. Because this had been done to him when he’d been a quaking five-year old.
Yet if I stopped this, I killed the kids.
How could I save the Wings, if I couldn’t even save myself?
I hugged my arms around my knees, pressing myself into the tight space between the stalactites and the plum crystals at the back of my room.
Numb, I rested my chin on my knees and rocked.
Whish — thud.
I shook my head, whilst the phantom sound echoed again, gagging as the corrupted sweetness clung to my dress. I scratched at the silk, dragging my dress over my head and hurling the damp ball at the opposite wall, before huddling back down bare-arsed. I refused to peek round at Rebel, who was laid out on the nest.
I was no damsel but when I’d run coward from the Initiation, I’d carried Rebel damsel-like in my arms.
I wouldn’t have been able to lift him before, but now he was so light.
Starved.
Gwyn’s look of hurt betrayal when, Sleeping Beauty in reverse, I’d rested Rebel’s still body on the feathers, had shanked me.
Gwyn had betrayed his mate because he’d trusted that I wouldn’t hurt him.
If you trust a monster, expect to be mauled.
When I shivered, a shaggy sheepskin rug was draped around my shoulders. I glanced up.
Gwyn knelt in front of me. ‘Are you hiding, princess?’
I avoided his eye, nodding.
‘What are you hiding from, wuss?’
I frowned. ‘He hasn’t said a bastard word. And I know he’s awake.’
‘Zachriel’s scared.’
I licked my lips, barely able to force out the words, ‘Of me?’
‘That you hate him. Won’t ever trust him. That he’s…less than you.’
I picked at the strands of wool, tearing them apart. I wasn’t made up of sugar and spice but how had I made Rebel feel that? Had I done the same to Gwyn?
I traced over Gwyn’s stumps, and he arched into the touch. But could he pull away or tell me no?
You ride the white-haired sweetie-pie for months and only now you ask if he had a choice?
Does a toy choose who plays with it?
I didn’t hear you stopping me.
When did you listen?
Some things you have to discover on your own. If you hadn’t witnessed the Ritual, would you be having this diva strop now?
I could’ve stepped on Gwyn’s wing bones in that cave.
What kind of ruler…woman…am I? Because Rebel was only a kid but he stood up against the slave trade.
Normally, I’m the one whipping your ass, but here’s the realness: you were a prisoner and didn’t know the truth.
Except, and here I will beat your ass, becoming a slave owner warps everyone into something ugly.
No more Matriarch’s daughter. No more giving in to the cravings inside. I’ll break the whole bastard system.
‘I’m sorry,’ I brushed my fingertips down Gwyn’s cheek. ‘A Legion brat showed me the Ritual of the Wings. I couldn’t save…’
Gwyn caught my fingers, kissing them. My breath caught: it was the same gesture as Mini Rebel.
Had they been trained by the same Discipliner? Was anything Gywn did real?
‘Look you, the Matriarch rules,’ he murmured, ‘but if you survive the Trials, so will you. Then you can change… You can help us.’
My chest tightened.
If I stayed longer in Angel World, I’d lose myself to the growing angelic bitch. Was that why the angels had Fallen, to rebel from without, rather than within?
Epic fail.
But could I lead a better rebellion?
‘The Matriarch’s not hanging up her crown and pissing off to play chess at a retirement home. And the Mage gets a stiffie every time he sniffs the throne.’ I pulled my hand away from Gwyn. ‘How soon do you reckon I can change anything if I stay here?’
He twisted his fingers in his lap. ‘You’re leaving.’ Sad and flat.
‘Why? Do you even want me, Gwyn?’
He met my stare defiantly, even though he trembled. ‘I’m not allowed to want anything.’
‘Stick the Broken bollocks. I’m asking.’
‘This is the first time I’ve felt whole since I lost my wings. Safe since… I’ve never felt safe.’ His huffed laugh hid his sob. ‘You’ve ruined me. Once you’re gone? I don’t know how I’ll return to…’
I hadn’t saved my sister or the kids of Hackney, Eah, or the twins’ wings.
I was bastard saving Gwyn.
I shoved the sheepskin rug off my shoulders, encircling Gwyn instead. ‘How could I dream of leaving without you? Who’d feed the chocolate monster?’
He quivered, grinning. ‘And Dill…?’
I bit my tongue, as I forced a smile. ‘Just call me Spartacus, bitch.’
Gwyn whooped, dragging me up. Then he slapped me across the back of the head.
I rubbed the sore spot, glaring at him in shock. ‘Ow, ow, and what the hell?’
He held his hands behind his back, shifting on the spot, but he peeped at me as if testing something.
Trust.
Only a slave owner punished; Spartacus took a joke.
Bitch wanted to play that game?
I dived on Gwyn, pinning him to the ground…and tickled.
