Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  When his hands weakly pushed at me, I pulled away.

  “A fib,” Rebel bit at his full lower lip, “remember? Angel kisses don’t heal.”

  I swooped on his lip, taking it between my teeth instead of his…and then I sank in my teeth.

  Hell, if I was honest…? The vampiric power coiling and snapping inside had wanted to do that every time Rebel had torn his lip between his teeth.

  Rebel stiffened, as I sucked.

  Slam.

  Sugary copper hit me in a sweet wave. But it was even sweeter, when I drew back and bit my lip, before slipping my own blood into Rebel’s mouth. This time, when he struggled under me, I didn’t allow him to escape. Instead, I fed him the trickle of blood.

  Slam.

  I shuddered, snow patterning behind my closed eyelids, as every atom danced alive on the sensation of our shared blood.

  Slam.

  Better than the moment a shank sliced…

  Slam.

  An explosion of life: I was flying.

  “If Angel kisses don’t heal, how about their blood?” I murmured. “Word on the street is mine’s powerful.”

  Rebel turned away his head. It booted me in the gut to see the tears in his eyes. Yet when I shuffled back, he snatched my arms. Then he was snogging me fiercely, sucking at my lip. Gently, I pushed him back, before holding out my palm and pulling out Star. He blinked, before baring the long line of his throat above his collar, as if he expected me to cut his head from his shoulders even now for his sins. Instead, I curled closed my palm, his trust tempting me to pay him back in kind.

  And I’d never trusted a bloke before. Not after Phoenix.

  Don’t do this. The pretty boy is one step from fangs and claws.

  I bared my neck, as Rebel had; Rebel watched me from underneath his eyelashes. Then I sliced a thin cut down my throat.

  You’re feeding an Addict. If you bind the eyeliner punk to you with blood, you’ll have to kill him to free yourself, else he’ll kill you.

  We’re the same, J, he understands.

  And we both know your choices…feathers and bones…violet and black. Do you trust another monster?

  Rebel snarled, before leaping onto me and knocking me back onto the moss. The small amount of blood from my lip had already strengthened him. He held me down by my shoulders; his hard body was heavy against mine.

  Had I saved Rebel or birthed a vampire?

  I gasped, when black flecks sparked in Rebel’s eyes, before he lowered his mouth towards my bleeding neck.

  19

  Death had suckled at my neck every day on the Utopia Estate, so the question of where I’d bleed out lullabied me each night.

  Still, I’d never reckoned I’d die in Hackney Cemetery, where I’d been abandoned as a baby, whilst the snow wept, in the arms of a Falling angel.

  When Rebel thrust me back harder onto the moss, I cried out. My cheek rubbed in the snow, as I twisted away my head. I gulped; sticky blood dribbled down my neck. Rebel clawed at my shoulders: a wolf holding down its prey. His tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

  This wasn’t how I’d imagined Rebel feeding from me, and yet if he’d offered me his neck, I might have taken his blood with the same brutality.

  I was only half vampire and I already knew what happened when I lost control.

  Did that mean that I had no choice?

  Rebel panted with his teeth bared; he lowered his mouth to my throat.

  You’ve awoken a vampire. Look at him. The idea of feasting on you has him salivating.

  J sounded both frightened and furious. How hard must it be for him to only be able to watch and not protect me?

  I froze.

  Rebel sniffed at my neck, before he licked the long line of crimson, which had snaked down to my collar.

  Death isn’t noble, remember?

  When I writhed, Rebel growled, yet he didn’t bite. Instead, he licked down the cut again, slow and gentle, before sucking. I gasped, whilst my body arched. It was as if Rebel was inside me, on each intimate lick and suck: his emotions and mind.

  The cold snow feathered my face in ice fairy kisses.

  Slam — coppery sweetness spun me to a silent world, where there was nothing but blood…and Rebel.

  There was no Hackney, supernatural world, or land of bones and feathers. Instead, there was only us: two monsters trapped together.

  Needing each other.

  Bound.

  Rebel kissed along the cut, savoring the last traces of blood in worship. When he pulled back, his loss was shank sharp.

  He smothered a yawn with the back of his hand, rolling next to me onto his back with a sigh. “Fair play to you, that was brilliant!” He muttered sleepily; his eyes were already half-closed.

