You chose to show him the truth. Is it the loyal little punk’s fault he has the cute as pie balls to act on it?
Loyal isn’t a shank in the back. I didn’t expect a literal acting out of Blood Princess.
What you expect and what you need, Violet-pod, aren’t the same thing.
My toes curled, as I panted.
Ash’s roar, followed by Rebel’s gasp, and Haman’s whine.
I edged onto my elbow, fighting against the blinding fireworks bursting across my vision.
Ash clutched Rebel, wrenching back his head to expose his neck.
Crunch — Ash’s extended fangs sank into Rebel’s throat.
Rebel didn’t fight. Like a martyr, he hung in Ash’s arms, gnawing his lip swollen against the pain.
Slam.
A glorious burst of copper sweetness; it sang in spiralling harmonies.
Haman leapt onto Ash’s shoulders, beating him with his small fists, as tears streamed down his cheeks. ‘Leave my brother alone…’ His breath hitched. ‘Stop hurting him…’
Instantly, Ash retracted his fangs, shoving Rebel to the floor, before carefully crouching to swing Haman down next to him. ‘Sorry, young one.’
Slam.
A syrupy wave dragged me under; my shoulder blades fizzed.
Haman wrapped his arms and wings around Rebel, licking at the puncture wounds on his neck. ‘Don’t leave me alone again…’
Rebel stroked a quivering hand down his brother’s cheek. ‘Get on with you, I swear nothing will part us again: we’re brothers.’ He raised his middle finger at Ash. ‘And you’re a muppet. Stop wasting Feather’s blood; it’s how we’ll fly out of here.’
I jolted.
No matter how many times Rebel risked his life for me, or how I controlled and Marked him, when the blade had struck, I’d still reckoned the worst: I didn’t trust him.
Blood Princess: my blood was how we’d escape Angel World. And save it.
Ash blinked, flying on his own taste of Rebel’s blood.
Slam.
I tingled.
Would Ash be addicted to Rebel now…like I was?
Ash snatched a bowl and bandages from a cabinet that stank of the same wood smoke herbs as Dillon had pasted across my skin: Battle’s Training kit. He sank to his knees next to me, stroking my hair to one side, before scraping the edge of the bowl through the blood. When he gripped Star’s hilt and pulled out the blade, blood gushed up volcano-like.
I shuddered.
He plugged the lava explosion with the bowl, before pulling back and pressing on a bandage. Then he started to thread a needle.
Stitches: bastard perfect.
I eyed the needle. ‘Know how to do that, nurse Fang?’
‘Soldier. For centuries. Not just a pretty face.’
Rebel shuffled closer.
Haman clasped his arms around his brother’s waist, his expression fierce. He might be the younger brother, but he was too used to playing the protective alpha with the Broken.
‘I ballsed that up,’ Rebel glanced at me from underneath his eyelashes. Delicious scarlet still dribbled down his neck. ‘Are you vexed?’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘How about a little warning next time, shanky?’
He fiddled with the skull on the chain of his trousers. ‘I thought it’d hurt less. I forgot about the…’ He waved at Ash. ‘And that only I knew about the blood because of the…’ He gestured at his neck.
And the Mark.
Ash froze, the needle stilling. Then he pounced.
Rebel stumbled backwards, but Ash grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, pushing back his hair and gently tracing our feathered initials.
‘You Marked him?’ Ash’s voice vibrated with a fury that made me quail. ‘Wasn’t I clear on how much being owned sucks?’
‘Not now,’ Rebel caught Ash’s hand between his.
‘About the grrr…’ Ash flushed as he flashed his fangs.
Rebel’s gaze softened. ‘We can blether — and I’ll boot your arse — later. The princess’ blood is brutal powerful. I’ll take it to Broken Hollow with my brother, whilst you patch up Feathers.’ He smiled. ‘And sweet Christ, you’ll see a wonder when you join us.’
‘Always playing Doctor Who’s Time Lord,’ Ash muttered.
When Haman collected the bowl, I wrinkled my nose against the rich scent of my own blood.
‘See? I bleed for my blokes,’ I smirked.
