Grrrrrr…
The Gateways snarled even louder than they had been all morning, vibrating on the shelves high above me in the ruby room: teacher pissed at slacking student.
I pouted, rubbing my aching back.
The blocks, however, like jumping beans, bounced in agitation and roared.
Epic fail on conning the blood books.
Whatever was feeding my angelic power had juiced my healing. Day Three of the dare, and it looked like I’d been training with Rebel, rather than been slashed to ribbons in a war.
Talking of training…
“Get your arse down here, your…pacing…won’t stop the Trials.” I stared up at Harahel; the wind from his wings wafted apple-scented onto my face.
Harahel had been swooping above the room in laps since I’d told him the Matriarch’s new plan.
At last, Harahel dove, landing lightly. His trousers slipped on his hips, and he went to hitch them up with his right hand, as if he’d forgotten it was no longer there. He blushed, before reaching over with his left hand and tugging.
…Wings’ blackened stumps…
Harahel lifted a graceful eyebrow, slouching towards me.
How long had I been gawking at his missing hand?
You’d better get your mind off the pretty boy. The Bitch Queen of Asshole Mountain has served you up on a feathery platter, and it’s fly or fall time.
J, my freak mum was inside my head. I reckoned—
That I’d been deleted? Replaced? Like I was nothing more than some program?
That she’d bitch discovered you, and I get it, you’re the greatest secret of all.
Stop, Violet-sweets, you’re making me swoon with all the sentimental love tingles.
She said I was hers.
We both know you’re mine.
This time I hid. But if angel dicks with more power try to force themselves on us, they’ll find me.
And kill you.
I shivered, nestling further into my arms, even though I wished that I could be nestling into J’s.
Until Harahel’s delicate fingers clasped my upper arm. And yanked.
Shocked at his strength, I jolted to my feet. When he shoved me against the Gateways, I squealed; the bruises on my back ached at the bang.
“Lay off,” I muttered.
“Yeah, not happening.” Harahel blew a brunet curl out of his eyes. “I’m your Trainer, and you’ve been put in for the Warrior Trials. Pacing? You’re lucky I’m not on a violet tantrum right now — boom.”
“You do that a lot?”
“Used to. Now? It’s not worth the spanking from Anpiel. And believe me, she knows how to pack a wallop.”
“That’s called overshare, bro.”
Harahel sniggered. “You are new to Angel World. Since when did an Imperfect have the right to privacy? Does Commander Drake?”
A powerful possessiveness towards Drake flooded me, flushing my cheeks.
I shifted in Harahel’s grip. “And that’s called none of your business, Mr Spanky. What’s your problem?”
Harahel let go of my arm but only so that he could poke me in the chest. “You. Warrior Trials. Hey, wouldn’t it be great if you weren’t torn to pieces?”
I winced. “So, Drake wasn’t being a scaredy cat when he acted like he’d witnessed the signing of my death warrant?”
Then, for the second time in two days, I was enveloped in trembling angel.
Harahel clung to me, whilst his wings furled around me like he alone could save me from the Trials.
Or as if I was already dead.
There was no bastard way I was going down without a fight.
“You’re the only one I’m allowed to talk to like we’re mates. As if I’m not a Lower Order,” he murmured. “Being Imperfect, I’m forbidden to talk openly to any but my Glory or a Trainee.” He pulled back, fixing me with a fierce pout. “Don’t you dare die and take that away from me.”
I saluted him. “No, sir. What if I simply tell the Matriarch to stick her psycho Trials?”
He flinched.
Snarls, rumbles, bellows.
Not a popular suggestion with the freaky Gateways.
Harahel stroked my shoulders with the tips of his wings; the feathers were downy soft against my neck. “An angel who refuses the Trials loses their wings.”
“That’s all right. I don’t have wings.”
He looked significantly — but with a sympathetic sigh — at my hands.
I paled. “They’d steal my hands?”
“Punishment for cowardice. Then you’d be Imperfect too. I promise, you wouldn’t like to turn from a princess into a pretty toy. Plus, you’d lose your own toys into the hands of Angel World’s magical cult.”
