Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  Instead, I raised the bottle of water to his lips again. This time he didn’t drink but with a resigned sigh, turned away his head.

  Then I remembered how Rebel had held out the goblet to me when I’d been manacled to his bed without taunting or demands that I beg. Rebel had never once held his power over me; he’d helped me, even when it’d cost him. He’d lost his family because of me, and I wanted him to become my family; I just needed to be able to trust him.

  I gripped Rebel’s chin, turning him back, as I tipped up the bottle. For a moment, he choked. Then he was swallowing; his throat bobbed underneath his spiked collar. When I finally drew back the bottle, dropping it to the ground, he gave me a cautious smile. Then he yipped, when I plucked a dove-gray feather from his wing.

  “Is this why you’re so weak that you can’t even escape those chains?” I asked. “And your migraine…?”

  Rebel flushed, hunching with the same shame as when Da had discovered the first gray feather in the study. “I’m Falling, princess, and it’s fierce frightening. If a Human Addict stays too long on Earth…we become the Fallen.”

  I traced a finger down his cheek. I didn’t even know that I was trailing a burning path, as I had with Tiny Fang, until I smelled the seared flesh. “Why would you risk that…? It doesn’t matter. Get your arse back to Angel HQ.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I’m not asking.”

  Rebel shook his head.

  “The bird cage and the dark? It can’t be worse than turning into…”

  “You?”

  “I’m not a vampire,” I growled.

  “And that’s why I don’t hate you,” Rebel murmured.

  I booted the marble. “But if you stay here, you’ll Fall.”

  Rebel’s wings quivered. “Sometimes we’re not free to make choices, even between bad ones.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe myself to be the guilty party.” I jumped at the cool, light voice behind me. I twirled around, shielding Rebel. Then blinked. An angel with the purest violet eyes, creamy skin, and golden curls, leaned against the birch. Hell, he was prettier than any angel I’d ever imagined. Also, arrogantly colder. He met my scrutiny with a considering look, whilst I flushed. “No, that’d be you, wouldn’t it, Zachriel?”

  “Commander Drake,” Rebel had frozen statue-still, but breathed so fast that he teetered on the precipice of panic attack, “this isn’t… I wasn’t…”

  “Hush now.” Drake strolled towards us, his pale violet wings spreading out in violent glory.

  An earthy scent, like ancient church incense — or frankincense — washed over me. When Rebel trembled, I rested my hand on his shoulder. So, this new angel was some sort of pretty bully?

  I’d wished to see other angels.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  Drake was a kid in nothing but silk indigo trousers, which hung off his slim hips like he’d escaped from a harem. He was exactly the type of achingly beautiful bastard that I’d have let into my bed. Then Drake smiled: cruel and knowing. His predatory eyes were ice-cold fire.

  I shrank back. What the hell did he want?

  “I had to see you at Christmas.” Drake stroked his fingers through Rebel’s snow dampened hair. “And look, you’re already gift-wrapped.” He tapped the chains approvingly.

  Why had I allowed myself to forget that the other angels were Rebel’s enemies? I’d crushed the effigy to let them in and bound Rebel sacrificial for the slaughter. Was Drake one of the bastards hunting Rebel?

  “He’s not your gift.” I unsheathed Star, toying with the blade. “So, you’d better get your arse back to your Master of the Lamp, before you’re whipped Arabian style.”

  I was surprised when Drake’s eyes clouded with hot hurt. “Wish to fight for him, princess? Interesting how attached you are to him. I’d be more than happy to take you both, if you’re willing?”

  Princess? Wasn’t that just Rebel’s pet name for me?

  The word startled me enough to miss Drake’s step forward. He didn’t even raise his hands but suddenly he’d invaded my mind.

  I screamed as I was blasted backwards.

  Violet strands sliced into my brain like a thousand shanks, carving it bloody.

  18

  Sometimes you can’t face the worst. You have to hide.

  I struggled onto my elbows, wincing from my wrenched muscles. Then I sank into the bed of moss, where Drake had blasted me. A statue of an angel, fallen and broken, peeked from the snow dappled green. My fingers brushed Rebel’s leathers, scabbard, and harness, which I’d tossed onto the moss when I’d stripped him, ready for sacrifice.