  Then his head lolled back, and he was asleep.

  Typical bastard bloke.

  I pulled myself up against the angel statue, pressing my fingers to the cut; I gasped at the pain, but my fingers came back unstained, as if the gash had been sealed.

  “Sleeping beauty, I’m excited that it was good for you too but wake up.” I shook Rebel’s shoulder, but his face was as still as the time that I’d bitten his neck. What if my…impure…blood had killed him? When I backhanded him, his head rocked to the side. I stared at the red mark over his cheekbone. “Don’t just lie there, it’s almost night. The Pure will rip off your wings and purify the hell out of me. We have to go.”

  Rebel slept undisturbed. The snow settled on him, shroud-like.

  I howled in frustration, cradling him in my arms.

  It’s your blood, Violet-juice. It’s fabulously powerful.

  You said that he’d turn on me and tear out my throat.

  He could’ve…and he still could. Don’t kid yourself, you’re playing with dangerous toys now.

  Come on, lighten up. The punk just needs some sleep.

  And if nap time doesn’t end before nightfall…?

  Then you’re on your own. Except for me.

  I glanced at the angel sleeping in my arms. An angel with a bruise, purple and swollen, blossoming on his cheek.

  The sky above the branches of oaks and Abney Park Chapel’s spiked spire was low with snow clouds.

  I couldn’t protect us both.

  I shoved Rebel towards the marble statue, scraping the bracken over him and masking the red of his trousers, until only his face showed. And his face could’ve been a statue’s.

  Rebel still had the effigy on the chain of his trousers. He hadn’t crushed his.

  I’d crushed mine.

  Sharing my blood with Rebel had transformed…something. I’d already had a small taste of Rebel; I could feel the shadow of him inside me. But now that he’d fed fully from my blood, he was bound to me: my responsibility. Both sides of my nature chorused it in unison.

  Rebel was mine to both hurt and protect.

  When Eden and his soldiers came for us, they’d discover only one monster to purify.

  Dripping cold dribbled onto my lips. My tongue flicked out.

  Water: fresh and purifying.

  I jolted to my knees; they sank into a thick blue carpet. I blinked against the light of a chandelier and a suffocating warmth. My shoulders ached because my arms were wrenched behind me.

  Steel handcuffs bit into my wrists.

  I launched myself on top of the bastard who was hovering over me holding a crystal glass.

  The vampire eeped and struggled, before stilling like a bird in a cat’s claws, when I shoved my knee between his legs.

  Two black eyes, in an elfin face too young to be in Jade’s class at college, scowled at me. His jet curls trembled; the tips of his wings pulsed violet as they beat.

  Wings…?

  I sighed, pushing up from the kid. He warily shuffled onto his bottom, patting at the spilled water with his palm. If he had wings, then the vampire wasn’t the Pure: he was the Fallen, like Ash.

  A prisoner here, the same as me.

  I’d hidden in Hackney Cemetery all
Christmas Day, alongside Rebel, but he hadn’t awoken. When night had come, I’d climbed onto the tallest stone cross monument and waited for Eden to cut me into a fine red mist.

  The Pures’ eyes had sparked in the dark. A hundred fallen stars on earth, when at last they’d found me. No one had spoken. Eden hadn’t even been there. I’d called for J, but the violet rage hadn’t been righteous, it’d barely tingled down my arms. Instead, I’d drawn my dagger, the question of where I’d bleed out, finally answered. Yet knowing that I’d saved Rebel had steeled me.

  Except, when the Pure had swarmed over me, as if I’d been no more real than an avatar, they hadn’t slashed or burned, but had knocked me out by pressing my neck.

  And now I was here: in Eden’s lair. It was a grand Victorian wedding hall, with tables and chairs in ivory silks and high sculptured ceiling.

  I glanced down at my scabbard: no Star.

  I groaned. I hoped that I’d dropped the dagger in the battle in the Cemetery. At least then Rebel would have his father’s weapon.

  I eyed the exit: grand doors behind a ballroom dance floor. At the other end, there was only a raised polished wood stage. Above us, a painted ceiling swirled in a glorious mural of the blue and white heavens.