You can’t dodge this. In a world of perfection, the only thing worse than death is to fall amongst the imperfect.
I’m already imperfect: The Monster Princess.
I’m not what this world, my mother, or Drake want. I can never be perfect.
You’re not the Monster Princess, you just can’t see it. You’re the Vampire Princess in a world of angels.
Just ask me how little I care right now, whether I even am a ruler. I either fight in some test that’ll kill me, or I lose my hands and become a toy for the kinky assholes.
Then you fight.
Let me read you some realness: the only way to learn to control the powers that slay your enemies like Saturday Night never has to end is to train.
I’m not—
The only way to win the trust of the Ice Queen, so that we can plan an escape from this avian nightmare, is to train.
Screw that—
The only way to rescue your sister and the Hackney Kids, as well as to play freedom fighter for the kid army if you’re still angsting…you know this tune.
But if I die—
What if the Warrior Trials are the minotaur at the center of your personal labyrinth…?
Isn’t your sweet pussy aching for the touch of all that power?
Angelic and vampiric sides howled in unison, torching me from the inside. They clashed in a sizzling arc, reaching out for the power that J had incited. Aching to fight and steal that power for themselves, until I burned, hotter than even the sun.
Fevered, I thrust Harahel away from me. Surprised, he stumbled back, landing on his arse.
I ignored his yelp, storming to the Gateway, which was rattling to itself on the platform. I rammed my palm onto the stone thorn, blending my blood as it dripped down, with the thrumming block.
“Princess, wait…”
Harahel calling me princess should’ve been warning enough. But the bastard powers, goaded by J, had me in their grip.
And I was just along for the ride.
Except, it wasn’t like last time, with the electric currents ripping my brain into itty pieces.
This time, I was tearing through the mouth of the Gateway, before punching a hole in its cheek, and then surfing down on the gushing scarlet.
My dress stuck to me Carrie-style, as the blood world shifted and shuddered, trembling with roars: I wasn’t alone.
My blood had called for a fight. It’d sung to the Warrior Trials.
Yet, as I dived lower, and finally my head cleared, I drew back.
Below, seethed a coiling mass of beasts. Every creature from every nightmare. Fangs, claws, and spines. Tigers winding around T-rex; vampires prowling past pythons.
They yowled, thundered, and hissed in the pit below my feet.
I wasn’t ready for this.
Heart thundering, I shuddered because I’d thrown myself willingly into this hell.
I flapped my arms to fly higher, but I was trapped.
Snap — I whimpered, pulling my legs up, away from the slobbering jaws of a wolf.
Then froze at the growl behind my shoulder.
A shadow, impossibly big, dyed me in cold black.
I took panicked breaths.
This was death, karma, and redemption come at last to swallo
w me whole.
I screwed shut my eyes, as hot gusts snorted against the back of my neck.
“Sleep!” I stared up in shock at Harahel’s bellow; his giant face peered down. “Sleep now!”
The beasts whined and shrank back.
The nightmare at my shoulder slipped away into the blood-stained shadows. In moments, the creatures were sleeping like babies. And nope, they still didn’t look cute, cuddled up in freakish piles.
Now I was alone with one pissed off ruler. In this realm? The Imperfect was king.
Harahel’s hand reached for me like I was a doll, and I was ripped, this time in reverse, through the Gateway. Without the surging adrenaline, the fried barbecue effect blasted back full force.
As I tumbled out of the Gateway into the library, the horror of being trapped in that pit with so many — things — hit me, and I landed on Harahel, dragging him onto me in a pile of flailing limbs.
“What. The. Hell?” I sobbed, whilst we rolled together.
“Trials can use creatures from any time period, called through the Gateways. That’s why we train.” Harahel brushed a tear from my cheek. “And you read one of my books again without permission, princess or not, I’ll spank you.”
I smirked through my tears. “You’ll try.”
A polite cough.
Startled, I looked up.
The Matriarch gazed down at Harahel and me, entangled on the floor. She twirled a feather that was tied into the strand of her hair between her fingers. “If you’re horny, you need only ask for use of my Wing. Or you have your own toy.”