  Taking a steadying breath to control the agony in my head, I concentrated on the day that Rebel and I had run from the Blood Familiars. I blocked out the snow that was numbing my fingers and soaking through the knees of my jeans.

  Instead, I imagined the privet hedges of the maze at the House of Rose, Wolf, and Fox.

  With a dizzying lurch, the maze shot up in my mind, blocking Drake’s magical questing violet, as he attempted to read my memories and my secrets.

  I risked raising my head to glance at Drake.

  Drake was scrutinizing me; his pale eyebrows raised in shock. Then the strands slicing through my brain, in bursts of rich frankincense, twisted.

  I shrieked.

  “The Commander won’t truly harm you,” Rebel’s words were soft and distant through my pain. “It’s all games, so it is. He only hurts lesser angels. You can battle him.”

  Hedge, right turn, left, fox shaped topiary, left turn, right…frozen statue in the center…

  The strands quivered, like ribbons of skin, twitching their way through the maze…and through my mind.

  Searching.

  I curled around myself, slapping my palms against the sides of my head.

  I’m sorry that I booted you out, J, I was wrong. Please…

  Save the whole song and dance, as if I’d ever leave you. But right now, you must hide me. If harem pants discovers—

  You’re scaring me. I’ve never heard you sound so—

  Like I just won the scaredy pants award? Trust me, Commander golden curls would destroy us both if he found me. You don’t get it yet, but the world needs our hoochie mama asses. And only you can save us.

  How?

  He wants to find something at the center of the maze? Then let him.

  The strands turned the final corner, towards the fountain carved out of marble. A rose blossomed open and as if being born from it, a fox and a wolf. I closed my eyes, weaving my creation for Drake.

  The ribbons hesitated at the edge of the fountain.

  Suddenly, a female warrior angel, wielding a blazing sword, exploded up from the ice. The heroine from my computer game, glorious in her perfection, cut down the ribbons, as quickly as they wrapped around her.

  Slow clapping.

  I opened my eyes, one at a time.

  Drake assessed me with his head tilted for one long moment, before in a rush that winded me, he withdrew from my mind. Then he shrugged. “You shall have your secrets, princess. But I shall have your angel, or you both if you’re offering.”

  “Not happening.” I shoved myself to my knees, reaching for Star.

  With a bored flick of his wrist, Drake ordered, “Stay.”

  “I’m a bitch, but I’m no dog,” I snarled.

  Except, I couldn’t move.

  Panting in sudden terror, I pulled on my knees, but they were stuck to the moss. My hand was glued to the hilt of Star.

  It had to be a trick, but I couldn’t break it, even when Drake sauntered to Rebel’s chained body, and Rebel writhed, jerking on the chains to escape.

  Only hurts lesser angels?

  And I was a captive spectator.

  “You told the princess to battle me.” The back of Drake’s small hand touched Rebel’s cheek. “Lay still when I’m talking.” Rebel stopped struggling, but refused to meet his enemy’s gaze. Drake’s soft curls swept R
ebel’s lips as he leaned over him. “Why is that?”

  “You know me, Commander,” Rebel smirked, “bad angel.”

  I flinched, waiting for the clout.

  Instead, Drake stroked Rebel’s temple, which was still creased in pain from his migraine with a flash of concern.

  To my surprise, Rebel relaxed under the touch, until Drake whispered, “You’ve forgotten who you are, Zachriel.” He grasped Rebel’s hair and twisted his head to one side, exposing the base of his neck. “Who you belong to and the only way to make the pain stop.”

  Drake pressed on Rebel’s neck, and I shrank back at Rebel’s howl.

  Rebel reared up, whilst every muscle strained against the impossible pain, as if he’d been electrocuted.

  “Be silent,” Drake commanded coldly.

  Rebel’s screams cut off, yet his agony continued. He twitched against the chains, his mouth wide, but his shrieks silenced.

  I hadn’t expected the scalding wave of possessiveness that was released by being forced to watch another angel inflict pain on Rebel. He might be a bastard but he was my bastard.