  “When he brings me here, sometimes I can pretend that I’m flying,” the vampire smiled timidly, before he shrugged, “and sometimes not.”

  “We’re not talking buddies, Fang Face.” When I pushed into a crouch, my trapped shoulders protested. I peered around an ornate table, which was laid out with silver cutlery, at the ballroom. There were hundreds of identical tables and chairs. The scent from the lilies in glass bowl centerpieces was overwhelming. “You? Vampire. Me? Huntress.”

  Smash — the vampire booted the crystal goblet, shattering it. “Me? Anarchy. You? Bitch.”

  I gaped at him. Then I grinned.

  The wallad had balls.

  Suddenly, Anarchy reminded me of Jade. The longing for my kid sister…loneliness…fear for her…rose up, until I gasped from it, doubled over.

  Anarchy?

  In only a pair of tatty blue jeans, with a curl hanging over his nervous eyes and a body battered with purple bruises, looked more like the poster boy for slavery.

  I hadn’t expected the outrage storming inside to drain the bastard who’d ripped away the kid’s strength, manhood, and identity. It roared to give Anarchy back his name.

  Vampire huntress? Who the hell was I kidding?

  Choice. It’s always been yours. But be careful because you’re in the Pures’ world now. They don’t believe in true choice.

  I’ll just have to convince them different then, won’t I?

  Eden’s not like our Irish punk. He doesn’t love the world; he wants to feast on it.

  I pulled my hands against the handcuffs.

  No luck.

  “Kinky bastard vampires,” I muttered.

  Anarchy laughed. “I’d help you but…” He edged closer. “Eden’s punishments are inventive. And it’s enough that the ceremony’s tonight.”

  Ceremony, J, tonight. That’s top of the things you don’t want to hear when you’re trussed up.

  Inventive punishments comes in a close second.

  I glanced at Anarchy. “How long was I out?”

  “Since last night.”

  When I pushed up and paced towards Anarchy, crunching over heart-shaped confetti that was ground into the carpet, he backed against the striped wallpaper. “The Big Bad here is Eden. I don’t give a hell about anything else. He’s my only enemy right now. So, how do we defeat him?”

  Anarchy blinked, before a shy smile curled his split lip. “Burn the wanker.” He rubbed his hand over burns that patterned his chest, like a child had been playing with matches. “He hurts with fire because it terrifies him.”

  “And I just trust you, yeah?”

  Anarchy shook his head; his dark gaze was serious. “Never.” When he reached towards me, I backed away, but he only stroked my hair with quivering fingers. “I’m sorry. Eden brainwashes to purify. To make you one of them. I’ve fought but I can’t even save myself. Forgive me for not saving you, princess?”

  I jerked away. “I save myself. And you’re not one of them yet. My blokes don’t give up.”

  His lips parted, before he straightened his shoulders. “Then I won’t.”

  Bang — the grand doors at the end of the Victorian ballroom swung open.

  Anarchy cringed back at the tap, tap, tap of footsteps down the central dancing strip of the ballroom.

  Although my heart raced, I turned to Eden with a smirk. “Why not let me free, so we can play?”

  Eden faltered with his wide smile frozen. Then he tilted his head, and his brunet sweep of hair fell over his eyes. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his velvet coat. “Why, I’m delighted that you’re already feeling at home. Welcome to Perfection Hotel!” He sprang on a table, shattering a glass centerpiece in a spray of lilies. “All may enter, but only the pure may leave.” His smile widened, canines lengthening to fangs. “Except the Pure don’t leave because they’re mine. Soldiers, soldiers, pure in a row, and one day soon, they’re going to kill, you know.”

  I tilted my head. “What are you, the storyteller for Fang kiddies?”

  Eden pouted, before calling, “Stephanie, we have a lost soul to save tonight.”

  When Anarchy let out a strangled cry, I stiffened.

  A Pure vampire had prowled behind us, whilst Eden had been posturing.

  In charcoal business suit, lilac shirt and smart blonde hair in a ponytail, you’d have reckoned Stephanie a mild receptionist…until the claws slashed from her knuckles and her gaze hardened with the look of a torturer offered their favorite treat.