A litany of groans and snorted laughter.
‘What? Too soon?’ I pillowed my head on my arms.
This morning I’d been a princess, but now I’d melted my status’ respect Hackney acid-style; I’d never been so pleased to see the fearful faces and stuttered apologies dissolve.
‘Watch yourself with the Fallen,’ Rebel warned, taking the bowl from Haman. ‘Don’t you dare abandon me, princess. We’re flying from here together.’
He ducked out of Battle’s chambers, his hand entwined with his brother’s.
A sharp prick on my wounded back, and I yipped. Ash pressed in the needle, before threading it neatly out again.
‘You all right there, sacrificial lamb?’ He pulled the needle, and I tensed, as the lips of the gash puckered together.
‘Yeah, crapping rainbows.’
‘Added to my List of Things I Need to See Before I Die.’
‘You know, for a bloke who told me when we first met that you don’t fight, you fight a hell of a lot.’
‘I don’t fight,’ he avoided my eye, ‘I fight for you.’
‘Rebel calls you the Brigadier. Why would the Fangs bench you?’
His hand hesitated; the needle hovered over my skin. ‘Punishment, Violet.’ His voice was flat. ‘To be a Seducer is worse than dying. It’s like…being Marked.’
He tied off the thread and bandaged his work in a determined silence.
A Seducer was like being Marked? Worse than dying? Punishment?
Had I made Rebel suffer, the same as Ash?
I wormed further down into the feathers, unable to look at Ash, until my scattered thoughts calmed.
Rust brown stick angels scrawled on the wall: I trailed my finger over the ochre. The pictures were more detailed than the ones we’d discovered in the Mage’s chambers behind the shelves, with axes and bows. They must be from a later time period.
But then my finger stopped its tracing: humans without wings running from the angels.
My head spun. I clawed at the picture, tearing out my nails against the jade.
Angels had once been hunters on earth, no different to the vampires today.
Predators.
When had the angels cut themselves off from the human world? Or had they been trapped away from the humans in Angel World because they’d hunted?
I stumbled, still shaking from shock, down the corridor.
Flight hummed, cold against my tender back; Star rested against my hip, washed clean of my own blood.
Flames flickered across the walls, and screams echoed from the higher chambers. Shadows flittered: grey and violet.
Ash’s arm tightened around my waist. When my foot caught on an obsidian rock, he stopped me from falling.
Then an angel, fragile and bloodied, crept towards us down the corridor, gripping onto the wall for support.
Drake.
His honey curls were crusted scarlet, and he hunched over a chest that was banded so purple it appeared almost as black as the obsidian at my feet.
Guilt nibbled at my arse: Drake had taken his licks to save me.
And with the guilt?
A wave of soaring joy that my Genie of the Lamp was still alive; I didn’t have time to freak out about those screwed up happy-tingles because Ash was prowling to Drake and thrusting him against the wall by the throat.
Drake whined, as his back arched in agony.
‘Allow it,’ I snapped, swaying to his side and resting against the wall. ‘Drake’s…’ My gaoler? Guard? A spy? Mine? ‘He’s fam.’
Drake
blinked at me through swollen eyes.
Ash growled, letting him go with a shove. ‘The only reason you’re alive, Commander, is because you saved us in The Pit.’
‘Princess,’ Drake furled his wings around himself, ‘help me.’
I frowned. ‘I get it. My mum’ll hang you by your balls for fighting her. So, you want to run from the psycho bitch?’
Ash nudged me. ‘He’s a snake, remember?’
I shook my head at Drake, although the powers inside churned. ‘Sorry, bro.’
He clutched my arm, his gaze pleading. His despair pulled at me in spectre waves. ‘I ask not for myself. But—’
‘Truth.’
His face fell, and he let out a sob, before battling to compose himself; he straightened his shoulders, forcing on a blank mask. ‘Are we not done yet? Another game of Truth or Dare even now?’ His desperate words tore at me. His wings curled even tighter around his bruised middle, as he whispered, ‘Have I not yet passed your test?’
My eyes widened.