  Rebel had submitted to me. Only me.

  I wanted him back.

  At last, Drake lifted his hand from Rebel’s neck; he forced Rebel to meet his intense gaze. “Nod if you understand now?”

  Rebel raised his middle finger.

  “Wallad,” I muttered.

  Drake glanced at me with detached curiosity, before he noticed the offending digit. To my surprise, he almost smiled, before he stopped himself and scowled instead.

  It was a glimpse of a bloke like Rebel, rather than the cold creature that burned you to your knees. Why was the true Drake hiding?

  “I’ve missed these sessions.” Drake trailed his hand down Rebel’s chest. “Why have you left me alone so long?” When he stroked his fingers through Rebel’s feathers, Rebel quivered. “I should pluck out each of these gray feathers one by one.”

  “You know, at first I thought that maybe you were the top boy angel on a power trip,” I called over. I was paralyzed but I could still shank with words. “But now? I reckon that you’re just the harem boy messenger.”

  Drake’s shoulders hunched; his curls fell over his face. “You know nothing of our lives.”

  And the angel was shanked.

  “I’ve met blokes like you before. The bullies at school because at home they’re hiding under their beds from the monsters that hurt them.”

  Drake’s head snapped up. He eyed me suspiciously, as if he reckoned I’d read his mind. “Monsters?” He sneered, but with a weary despair. “We all serve monsters.”

  “Yeah, but some of us get off on it more than others.”

  Drake’s eyes sparked dangerously. “Shall we see which of us it is who gets off on it?”

  Hell, I was the wallad.

  When Drake caressed Rebel’s wings, circling the feathers and massaging, Rebel squirmed and bucked. Drake’s gentle kisses on the remaining violet feathers, like veneration, were familiar and intimate. I quaked in outraged jealousy at the touch, yet also at Rebel’s excited response.

  How old was Rebel?

  Drake looked like he was the same age as Jade, but he was a Commander. He could’ve been battling in these supernatural wars for centuries. As well as playing these games with Rebel for just as long because they knew each other. Even if Drake might have invited me to join in as well.

  I wanted to look away — my mouth so dry that I could barely swallow — but I couldn’t.

  Drake watched me closely, whilst he stroked his hand over the hardness in Rebel’s trousers, then worked his pulsing wings again, before backing down to soft kisses once more. Rebel thrashed his head from side-to-side. At last I saw the tears, silent down his cheeks.

  Drake was edging my punk, and it was as much a torture, as the pain that Drake had inflicted before.

  Yet if Rebel was shaking, so was Drake. “Have you no idea what you’ve done to me, Zachriel?” He wiped Rebel’s tears away tenderly. Then he glared at me, and my breath was taken by his hate. “Why are you always to be protected? Whilst we…” He twisted the tip of Rebel’s bent wing, and Rebel howled silently, “…suffer?”

  Drake dived to kiss Rebel on the lips, yet this time it was hard and impulsive, as if a forbidden touch. Then he drew back, and once again was beautiful but cold slave plays at Commander.

  I outstared the bastard.

  Yet he shook his head. “Why would you weep for a son of the Fallen?”

  I looked up sharply. “Why would you?”

  Drake blinked. He raised his hand in confusion. Tears trembled in the corners of his eyes, spilling when he wiped his hand across them. The glare that he cast me was deadly. When he spun to Rebel, he was nothing but cool detachment. “Remember, Addict, return to me soon.” He swept his fingers down Rebel’s chest. “You didn’t think that I’d miss spending Christmas together?”

  When Drake stalked towards me with his wings beating, I fought not to flinch.

  “You better go, pretty genie, your Master’s rubbing your lamp,” I taunted.

  Drake dragged the silk trousers up his hips, where they’d slipped down, self-consciously. “You know, I have also met people of your kind before. And they are the monsters from which I hid.” I winced. “Inside you’re keeping something…. extraordinary…from me. No one does that.” He leaned closer. “Not even you.”

  Then I was falling forward on my face onto the springy moss, Rebel was howling, and Drake had vanished.

  And that, my Feathery-sweetness, is why you should never have called out to the heavens for the angels to save you.