  Before Anarchy could dash to the other side of the ballroom, Stephanie had crushed her arm around his neck, dragging his wrist high up his back. “Where are you going, sweetie?”

  Pop — Anarchy’s shoulder dislocated.

  Eden leapt off the table, before glancing back at me. “And where is your angel? Was it his decision or yours to allow the witches to burn in your place?” He twirled around, holding out his hand. Stephanie shoved me with her heel onto the central strip towards him. “Dance with me.”

  I shuddered. “In your dreams, bastard.”

  “Indeed, monster, every night for the last twenty-one years.” Eden gestured across the ballroom.

  A willowy vampire stepped out of a hidden door onto the stage. I rolled my eyes when she raised a violin.

  A gentle, romantic waltz started up.

  Eden was a dramatic bitch.

  Eden slipped his arms, as if around the waist of an invisible partner, before waltzing across the gleaming floor towards me. I grimaced, backing against the ivory table with a clatter of cutlery.

  The calming coils of the violin drowned out Anarchy’s cries, as Stephanie dragged him up onto the stage, before backhanding him. He fell in front of a long wooden block.

  Anarchy’s terrified gaze met mine over its top; my breath caught.

  It was an executioner’s block.

  “Such a sad boy and a rare failure.” I jumped: Eden’s pale face was inches from mine. He scrutinized me, resting his hand lightly on my hip. I cringed as his fingers drew circles. “Purity, I offered, but impure he wished to be,” his lips whispered onto mine, “but tonight we try one last time to save the Fallen.”

  “And me?”

  Eden clutched me tighter around the waist, swinging me out onto the dance floor. When I fell over my own feet, he laughed, pulling me into the dance. All was lilies, sky-blue, and the sweet sickening glide of the violin. He sniffed my hair. “You, my monster, have a choice.”

  Do I play the game?

  Whatever this dancing ass offers, it’s not a true choice. Trust no one.

  Eden brushed my cheek. “Time to take the first step to purity.”

  Eden’s canines slowly descended into glistening fangs; he grazed his teeth against my skin. Then he licked up the cut
on my neck.

  I stiffened.

  My blood belonged to Rebel.

  I snarled, kneeing Eden in the balls. He collapsed to the floor with a satisfying groan.

  Stephanie roared, leaping down onto the dance floor. She twisted my hair, yanking me away from her leader. “Who said you could play rough?”

  She hauled me onto the stage. I kicked and stamped at her matching lilac kitten heels, but with my hands cuffed, it was like being the fly bothering the lion. Stephanie elbowed the violin player in the guts to stop her playing and then thrust me onto my knees next to Anarchy.

  Anarchy shot me an apologetic smile around his tears.

  I bumped his shoulder. “A bitch doesn’t give up.”

  Anarchy nodded, tossing back his curls. He glared defiantly at Stephanie. Surprised, Stephanie raised an eyebrow, whilst her lips thinned; Anarchy’s shoulders drooped.

  Eden dragged a chair scraping along the wood, until he sprawled across it in front of the stage: his throne.

  When Stephanie drew a silver staff from her belt, Anarchy shook.

  “Please, I’ll try harder…” Anarchy’s eyes were wide and desperate.

  Why did it have to remind me of Tiny Fang? He’d been begging through his gag for me not to kill him. Yet I still had. And during the high of the hunt, part of me had got off on it like Stephanie was. Yet I knew that I wouldn’t now.

  A black flame exploded from the staff on one side, turning it into a giant burning ax.

  Stephanie booted my neck, bending me over the block. When I twisted my head, two dark eyes sparked, looking straight back into mine. Anarchy was bent over right next to me.

  Both our necks were for the chop.

  I fought not to squirm.

  “Your choice,” Eden’s light voice made it sound like he was merely offering us raspberry or strawberry jam with our scone, “is between who is saved and who dies. You’ve both forced upon me the unwelcome truth that not everyone is fit to live in my new world. But here’s the game: shall the monster or the Fallen die?”

  My gaze never left Anarchy’s. Suddenly, his small fingers reached for mine behind my back.

  A vampire hunter comforting a vampire? Except, maybe it was a vampire comforting a vampire hunter. And wasn’t that a bitch?