Hell, was that how he imagined our game? Why he’d risked his dad’s wrath at my ceremony? Because he reckoned it the same dark amusement, no different to my Warrior Trials?
My way to measure his worth?
And his own.
After hearing the Mage’s public disrespect for his son — and declaration of just how unworthy he considered him to be — no wonder Drake had been, quite literally, risking his wings.
I brushed my fingers over Drake’s hand, before easing his death grip off my arm. ‘We’re done, bro. You’ve passed. Full score and bonus points.’
He slumped. ‘Thank you, princess,’ he murmured, before turning to me again. ‘Now help me with my secret. The prisoner I visited whilst you did likewise with your vampire whore.’ I pushed Ash behind me, as he snarled. ‘This distraction is the best chance I shall have to save him. I know you’re escaping. Do not protest because I’d do the same, and your wits are almost as bright as my own. I ask only that you take him with you.’
‘Screwed up as it is, I do trust you. But this prisoner, how many bodies did he bury under the mountain to be stuck in the dark so long? I’m not up for unleashing a killer.’
‘Be calm, Barakiel was not shut away for such crimes but because he’s Tainted.’
Like Gwyn and Dillon.
I nodded. ‘Crack on, we’ve a gaol break’s arse to kick.’
He slung his arm around my shoulders. ‘As long as family may lean on family.’
Ash huffed but allowed Drake to lead me into the rank freeze of his gaol.
We tottered past the bowed backs of the other prisoners; their wings flamed in the murk. Our breaths mingled, as we wound towards the lowest cells: and our mystery prisoner.
At last, Drake stopped, pressing on a raised section of wall.
Scrape — the rock slid back to reveal Ash’s folded clothes: his eighteenth century red army coat with silver buttons gleamed on top of his black jeans and shirt.
His boots had been buffed to army standard next to them.
I had to shake the image of Drake shining the boots because the clear care in which it’d been done contrasted so sharply with the bruises he’d slapped over Ash.
‘Be clothed,’ Drake waved a delicate wrist. ‘You are necessary to the princess, and so I find I must suffer your company. I should prefer to suffer it dressed.’
Ash wriggled into his jeans. ‘You know you can’t get enough of this arse, sexy.’
Drake pinked, pulling away from me. ‘This is the vampire you would choose over…?’ He caught himself, spinning on his heel and slamming his hand against the bars behind him.
The bars melted under the power of Drake’s magic mojo. He hunkered down inside next to the emaciated…beautiful…prisoner, who was curled asleep, with his wings bound by straps: Barakiel.
Drake stroked a strand of Barakiel’s hair behind his ear. ‘Wake, at long last the nightmare will be over.’
Barakiel startled, before clutching Drake with a sigh.
His large eyes opened: they were the lightest violet I’d yet seen, as if being in the dark so long had faded them. ‘Please, you risk too much seeing me again, cherub.’
‘Cherub?’ Ash sniggered.
Barakiel’s glare lasered onto Ash: famine starved, the bitch was still dangerous. ‘I remember you, the one who jokes to hide his pain.’
Ash gaped, before tucking his gun, which had been hidden underneath his clothes, into the holster around his waist. ‘Shooting angels eases it too.’
Drake lifted Barakiel into his arms bridal style: one pulverised groom, and one skeletal bride.
How little did Barakiel weigh that even thrashed Drake could carry him?
‘Hush now, these are your rescuers.’ Drake admonished. ‘They’re escaping, and so are you.’
Barakiel struggled. ‘Nay, you must not put yourself in such reckless danger. How could I survive if you were caught?’
‘And how can I live with your suffering?’
Barakiel caressed Drake’s cheek with his thin finger. ‘You’re so much better than you believe. If one of us needs rescuing, it’s always been you, cherub.’
The air shimmered with the unspoken: my head throbbed too much with the danger to untangle it.
Drake looked away. His mask had shattered, and his vulnerability shook me. ‘For a long time, it’s been easier to believe I am nothing. For when you’re treated as such, pride is what will break you.’
He carefully stood with Barakiel, stepping out of the cell.
Footsteps… The whirl of violet… Hoots and howls…
We backed up, staring out into the black.
