Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  I glanced at a silver birch, whose trunk was slashed with diamond wounds, before stashing my shopping at its base. I straightened, eying the path back towards Rebel and edged out Star from my waist. Finally, I swaggered towards the sharp spired chapel. It rose up: bleak and Gothic.

  As the shadow of the Victorian stone chapel swallowed me, for a moment I couldn’t see.

  Then I was spun, and a hard body pressed against mine: tall and powerful. A mouth murmured hot against my cheek, “What’s with the dagger, babe? This is a Christmas day parlay.”

  Parlay? The Geek Fang could’ve been one of my gamer mates.

  I elbowed Geek Fang in the guts. When his grip loosened, I reversed our holds, slamming him back until he was pinned against the dilapidated chapel. Slates tumbled from the roof at the impact, shattering across our shoulders, and we both yelped in unison.

  Geek Fang laughed, but I scowled.

  I raised Star to his throat.

  The army of vampires…skittering on the roof…trying to burn us alive…

  Geek Fang’s charcoal-gray eyes widened.

  When I stilled, my blade sliced into the delicate olive skin across his neck; crimson beaded and teared down, staining his black shirt.

  The Fang looked like he’d stepped out of the eighteenth-century military, in long red army coat, but it hung open, over casual black jeans and leather boots.

  But then Eden was beautiful too.

  I pressed the knife harder, not understanding why I was hesitating, even as Geek Fang’s aromatic scent wrapped me in warmth, like a clove studded orange.

  Rebel had trained me to know one thing: between hunter and vampire, one of us equaled dead. So, why wasn’t I pushing in the knife? And why wasn’t the Fang struggling to stop me?

  Why wasn’t he fighting back?

  “Call me babe again,” I hissed, “and I’ll decapitate you with a butter knife.”

  Geek Fang sniggered. “Creative and painful. But do you always kill first, kiss later?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “That’s not nice.”

  Geek Fang pushed his hips against mine with a smirk. “Who said I was nice?”

  To my surprise, instead of burning his head from his shoulders, I slapped Geek Fang, and then shoved away from him as quickly as possible, back into the patch of sunlight beyond the chapel’s shadow.

  We stood staring at each other, as I panted…

  Why was this all suddenly…so confusing?

  Geek Fang slouched against the chapel wall like it was a bed. He crossed his arms behind his head, with a small, secret smile, as if he knew what I was thinking.

  It made me want to slap him again.

  “All right, parlay time.” He rolled his shoulders and widened his legs like he was settling down to sleep. “I’m Ash.”

  “And I don’t put a name to Fangs. It’d be like naming the cow you’re about to butcher and eat.”

  Ash’s eyes sparked: silver flashes. Dangerous as a panther. I took one step back. Then Ash blinked, and his eyes were normal again.

  For a vampire.

  Except…Ash was different. The fiend surged under my skin, seeking to touch him and whispering that he was something new. Rebel had admitted that not all vampires were the same, but that didn’t mean they were good. Yet Rebel was a bad angel, and I hadn’t killed him.

  Yet.

  I paced back to the silver birch, before steeling myself. “Hold out your hands.”

  “You know, that’s never a sentence that ends well.”

  I sighed. “I’m not going chop or burn happy.”

  Ash pushed away from the wall, sauntering towards me, although he winced as he stepped into the light. He ran one hand through his sable wave of hair thoughtfully.

  I couldn’t help the swell of desire to tangle my own hand through his mane and smooth it. Not push him to his knees, like I would with Rebel, but simply stroke the wildness.

  For once, I didn’t crave to control. Ash wasn’t an avatar. He was the gamer.

  “Even my nails are clean on this special day.” Ash held out his hands for my inspection.

  I traced the strong palms, turning them over and caressing the long fingers.

  No steel claws.

  “Wolverine up.” I tapped his knuckle.

  “I don’t have that mod.” Ash pulled his hands out of mine and shook them.

  My mouth twisted. “You’re not pure enough?”

  Ash dragged his army coat closer around himself. His eyes were suddenly vulnerable and fragile, as he looked away. “I’m not pure, Violet. I wish that I could be for you.” It took a moment for me to register that he’d used my name. But then he brightened. “I’ve got a shooter. You pull a sword… I go bang, bang.”