I pushed myself up, slapping the dust off my dress. “Cheers, I’m all blissed out.”
Harahel scrambled to his knees.
The Matriarch fixed him with a stern stare. “No Wing will spank a Glory, are you clear, Imperfect?” Harahel nodded so hard that I reckoned his head would fall off. The Matriarch stroked her long fingers over his wings, and he shuddered. The bitch was reading his memories. “I shall not report you to your Glory. This time.”
“Thank you, Queen Miniel,” Harahel whispered.
I hated hearing him whisper.
“My daughter, it seems that you’re ready to play, and I have just the right toy. Certain Fallen, who you didn’t kill,” her thin mouth twitched, “were captured during the battle. The light honors us to offer an exchange of hostages: The Higher Order for the Lower. We’ve received one Fallen in particular who will amuse you.”
My eyes narrowed; my jaw ached to stop myself saying anything.
Because is that what the battle had been about?
Not saving me but capturing and exchanging for the vampires that the Matriarch wished to use as pawns?
Was everything a game?
My mum watched me coolly. “You’ll find this new amusement in Drake’s chambers.” Then she murmured with her lips soft against my cheek, “You’d better fly, baby bird, before I change my mind. You may also see your Addict.”
I dashed out of the library in case she took back her promise to see Rebel.
The way that the Matriarch’s eyes gleamed, and her lips curled, warned me that this wasn’t going to be chocolates and movie night. Not forgetting the poor bastard vampire who wouldn’t be doing a happy dance that I’d slaughtered his mates, whilst he’d been given up as hostage. Plus, I’d have to hide the biggest secret of all: that I’d mutilated Rebel’s brother.
Yet maybe, if I played my mum’s games right, I could finally save Rebel.
The moment I saw Rebel again was like waking up with a migraine but still having a bastard exam to sit.
I’d stormed into Drake’s chambers, which were lower in the mountain than our hunting games.
Tiny and monastery cell-like, even down to the rich incense smell, with a neat nest of feathers in the far corner, his chambers were too far down for sunlight, lit instead by violet flames that burned in a brazier.
The room was bare, except for a tattered indigo sheepskin rug, a raven-feathered blind that ran the length of the far wall, and a bench underneath it.
Drake might be a Commander but he lived like a slave.
The Matriarch had slunk in after me. Drake had glanced between us from his perch on the end of the bench. His legs had been drawn up underneath him: less head of the pride and more lion cub.
“So, is this the amazing Invisible Vampire? Produce the goods.” I’d clenched my fists to hide the tremor.
The Matriarch had winced, but her mask hadn’t slipped. Instead, she’d touched a feather on the raven blind, and it’d pulled up slowly. “We shall have a grand unveiling.”
Inch by inch, the black behind the blind had been revealed.
I’d known this place; I’d seen it from the other side of the stone bars. A birdcage prison: the cell in which I’d abandoned Rebel.
And the prisoners curled on the other side of the viewing panel in the dark…?
Rebel…and Ash.
When I first saw my angel and vampire lovers together, nothing felt real. The world ballooned and then shrank. Shards shanked behind my eyes, as the world dimmed to nothing but the hammering of my heart and the pounding of my pulse.
Rebel, Ash, Rebel, Ash…
Both prisoners were naked, and my growling, possessive mind cataloged each bruise, lash, and gash. Ash’s taller body was wrapped around Rebel’s shaking one, as if he was the only thing anchoring him, with his olive skin against Rebel’s pale.
Ash stroked his fingers through Rebel’s mess of flame red hair, before massaging around his left wing that was still trapped under leather straps as punishment to stop him flying.
The Matriarch was talking, with that curl to her lips I hated. “…that’s why I adore to sit here,” she patted the bench, “watching, whilst my boys play. We’ll have such dark delights together. No need to worry, they can neither hear nor see us because where would the fun be if they knew?”
And suddenly…?