He giggled, as I dug into
his ribs, armpits, and hips. He howled, weakly pushing at my shoulders.
When I sat back, he stared up at me. ‘Tidy! You’re a Tickle Champion.’ He squirmed; I doffed my tickle crown. ‘Now go and talk to your cariad. He’s watching us like we’re crazy.’
I sniggered, bottom shuffling towards the nest.
Rebel scowled at me but he couldn’t hold it: his lips quirked. ‘Tickle Champion?’
I flinched at the raw sound of his voice. ‘After what I did to you…? It suits me better than princess.’
Rebel waved his hand in the air. ‘You’re a muppet.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Love is pain. But lay off the Mark, for the sake of all things holy.’
‘No more writhing in agony, I get you.’
He gave a wide smile. ‘Bang on! And no secrets.’
I leaned closer, studying his wan face.
Gwyn must’ve cleaned away the traces of run mascara and tears. The tips of Rebel’s wings, however, were still blackened.
I nodded. ‘So, why the stealthy trip to the caverns?’
‘I was searching for someone.’ My grip tightened on his arm, and he yelped, shaking me off. ‘Not a lover, you dope.’ His gaze dropped, his voice shaking with sudden distress, ‘My brother.’
‘I know about your Fang brother, Wings. You’ve already paid for that secret.’
‘Don’t be narked, but I have a second brother who was too young to Fall. Back then, I ballsed things up, and in the chaos, he was taken by the Legion away from Angel World. As a Son of the Fallen, he’ll be suffering for all our sins.’
Rebel peeked at me, as if I wouldn’t understand. After what I’d witnessed in the waterfall cavern…?
I wished I didn’t.
Flame-red hair, pale white skin, yet two perfect wings. In sackcloth and with bruises purpling his cheekbones…
Mini Rebel: his brother.
And I hadn’t saved him, just like I hadn’t the twins.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I asked.
‘When? After you ordered me to my knees? Tattooed the Mark on my neck? Made a holy show of me at the ceremony to enrage the Mage…’ I stared at him; he looked away. He stroked through the nest’s feathers. ‘It’s my fault my brother was taken. That makes it my responsibility to get him back. Now he’s older he may have been brought along on the Legion’s visit, and I’m free to find him.’
‘I reckon I saw your bro. The bloke was a pocket-sized you. He was the bitch of that brat Nathanael. Haman?’
Rebel jerked. Then he nodded.
I touched Jade’s necklace in the pouch at my neck, before linking Rebel’s pinkie with mine. ‘We’re fam, pretty boy. So, your bro? He’s fam too. You’re not alone in this. We’ll get him back together.’
Rebel smiled, his swan-like neck tilted back. ‘There’s the huntress I trained!’
‘And there’s the Custodian who got his arse beat by me.’
‘If Haman is Nathanael’s servant, he’ll keep him in his chambers.’ Gwyn bounced on his toes. ‘Here’s the problem, see, they’re next to the Mage’s.’
Rebel bit his lip.
Not the puppy dog eyes…
‘That’s not just walking into the lions’ den, that’s sticking our heads into the lions’ mouths and yelling grubs up.’ I winced. Not the power pout too… ‘We can’t just nick him from the Legion. Even if we did, you’d become my Poly-Wings.’
‘Dry up, I have to see him,’ Rebel abandoned the puppy dog eyes and pout for simple truth. ‘What would you do if this was your sister?’
Bastard.
For Jade? I’d risk the Mage, punishment, and death.
I’d promised Haman was fam too.
Trust: I couldn’t break Rebel’s now. Even if that meant sneaking into the Mage’s chambers and stealing from his magical cult.
21
On the streets of Hackney, I’d never dreamed of angelic harems.
Instead, I’d been lost in the world of my avatars, designing new computer games. Queen of the Geeks, not Princess of Angels.
Yet now I hunted for my first Poly-Wing. And in an epicness of wrong, it consisted of Rebel and his brother because no way in hell was I leaving Haman with the Legion brat who cut off kids’ wings.
I edged into Nathanael’s golden chambers. They were smaller than the Mage’s but otherwise identical: chocolate leather couch, openings that flooded sunlight across the oriental rugs, and real books with gilt spines.
I ran by hand over the closest wall, however, which had been pinned with the flaking barks of hazel and birch: striped wallpaper with leprosy.
Nobody home.
Rebel huffed at my side, storming past, as if he was still swirling in red-and-black leather, rather than ash silk.
‘Go stealthy,’ I muttered.
‘Away with you, princess, you’ll make me blush.’ Rebel prowled around the room, touching, sniffing, searching…
I crawled behind the sofa, hunkering in front of the books. When I rubbed my hand along the shelves, I noticed something scrawled in charcoal behind them on the wall.