  I lifted my eyebrow. “Fight a lot of hunters then?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t fight. Unless someone fights me.”

  There it was again. That sense that Ash wasn’t the same as Eden and his army, and that I’d been fed only secrets and half-truths by Rebel.

  How could I be this relaxed, leaning against a tree, with my shopping at my feet in the snow, chatting to a vampire like he was some bloke from Utopia Estate?

  Yet this was the most…human…conversation that I’d had since the supernatural had fallen into my world.

  I rubbed my hand against the rough bark. “Your lot don’t call me Violet. Get down with the monster insulting already.”

  Ash flinched. Then he pushed against me, gently but insistently, holding me against the birch.

  I could’ve thrown Ash off, but I didn’t want to give up the thud of his heart, the heat of his cheek, and his heavy coat warming me against the winter breeze.

  In the arms of a Geek Fang, I felt…safe.

  He stroked a light touch to the base of my neck and I shuddered; explosions of buzzing nerve endings, for once nothing but pure pleasure, radiated down from my shoulder blades.

  As I quivered, he murmured, “You’re no monster: you’re one of ours. Sexy, smart, and gorgeous—”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I’ve got the point.”

  Ash licked up my neck, over my quick beating artery. My breath faltered. How had I forgotten the fangs? Maybe about the time he’d been calling me sexy? Or maybe Phoenix had been right and I craved death. “And your blood? Just like you, it’s powerful.”

  Ash’s fangs grazed my neck.

  I should’ve been disgusted. Furious. Terrified. Instead, I closed my eyes and flew on the thrill.

  Suddenly, there was a growl, and the reassuring weight of Ash was lifted away from me.

  Bellows and snarls echoed through the heath and up to the gray snow skies. Bereft, I opened my eyes.

  Rebel — in all his righteous wings out glory — towered next to a marble memorial. He’d yanked Ash away from me, tossing him into a patch of bracken.

  Rebel’s glance at me was assessing. Then he unsheathed his sword.

  Ash sprawled in the bracken and beamed. “What’s with the possessive boyfriend act, angel?”

  It was like two gang leaders at school fighting over the same girl: Romeo and Juliet Hackney style.

  Ash’s hand edged towards the gun at his waist.

  Heart pounding, I strode towards Rebel. “Put your dick away, punk boy, this isn’t a pissing competition.”

  Rebel blushed, but he slipped his sword back. Ash rested his hand across his stomach, as if he’d never intended to go for his weapon.

  “What’s with the Don Juan act, Brigadier?” Rebel hauled Ash up by the collar of his coat, backhanding him and splitting his lip.

  Ash hissed, before clouting Rebel in the guts.

  I shook my head as I dived between them. “So much for your I don’t fight routine.”

  I gripped Ash by the arm, but he shook me off.

  “I didn’t lie.” Ash was watching me closely like it mattered to him that I believed him. “I said, unless someone fights me. Including crazy retro angels.”

  Rebel roared, launching himself at Ash, but Ash
laughed as he dodged. Then he slipped off his army coat, and his wings burst out in dove gray majesty.

  What. The. Hell?

  Ash’s wings were larger than Rebel’s and their tips glowed fiery violet. Ash was a vampire. Yet he had the wings of an angel.

  I hadn’t realized that I was staring, until I heard Rebel’s muttered, “Poser.”

  I caught the way Rebel’s own bent wing drooped; he turned away his head. How would it feel to have such a damaged wing?

  When Ash spun his magnificent wings, and Rebel simply stood next to the memorial with his own wings hanging limply, waiting to be hit, enough was enough.

  “Stop it!” I booted the back of Ash’s calf, startling him out of his spin.

  Ash only nodded, folding back his wings and shrugging into his army coat.

  When Ash patted Rebel on the head, Rebel winced. Ash grinned and sauntered back with what sounded like a gasp of relief to the chapel shadows.

  Hell, I was desperate to follow him into the dark.

  When Ash shot me a kiss over his shoulder as he strolled away, the base of my neck throbbed. “Happy Christmas! See you soon, Violet.”

