Snap — he clicked his fingers, and like lolling tongues, the leather straps around my ankles became loose.
I fell from the top of the cave, landing in a tumble of bruised limbs.
Dazed, I shoved down my dress. ‘Bastard.’
The Mage’s chambers had been transformed into something more human than anything I’d seen in Angel World: real books, with gold spines and paper pages, lined the walls on birch shelves, with matching coffee table and fruit bowls with apples.
I eyed the apples longingly.
The Mage strolled to a chocolate leather sofa, which was pushed against the gilt wall, and a circular opening out over the welsh valley far below.
Mist hung over the gulley and the dense woodland.
I crawled to my sunglasses, ramming them back on with a sigh.
Let Drake Senior stare, the real me was not a bitch he wanted to unleash. And I wasn’t ready to be called any more of a freak.
‘You’re not, you know.’ The Mage threw himself back on the sofa in a melodramatic lounge, stroking down his chest.
‘A brat? An epic fail? Your bitch? Narrow it down, spell caster, because I’m a lot of nots.’
He grinned. ‘A freak.’
How the hell did he know that?
I froze. ‘Trespasses in my mind will have their heads cut off. Your son’s already had that warning.’
‘My son has barely a shadow of my power, even with the harshest of motivation.’ The Mage’s stinging voice coiled telepathic into my mind. ‘A child grows up with a good father who knows when to punish and when to reward. But what does a father do when that son disappoints? If he can, he creates more sons who will fly true. My Legion are my true sons.’
‘Throwing away your real son to Doctor Frankenstein a new bunch isn’t Father of the Year Award worthy,’ I shot back with my mind, before I’d even realised I’d done it.
The Mage smiled smugly. ‘Sympathy is wasted on the unworthy. A hard lesson, but those in power must learn it. And it was merely a test. Extraordinary for you to have telepathy already.’
‘That’s because I’m kickass,’ I snarled, diving at him.
I straddled him, clouting him across the mouth. His lip split, his blood smearing across my knuckles.
He gaped, suddenly looking almost as young as Drake in his shock. Then his wings banded around me, twisting me over the arm of the couch.
A moment later, the feathers were gone.
The Mage sauntered over to the shelves of books, running his fingers down the spines, absentmindedly. But I was stuck — paralysed — bent over the arm of the sofa, arse up.
Yeah, this wasn’t humiliating at all.
‘Allow it!’ I fought against the invisible force holding me motionless. ‘Stop the bad mutant routine or I’ll get medieval on your arse.’
The Mage casually pulled out a book, before sprawling back on the sofa. He tapped the cover. ‘Some of my boys are human mages and all they read and watch are mutants, superheroes, and gods. The reason they adore me?’ He stroked my hair, tucking it behind my ear. ‘My powers are much more awe-inspiring than their fictional idols’, and I teach them to become mutants too. Aren’t you intrigued?’
He traced his nail over his cut lip, before scoring it down my cheek.
Psyching out the most powerful Angel in the Legion? I was going there.
Even though I knew not to mouth off without my shank.
‘What makes you the Legion’s top boy? So, you have some party tricks. But look at this room. You’re as much an Addict as the bastards you trap in the dark.’
‘The difference, little princess, is an Addict is enslaved to the human world, whereas the human world is enslaved to me.’
‘I’ve seen the real you as well, and when you were a kid, you were the loser of Angel World: the geek who got dashed. I’m right, yeah? Why aren’t you a Wing, kneeling at some Glory’s feet?’
His slim fingers tightened around the book’s spine; the book cracked, splitting up the leather cover. Carefully, he placed the mangled book next to him on the sofa, dragging his hand through his curls. ‘You mean, how have I rescued myself — and my boys within the Legion — from such a fate?’
I nodded, wincing at the rescued.
Did Big Bads either rescue, or need rescuing?
The Mage tapped his forehead with a sudden grin. ‘Magic.’ He cocked his head, considering me. ‘You understand the frustration and rage of growing up considered beneath others. And so eloquently shame me for it.’ I dropped my gaze. ‘I should show you the true meaning of shame…’ My eyes widened, and I held my breath, as he reached for me. But then he hesitated, pulling back. ‘My apologies, little princess, you’re not mine to teach.’