Flaming violet, as hundreds of wings flocked ghostly down the cells towards us.
I drew Flight, and she moaned in battle-mode.
‘Put me back,’ Barakiel begged, pawing at Drake’s chest. ‘Don’t let them see.’
‘Don’t let me see what, Tainted?’ Nathanael’s sneer broke through the gloom. ‘Your treachery? The Legion have experience with the persuasion of bad royalty. There are ways of altering minds, as well as punishing the body.’
I tilted up my chin, meeting Nathanael’s eye, even as I shrank inside: altering my mind? No way were they day tripping inside my head.
Had Rebel made it to Broken Hollow?
Nathanael and his Legion gang stalked closer with their Assassin Knives hovering in the air, cutting us off and trapping us in the dark.
27
Every choice has a risk. A danger. I once lived only to save my own arse but now I had fam.
And something bigger.
Yeah, even than my bootylicious arse.
When Nathanael prowled all dark elf in the caverns, spinning his blade like a Doberman between us in the gloom of the gaol, I was pissed because the Legion had trapped us.
But I didn’t regret helping Drake or the trembling angel clasped in his arms.
My breath mist-ghosted. I jiggled my sweaty grip on Flight’s hilt. Behind me, Ash drew his shooter.
Nathanael grinned, kid in the sweetshop gleeful. ‘Worthless traitor,’ he eyed Drake. ‘Your father cannot protect you from the Matriarch over this. I shall personally volunteer to punish you back to perfection.’ The shank shot to Drake’s throat, forcing his head up with a yelp. ‘This time, I shall gut you of your foulness.’
‘Cowards, you’re not worthy to touch a single feather on his wings,’ Barakiel panted.
Nathanael bent down as he mocked, ‘Have I made you weep again, spoilt Tainted? Save your tears, you shall need them for our next session.’
I tensed. ‘You’ll know all about weeping, brat. When the Commander had you by the ear, you snivelled apologies like you’d pissed your pants.’
Sniggers.
Nathanael hissed, glancing round at his audience of Legion members with narrowed eyes.
Silence.
Nothing but the shuffling of bare feet on rock.
Then I noticed something with a jolt: Barakiel’s eyes gl
eamed but not with tears. The pupils sparkled kaleidoscopic; the faded irises flickered.
A sweet zing scented the air, like just before a storm…
‘Behind me,’ Drake gasped.
Whatever X-men freakery was about to kick ass, Drake knew the score: Barakiel wasn’t the defenceless kitten he seemed.
I hauled Ash behind me, gripping Drake by the hips. Ash curled his wings around me, as a lightning bolt flashed jagged through the gaol.
Eerie violet, it blinded me.
Crack.
I jumped at the thunderclap, which was deafening as a shot to the head.
The spectre of the lightning endlessly repeated in front of my eyes, whilst the deep roll of the thunder echoed.
And when I could see again…?
Nathanael — and the entire Legion gang — were sprawled in scorched piles. The heads were blistered with crimson feathered patterns; their wings were blackened at the tips. Their blades lay as lifeless as their masters: silver flashes amongst the dead.
The burnt stench, like autumn bonfires, hung in a fog.
Just like I’d killed the vampires in the battle.
I let go of Drake, pulling away from Ash, and staggered back.
Barakiel hung unmoving in Drake’s arms. His unnerving eyes were closed.
I wet my lips. ‘He still with us in the land of the living?’
‘He needs time to rest. Rescuing us,’ Drake glanced at me significantly, ‘took more energy than he has long been allowed.’
‘Did he fry the other prisoners too?’
‘Bite your tongue. Barakiel would never harm an innocent. And the Wings the Matriarch locks up are not guilty by any measure of righteousness.’
‘Sticking with this brand of righteousness: why did we have to shield behind yours?’
Drake glanced between Ash and me. ‘Extraordinary. Even now, important, special, and powerful as you are, you still believe yourself to be counted amongst the innocent?’
I booted the wall.
Why the hell did it matter what Drake thought of me?
Vampire Princess (Rebel Angels Book 2) Page 22