  “She won’t,” Rebel yelled after him, hopping from foot to foot, “be seeing you, that is.” When Ash disappeared into the shadows, Rebel shot off a final ineffectual volley like his honor depended on it, “So…don’t be after coming back.”

  I put my hands on my hips and raised my eyebrow.

  Rebel deflated. “I told you that some vampires were different.”

  The vampiric nature still wreathed me, as I slunk closer to Rebel; he shivered. “What am I?”

  “A hunter?” He smiled tentatively.

  When I grabbed Rebel by the throat, he let me. I threw him onto his back across the monument. His head banged against the thick iron bar that was embedded across it. “What. Am. I?”

  Rebel’s gaze darted anywhere but mine. “Daughter of an angel.”

  “Cheers, Obvious-1000. And?”

  A shake. Gasp. Struggling this time.

  “Daughter of the Fallen. Humans call them vampires.” Rebel bit his lip so hard that he drew blood. “But once they were also angels. Ages ago they rebelled and now they’re forced to live here on earth.”

  Daughter of an angel… Daughter of the Fallen.

  I backed away, shuddering. Rebel’s veiled truths had forged me into a huntress of Fallen Angels.

  I shook. “Why would that Fallen army boy risk…?”

  Rebel grimaced. “The muppet was after seducing you.”

  “That was…seduction?”

  Ash’s touch to my neck bursting pleasure from my shoulder blades… The thrill as his fangs grazed my neck…and the way that he’d made me laugh.

  Yeah, seduction. Even now, I was flushed hot from his touch and missed the intensity of his belief in me…like he knew who I was and wanted me as much as I wanted him.

  “What makes these — Fallen — any better than Eden?” I demanded. “You only had us ganking the Pure.”

  Rebel’s gaze hardened. “Don’t believe I said better, only different. And the Brigadier would carve the wings from my back as foreplay, just so we’re clear.” He flicked the chains on his trousers, struggling to find the words. “The Pure? They slaughter humans. The Fallen? They feed, but they don’t kill.”

  Feed. At last it rose up: a coiling, inky-black. I couldn’t control the awakened vampiric side but I knew one thing: angels were the enemy, and angel blood was the sweetest drink.

  I slammed Rebel back, trapping him against the marble, pushed even higher on the spiral by his shocked growl. Then I kissed the base of Rebel’s neck, as Ash had kissed mine. I relished his moans and knowing, whilst he writhed — my prisoner — the pleasure surging through him, just as the power pulsed through me.

  “Everybody kills,” I whispered.

  Rebel stiffened under me, but it was too late. I bit, right over the base of his neck, shooting sparks to the surface and searing the skin. He howled, whilst his body bucked and fought against mine.

  I held him down, worrying him like a dog.

  I was the gamer, and Rebel was my avatar.

  I’d won my freedom, but now I was reborn: daughter of angel and the Fallen.

  I pressed my teeth in deeper; my lips burned Rebel.

  Finally, he stopped moving.

  When I staggered back, I stared at the body of the silent angel, sorrowful in the snow, and I shook because I didn’t know whether Rebel was alive or dead.

  17

  Rebel lay — dead as a statue — across the top of the marble monument. His violet and gray streaked wings hung limply outstretched. Rusty chains shackled his wrists to the iron bar sunk in the marble. Snowflakes softly landed, before melting on his closed eyelids.

  Sacrificial slaughter Hackney style.

  I leaned over Rebel, stroking his cold cheek.

  A single moment’s loss of control had ghosted the land of bones and feathers echoing through my mind: the crack of wing-bones splintered beneath my feet.

  Death crawled across my skin with burning kisses.

  I didn’t know how long I’d been standing in the freezing silence of the cemetery, sobbing over the angel who I’d come to need, desire, and respect because the vampire inside me had burst out to feed from him, instead.

  “Why are you crying, princess?” Rebel’s agonized rasp startled me to life.

  I tripped back, stumbling over my split bag of shopping, before falling on my arse. Rebel’s spluttered laughter hacked into a cough.

  Cautiously, I dragged myself up, hanging onto the cool lip of the marble. “I’m not…” I wiped at my cheeks. Wet. I pinned Rebel’s chained wrists, forcing my breathing to steady. “If I am? It’s because of what I have to do.”