  I stopped calling, J, and they still fell. And now one of them is mine.

  I scrambled up, diving to Rebel.

  Rebel pulled away, as far as he could in the bonds. His wings pulsed, and his body quivered.

  When I gently unchained his wrists, he wouldn’t meet my eye. He pushed himself staggering to his feet; I struggled not to grab him by his shoulders and support him.

  I knew when a bitch didn’t want to be touched.

  Rebel slumped to his knees next to Eclipse.

  “So, son of the Fallen, huh?” I said, quietly.

  Rebel rested his head against the statue’s stone wing, stretching out on the moss bed. He sighed, as if telling a lie took more energy than Drake’s session had left him. “A Human Addict and a son of the Fallen makes me almost the worst angel. Are you after punishing me now for that too?”

  “I reckon Genie of the Lamp already had that covered.” When I sprawled next to Rebel, he shuffled away. My lips thinned. “Who was that beautiful bastard?”

  “Commander Duma Drake…” Rebel hesitated, before he muttered, “My gaoler for forty years.”

  A birdcage prison in the dark.

  I swallowed, before crawling over to the bottle of water that I’d dropped and the box of painkillers, which had been knocked into the bracken. Then I knelt next to Rebel, raising two pills to his lips.

  He didn’t take them, as if it was a test.

  “I’m not one-man band playing good cop, bad cop. Swallow the happy pills.” I massaged Rebel’s temples with my other hand. He opened his lips, and his pink tongue flicked out for the painkillers. He raised his arm to take the bottle, but sank back down again with a sigh. “Here,” I held the water up for him. He swallowed, although he watched me guardedly. “I guess being a chocoholic wasn’t causing my migraines then.”

  When I sat back, he grasped for the hilt of his sword but exhausted by the movement, he sank down. “Balls…”

  “I’m not going to fight you again. Let’s agree you’ve a hell of a long Pinocchio nose, and I’ll snap it off if you grow it any longer. But are you broken because of what Drake did to you or because you’re Falling?”

  Rebel’s glance was sharp. “I’ve been banjaxed for so long, but with you…? Sweet Christ, I was flying again.” His shoulders drooped. “But now I’m in tatters, and you’re a huntress who’s rejected me as Cu
stodian.”

  “I rejected being a prisoner.”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “Any ape can see that you don’t need me anymore.”

  My heart beat, a deafening roar, sweeping me up, until I trapped Rebel beneath me with my hands pressed either side of his head.

  No way was Rebel making this a goodbye.

  “I won’t let Drake take you again.” Rebel could try and hide his fear but it was written in the tension of his wings. “No need for the I’ll only slow you down hero dramatics. You’re not returning with Drake, no matter what he threatens. Look at me,” reluctantly he raised his gaze; the fragile hurt that he usually hid was breath-taking up close, “I’ve got your back. I won’t let you Fall.”

  “I’m bad, but I’ll never allow myself to be one of the Fallen.” Rebel’s fingers tightened around Eclipse.

  Slap — I’d smacked his hand away from his sword like a schoolmistress whacking the back of a naughty kid’s knuckles, before I’d even realized that I meant to.

  Rebel cradled his hand, but his gaze was thoughtful.

  Violet and black spun webs around us, furious and possessive, cocooning us together.

  “Killing yourself doesn’t make you the noble knight,” I pulled back, balling the snow between my fingers, “but the bloke who gives up, rather than battles to the end. Or do you just want to copy your family?”

  “Don’t talk about my family—”

  “We’re fighting this, and your punk arse isn’t leaving me when my sister is still missing. We made a deal. What if the Hackney kids were taken by angels? Our next move is to take this battle to Eden’s turf, rather than letting him hunt us. I need you.”

  “You need me?”

  I froze, shocked by Rebel’s hushed awe. He stroked one shaking hand down my arm.

  I did need Rebel to find my sister and the other kids, as well as to fight beside me against the Pure…

  I needed him because he was mine.

  Yet unless he healed, we’d be targets for Eden when night fell. And I’d be alone to protect us both.

  “Better get you fixed up.” I shoved Rebel against the fallen angel, snogging him hard in the wet snow.