‘Magic’s why my mum let’s you run around like you’re free and not her lap dog?’
He stiffened. ‘I have more freedom than others because I have mental powers beyond anyone. Even Queen Miniel. They grant me power over every prideful angel.’
‘And that’s why my mum has your son to shag.’
I tensed, waiting for the explosion, pain…something.
Find a bloke’s weakness and shank it sharp.
Instead, the Mage chuckled. He chucked the split book flying into the sunlight: the paper leafs broke apart, fluttering away on the wind like feathers. ‘And who do you think gave Drake to her?’
‘You’re sick, bro.’
The Mage stretched out on the sofa, until his face was almost touching mine. ‘It was a trade. My son was valuable and well-trained. His mother dead in the birthing. What else should I do with him? His brain doesn’t work like others.’ He licked over the cut on his lips. ‘If I were not his father, he would’ve been counted amongst the Broken. He’s lucky I showed him such kindness. Your mother’s reward, however, made it worth it, and your mother does not seem displeased with the goods. I hear you’ve sampled. Is he satisfactory?’
I spat at the Mage.
A foamy globule dripped down his nose, hanging off in a stream of spittle.
He gawked at me.
Taken by surprise twice in one day? I was going for the record with this bastard.
‘You’re a child,’ he wiped his sleeve over his nose, ‘blundering around in a world and war, balanced on a cliff edge, whilst you are in ignorance. Let me guide you.’
‘I don’t need a pimp angel holding my hand.’
He wrenched up my head by the hair. ‘Forget Drake. My new sons are the Legion, special boys around even the human world who fight against vampires and witches both. That is where the future lies.’ Then he whispered, burning with fanatical fervour, ‘I resurrect dead angels.’
‘You lost me on the zombie angels, bitch.’
He twisted my hair, and I yelped. ‘Nonsense. I’ve seen your true self, remember? It’s an honour I extend. Never before have I offered for a Glory,’ he bit out the word with dripping contempt, ‘to join our ranks. The Matriarch sees you as nothing but a weapon. But you’re our saviour. The link between all the worlds, and I wish your loyalty.’
‘I’m out of the gang lifestyle now. And I wouldn’t ever make you my top boy.’
He let go, springing up, before stalking to the archway out of the chambers. ‘I told you learning is about punishment and reward.’ I startled at the words, like honeyed music in my mind. ‘Let’s start with the reward. What do you desire?’
Ash: trapped in the birdhouse prison. Could the Mage free him?
The Mage said he had human mages. Could they search for my sister and the disappeared kids of Hackney?
Yet if you made deals with the devil, then you paid for them in hell.
‘How about your wings on a silver platter?’
He gave a deep laugh: now he’d surprised me. ‘Punishment it is then.’ He clicked his fingers, as if at a dog. ‘Drake, here.’
What had I done?
Drake shuffled into the room, holding his hands behind his back.
When Drake had been hunting us, he’d appeared with las
h marks and broken fingers, after he’d failed to bring us back to Angel World. Had they been from my mum or his dad?
Drake cast one assessing glance at me, before ducking his head again. The Mage snatched his curls dragging him to the centre of the Persian rug.
Drake stumbled, falling to his knees.
‘The Matriarch brought to my attention that my son,’ the Mage spat the word, as if it was distasteful, and Drake furled his wings around himself, ‘has grown fond of you.’
I couldn’t help the snigger. ‘Try again. The Ice Commander hates my sassy arse.’
Drake turned away his head, but not before I’d seen how his cheeks had reddened.
I was a bitch.
The Mage laughed. ‘He was always a fool. I allow no disobedience, however, and even though you feel nothing for him…’ Drake’s chest heaved, as he curled up like a kicked puppy. ‘Take this as a lesson.’
He pressed his hands to Drake’s temples, and Drake gasped, writhing. The Mage held him down, pushing him onto his back, tearing apart his mind.
And he didn’t stop.
I hollered and cursed.
But still, he didn’t stop.