  Rebel’s gaze darted to mine, before he weakly tugged on the chains, which I’d nicked from the padlocked doors of Abney Park Chapel. Then he banged his head back on the monument with a hiss. The skin on his neck was still blistered around the bite. “What in the Jesus…? Am I after being your prisoner now?”

  “You tell me.” I tightened my hold. “You’re still hiding a world from me. How can I trust you?” He cringed. “What’s with the playing vampire hunter when they’re Fallen Angels?”

  I crouched down to snatch my water bottle and the box of painkillers from the shopping bag, before hopping onto the monument next to Rebel. Then I balanced the pills next to his head teasingly, as I took a deep swallow of water.

  He licked his dry lips. “Humans named them vampires, and I reckoned it a fine thing to give you a choice.”

  “Not following you, crypto.” I slammed my hand over Rebel’s mouth and nose, as Ma had done to me.

  Rebel’s lips were cracked under my palm. I quaked with the desire to balance the water up to them, or to kiss them. To be the one to save and protect Rebel.

  Yet first, he was mine to hurt. I recoiled from the thought…and the way that Rebel struggled, before submitting. Yet his blood still chased through me, and I’d never had to battle with these strange new urges before.

  Rebel stared up at me with wide eyes. At last, I drew away my hand.

  “Ages the angels and the Fallen have been in an ancient war.” Rebel’s chest heaved, as he prattled out the words, frightened that I’d steal his air again. “You, Feathers, are the special one who both sides want back. I fancied that you needed some time, so that you didn’t simply pick out of responsibility or duty. I know what that’s like.”

  “Yeah, so special that they dumped me in a kiddies’ home.” I glanced away, staring at the chapel spire’s long shadow…and the darkness between the oaks where Ash had disappeared. I ached, wishing that he’d come back. “And call me monster.”

  “The Pure are fanatic bastards. There’s no use whining about—”

  I shook the bottle and droplets of water sprayed onto Rebel’s cheek. He arched into the cool. “Punk prisoners watch their mouths.”

  “Punk prisoners are thirsty and have a f
ierce headache too.”

  I shook the painkillers rattling next to his ear. He winced. “Sore, yeah?”

  “Love is pain.”

  I drew back, hurling the pill box against Rebel’s temple. I grimaced myself at the smack, as it bounced off. “Why don’t the Pure have wings?”

  “They cut them off.” Rebel shuddered; the tips of his own wings folded across his chest. “It’s a sign that they’re cut off from the angels. Purified. Look, I’ve made a balls of my life so far, please don’t make a balls of yours because I’m a muppet.”

  I gaped at him. “That was inspiring. The light has entered my life and—”

  “Dry up,” he pouted, “I told you that I was no good at talking. Angels, the Pure, Fallen Angels. Who cares? They’re all hunting us, and you don’t have an effigy to hide you. That’s what matters. End of story.” He glanced up at me from underneath his dark eyelashes. “Now give me water and blessed pain relief, woman.”

  I sighed, stroking my fingers gently over his forehead, before tipping the water to his lips. He closed his eyes, breathing hard. The first drops touched his tongue.

  Then I drew back the bottle. “Just one question first: how much do you hate me?”

  His eyes snapped open. The flash of shock? There was no bastard way that could be faked.

  “I-I don’t—”

  I arched my brow. “Part vampire here. You’re a vampire hunter, and my kind just murdered your family. Am I missing something?”

  Rebel writhed, testing the chains, as he tried to scrabble backwards away from me. I wrenched his head up by his flame of hair. “Are we on the same side, or are you playing me?”

  “Everyone’s playing you, but I’m the only one who’s also protecting you.”

  I leaned down and whispered, close to his ear, “How’d I know if I should be a vampire, or an angel hunter? Or kill you all?”

  Rebel blinked, opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, before snapping it shut and frantically fighting against his chains.

  I smirked, resting back on my elbows.

  Rebel twisted his wrists, tugging them bloody. I scrunched my nose, hating the sight of the scarlet snaking down his arms. I rested my fingers on his chest, stilling him. Panting, he scowled at me. Yet the sugary scent of his blood, melding with the static sting of his fear, was electrifying. I shuddered, forcing myself not to lick at the blood.