I was fully awake and back in the world again. Because this was Rebel and Ash: my fam. From the time that I realized I was more than human, they had my back, even if they also screwed up.
I rammed the Matriarch against the viewing panel, choking her. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t shove me back.
I guess that we didn’t share the same taste for dark delights as she’d hoped.
“Why did you bring me here?” I demanded. “What the hell did you expect me to do?”
“You wished to see the Addict, did you not?” The Matriarch twisted me, still at her throat, towards the viewing panel.
Rebel coughed; Ash held him closer.
I let go of the Matriarch, sinking onto the bench. I touched my hand to the glass, as if I could reach through to the prisoners beyond. “What do you want?”
“I don’t…” Her gaze glinted with disappointment. “This was a reward for your ferociousness in battle.”
She looked at Drake with a shrug of her shoulders.
Drake explained with a dignified aloofness, “Queen Miniel has always drawn great amusement from our sessions, whether with the Addict or vampire whore. She watches, and I perform with a prisoner. If there’s no prisoner…as when you both hid from me on earth, then…” Drake’s wings wrapped around his knees. “It amuses her if I take the role of prisoner and have someone perform on me.”
“Know how to treat a bloke, don’t you?” I snarled.
So close, the bonds to both Ash and Rebel tore at me, raging inferno to rescue them.
Rebel’s emotions — pain, confusion, and grief — consumed me.
“Has Feathers forgotten me?” Hardly more than a whisper, but I still caught Rebel’s question. “She said that I was a bad angel. And bad angels are punished.”
Ash shifted Rebel, massaging deeper into his shoulder blades. “Don’t make me kick your arse, mate. I deal with Big Bads every day, and you’re not even the Diet version.”
“But the princess—”
“Was hurt. Pissed off. And hot. You always have to add the hot.”
I couldn’t help smirking.
But then Rebel quivered, twisting in Ash’s hold. His breaths quickened: panic attack.
I’d helped Rebel through one before, just like I’d helped my sister.
“I’m in tatters, Brigadier. Please stay with me. Don’t be after letting the Commander hurt me again.”
“With my superpowers? I’ll keep you safe.” Ash knew that he couldn’t keep that promise, however, his voice wavered.
Bang — in frustration, I hammered on the glass, but of course they couldn’t hear me.
Gently, Drake’s arms encircled my waist, pulling me back; I was breathing almost as heavily as Rebel.
“In, out,” to my surprise, it was Ash supporting Rebel through the attack. These two were old enemies and reluctant allies but now they were united in their captivity to…what? “Deep puffs like Kalisy’s dragon.”
“Who in the sweet Jesus…?”
Ash scowled. “You’re a poor excuse for a Human Addict, angel.”
“And you’re a fierce geek of a Seducer, Fallen.”
“One all. Round Two?” Ash sprawled against the stone floor of the cell, cradling his head on his arms like it was a soft nest of feathers.
Rebel nestled next to him, stained with grime and welts. “Mind yourself, I can still boot your muppet arse.”
“It’s no fun without my bang, bang.” Ash mimicked his shooter.
“Or Feathers,” Rebel murmured. “Hurt me, kiss me, burn me.”
A tear slipped down my cheek. I remembered the savage flames licking from my mouth onto Rebel’s.
Claiming him.
“Are you…?” Ash peered at Rebel. “You have to stay with me as well, mate.”
Rebel reached towards the back of the cell, dragging the iPod — the only thing that I’d been able to leave him in the cell — onto his chest. Then he wormed one earbud in his ear and the other into Ash’s.
They lay in silence listening to the album that united us, along with my missing sister: Eels’ Beautiful Freak.
Rebel ducked his head, exposing the long line of his white neck. “I’m mortified for how I was carrying on before, wailing and banging my head on the bars. Being back in the dark after forty years trapped here…? I’ve ballsed things up and now I’ll never escape. I think…I’m mad as a box of frogs.” He peeked from underneath his eyelashes at Ash, willing him to deny it. I held my breath, studying Ash’s suddenly frozen expression. “Do you think I’m mad as a—”
Rebel Angels: The Complete Series Page 35