Angels without wings…
‘What’s with these stick drawings? Have they been keeping Broken kids here?’
And just how much didn’t I want to know the answer?
Rebel crawled in behind me, leaning over my shoulder to see. ‘Cave paintings from yonks ago. And these…?’ He tapped the charcoaled pictures. ‘Aren’t angels, they’re humans. We drew the animals we saw, like you drew pigs or bulls.’
‘Did you just call me a pig?’
He opened his mouth and then shut it again. ‘But you’re not after being human, which means I’m calling you the most blessed light in my darkness, princess.’
‘Well dodged. So, these were drawn by the first Addicts?’
He pouted. ‘Princess, you’re a pig.’
I whacked his arm, but he stiffened, pointing to a pile of clothes that was pushed at the base of the sofa: emerald shirts and a pair of sackcloth trousers.
Footsteps.
When Rebel crouched to pounce, I dragged him back. I clutched my arms around his shoulders; his tremors shook through me, as we hid.
Three sets of bare feet padded past the sofa’s edge.
‘Brandy,’ the Mage’s voice, almost gentle.
Alcohol? The bastards were as much Addicts as Rebel.
Hypocrites.
‘Yes, Mage Drake.’ At Haman’s soft voice, Rebel struggled, and I slammed my hand over his mouth.
Except, with the Mage’s powers, hiding here was like a kid closing their eyes and hoping the monster wouldn’t see them because they couldn’t see the monster.
If he wanted to, the Mage could discover us.
I froze, before forcing myself inwards to the skills I’d been honing over the long weeks captive with only Drake and Gwyn, one feather a day dropped in the cupboard. I threw up mental walls to hide myself from the monster in the room, before thrusting them outwards into both bond and Mark to mask Rebel, binding him.
Our gazes met, as Rebel cocooned me in his sweet wings, whilst I cocooned our minds.
Please, don’t let the walls break…
‘Why’s Haman bare?’ The Mage asked with a cold hardness.
A hesitation, before a disdainful, ‘The boy pissed himself. He’s such a child still.’
‘Is this true?’ The Mage asked.
Haman whimpered. ‘S-s-sorry.’
‘Hush. The matter is not that it happened but why. What did you do to him, Nathanael?’
‘Me?’ Shrill and indignant. ‘All I did was take him to the Initiation.’
‘Is he a Brother of the Phoenix? Trained in the Legion?’ The Mage’s calmness was more terrifying than his fury. ‘Do you think I shall risk our missions to allow you to carry out petty humiliations?’
‘Haman is nothing but a worthless Son of the Fallen. When we rise, his sort will be the first to be burnt to ashes, along with every Fallen. We shall wipe them from earth to t
he last corrupted creature.’
Genocide?
Not war, but the wiping out of the vampires and their children.
Smack.
Rebel flinched, closing his eyes against Haman’s yelp.
‘Gentle with the sweet boy.’ The Mage slurped his brandy.
‘Why do you take that…impure thing…on your lap?’ Nathanael sneered. Jealous: the prick had daddy issues. ‘Petting him like he’s the Matriarch’s Merlin?’
The Mage chuckled. ‘Would you like that, Haman? To be my little bird?’
‘I-if you wish, Mage Drake.’
Nathanael snorted. ‘Just resurrect another angel if you want a slave to—’
‘You’ll regret the punishment if you complete that sentence.’ The Mage slammed his fist down — bang. ‘This impure thing may be a Son of the Fallen, but I reward talent. And believe me, he shows more potential than you ever have.’
Nathanael hissed, flouncing away to the flaking wall.
The room was melting. Fuzzy at the edges, only Rebel’s wings held me up. If my mind broke now, Haman would witness his brother being killed in front of him, just like Rebel had seen his own dad executed.
And I wasn’t bastard having that.
This time, it was Rebel thrusting his hand over my mouth, as I juddered, shoring up the crumbling walls.
But it was too late because they were tumbling down, and violet tendrils were snaking in-between the cracks. I thrashed side-to-side, but they crept through the bond and into Rebel as well.
He grasped me closer, but we were lost.
Except, the tendrils weren’t ripping us apart, exposing us, they were rebuilding the wall.
Shielding us.
Rebel and I blinked at each other in confusion.
A waft of frankincense.
‘Father, please may I speak with you?’ Drake, but more subdued than I’d ever heard him.
I wrapped the tendrils in white candyfloss, stroking until they shuddered.
Drake was in our minds.
‘Did we not chastise you thoroughly enough? You should not be walking so soon,’ Nathanael laughed. ‘Go and lie down. Stop bothering—’
‘Duma is both a Commander and my son,’ the Mage snapped. ‘He’s taken his punishment. He knows his own worth. Do not seek to take my place, or you’re the one who’ll not be walking.’
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