Drake’s struggling reduced to drumming his bare heels in painful jerks.
Finally, the Mage lifted his hands from his son’s temples. He wiped away the tears from Drake’s cheeks. ‘You will join us in the Legion, little princess, publicly.’ He turned to me, and I was no longer paralysed. I sagged over the sofa arm. He kissed Drake’s forehead, before abandoning him still tremoring on the rug. He paused in the archway, his back to me. ‘Tomorrow, the Matriarch is holding a ceremony to celebrate flying with her daughter once again and the preparation for the Warrior Trials. You’ll speak and support the Legion. If not…?’ He glanced back over his shoulder at me, his gaze piercing. ‘My son’s punishment will be as child’s play to yours.’
As soon as the Mage prowled out of the chamber, I dropped at Drake’s side, running my fingers through his sweat drenched curls.
Drake didn’t even notice me, too lost in his agony. But then his gaze focused. ‘Calm yourself, I am well enough. Why do you weep over a clown who must’ve brought you such amusement?’
I flinched. ‘You being hurt will never amuse me.’
‘It did,’ even quieter this time, ‘it amused you excellently to hurt me.’
Karma’s a bitch.
‘I blame temporary insanity because you’d fibbed about my sister.’ His gaze slid away from mine. ‘But if I’d had the — motivation — you’d had to trick me? I’d have also lied my arse off. Now that’s as much Miss NicePants you’re getting, even if I’m fond of you too.’
Drake’s eyes lit up, before he smothered it behind a cool mask. ‘We shall never speak of this again.’
‘Not a problem.’
I supported him, as he shakily struggled up.
‘My father doesn’t play games like your mother. I propose you do as he says at the celebration. The whole of Angel World shall be there. If you don’t obey him, then not only shall you suffer greater than I…?’ He tugged his trousers up his hips, as they slipped down. ‘My father would rather a dead princess, than a rebel one.’
Drake caught my hand in his, squeezing my fingers.
Tomorrow, before the whole of Angel World, I’d have to declare either for or against the fanatic Legion and powerful Mage.
The Mage’s gang, with its own ideas of perfection and ruling, was as terrifying as the Matriarch’s. Could I inflict that on the Broken, Imperfect, the kids…? And what the hell would my mum do if I upstaged her by siding with the Wings, over the Glories?
Tomorrow, at my own celebration, I risked punishment and death.
18
Angel kisses couldn’t save your life by healing wounds. Although Rebel had once tricked me they had powers. But when Rebel kissed my ankle as he coiled a lilac ribbon around my calf for the ceremony, I discovered angel kisses could heal friendships.
Save love.
The crystals in my chambers hummed, pulsing amethyst in the evening’s dark. Naked, I posed in the centre like some bitch of an empress, waiting for my slave to dress me for the orgy.
Rebel had insisted Gwyn had been training him all day on his duties.
Yeah, duties to get me bare-arsed.
I looked away, whilst Rebel knelt, binding the silk around me.
I never bastard wanted Rebel to kneel for me again.
He looked up, his smile shy and questioning; my breath caught.
He’d been prettified for my ceremony as well, like the painted whore I’d Marked him. His eyes had been lined with more kohl than normal, and his lashes were butterfly black with mascara. Delicate silver chains looped from his wing tips in arches and clipped to his nipples with bells.
I’d tried to take off the nipple clamps, but he’d shied away with a shamed tinkling because the Matriarch had picked out his costume. Just like she had mine.
I dragged him up to stand next to me. To hell with his duties, the Matriarch’s rules, being a princess.
And to hell with Angel World.
I’d hurt the only angel I loved. Who’d protected and risked his life for me. And if Rebel wanted us to escape, then we would.
When he ghosted his fingers over my shoulder blades, it was electric: a zinging down my spine like he was caressing a touched nerve. A pleasure so extreme, it was tinged with pain, as if my wings were just below the surface, quivering.
He was barely touching me, and I was squirming.
My chest tightened. I’d worked Rebel’s and Drake’s wings, roughed them up Hackney style. When I’d sulked, refusing to forgive them, they’d had a hundred feathery reasons not to forgive me.
I jerked back from Rebel, and he hurriedly pulled away from my shoulder blades.
‘I was bricking it when the Mage did a flit with you. And now you’re here, alive…in the nip.’ Rebel nuzzled my neck, before scrutinizing me, serious again. ‘But what you’ve told me about the ceremony, and the Matriarch’s instructions…?’ He whacked the bells hanging from his chest and then hissed, hunching over at the pain. ‘Stuck in the dark as I was, it made me blind. But I see it now. Everything you do and say will fly Angel World into the light or back into the Matriarch’s shadow.’
‘Not helping with anxiety levels.’ I traced his lips, as he sucked lightly on my finger.
Then he grabbed my feather dress from the ledge. He shook out it out: a prehistoric birdwoman’s wedding dress.
I shuddered. Who had the feathers once belonged to? Enemies? Traitors? Just like the thrones?
Tonight, I’d be wearing the dead.
I didn’t miss Rebel’s shudder either.
‘I asked you to escape; I was wrong.’ I started at Rebel’s low admission, his face hidden by the dress, as he slipped it over my head. The feathers scratched and itched in all the wrong places. If Rebel hadn’t been forced into kinky bondage, I’d have died by the cringe factor of my dress alone. At least I didn’t jingle each time I moved. ‘The Broken, the Children of the Fallen, Addicts, Tainted, the child soldiers, all the Imperfect… I’m a muppet for hiding from the truth. You’re a princess, but you don’t have to be the Matriarch’s princess. This is your chance to show them the woman I know.’
‘You didn’t see the power of the freaky spell caster. If I don’t go out there and speak to the cause, he’ll gank me. And you’ll go back into the Lowest Levels.’
He smoothed down the shoulder of my dress. His gaze ached with sudden sadness. ‘Sometimes, princess, you have to sacrifice more than you could ever imagine.’
I gripped his hand, stilling it.
I craved to take away the melancholy, which had settled like fog even through the bond.
What had happened to Rebel? What had he sacrificed?
‘Everybody will be watching me. So, let’s give them something to see. They reckon my bloke’s a Marked Imperfect? They dress you like this?’ A blush spread up Rebel’s chest to his neck. I tilted his chi
n to look at me. Warily, he met my gaze. ‘My bloke’s good. He’s mine. And I’m proud to have him at my feet, by my side, or at my back. Tonight...? You’re on my arm. My partner, not my bed slave.’
He bounced on his toes, breaking into a wide grin. ‘Blessed Mary, that’s lighting a bomb. I’m honoured, so I am, to be the fuse!’
I laughed, stroking the chains along his wing tips with the lightest of touches, as he had my shoulder blades.
This bitch would never forget how sensitive an angel’s wings were again.
Rebel arched, before he growled a purr, deep in his throat. ‘Princess, are your after taking me off your List of Asses to Kick now?’
I smirked. ‘Don’t push it.’
I tugged on the chain, and Rebel purred again, pushing up onto his toes.
Harahel had lost Anpiel: his partner. Equal. And I’d abandoned him to Battle on a principle.
I couldn’t do it again, either to Rebel or the other angels.
Tonight, I’d play the part of princess. But at my ceremony, I’d reveal the princess I truly was.
I’d defy the Mage who’d wanted me obedient or dead.
If the glares of a thousand angels could strike you dead, I’d have been flamed to ash the moment I’d stepped arm in arm with Rebel onto the ledges, which spiralled the night-time mountain.
When I twerked to the haunting music that thrummed from wings, which rubbed like crickets, mixed with the martial beat of drummed feet from the choir of Imperfect…?
I’d need to have been resurrected, just to be ganked all over again.
In true Sid Vicious form, Rebel leapt up and down, punk rocker style. Even if he winced from the tug on his chest chains.
Who said I couldn’t do classy?
My tribal dress dug into my hips, as I twirled, sweeping its train behind me.
Fires flickered like fairy lights, wound around the mountain face, and feather lanterns floated in the branches of the trees. I breathed in the night air, heady on the danger and the freedom.
Vampire Princess (Rebel Angels Book 2) Page 15