Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  I rolled one on my palm to Spark, before tossing a second to Blaze, who leapt and caught it.

  “You’re not going to peel them…?” Blaze raised his tail.

  “What did your last slave die of?” I dropped the grapes onto the floor, rustling back underneath the seat.

  I yanked out the packet of chili tortilla chips with a hoot of victory, startling Spark scurrying to the floor.

  Rip — I tore open the packet.

  When the hot aroma blasted me, I groaned.

  Save your big ‘O’ moment for the Seducer, Feathery-sweetness, you’ll want some pleasure with the punish.

  All the pleasure I want is hard, spicy, and bad for you.

  You’ve just read the Seducer’s label.

  It’s not happening. You once told me that I’d destroy Ash if I tamed him, and I’ll never let myself destroy him.

  Did I say tame?

  You’re the victor gladiator with the whore about to be delivered to your cell. Why waste the sweet ass spoils?

  One-handed, I tore off my armor, hurling it across the carriage with a thunk; it whacked the Waterloo line. Then I squirmed down, settling in for a snack and holding up an orange triangle. “The food of princesses.” Suddenly, the carriage lurched. I clutched the armrests; my chips sprayed out. “Bastard…”

  The foxes howled, cowering, as the windows rattled. The floor and ceiling pulsed, whilst the human underground pounded by in the tunnel on the other side of the wall. My knees rose and fell at the vibrations as if we were on a ghost train. At last, the underground passed, and the noise quietened.

  Then two tiny, shuddering vampires crawled out of the bed, which I’d built in the corner out of the foam from inside the seats: The Bloods.

  My carriage had come installed with pets and slaves. I’d have settled for fresh towels and room service.

  The Bloods were the lowest vampires in the Under World: Fallen angels who’d been born after the Fall. The Children of the Dark, they were untested and unable to join the higher ranks until they were.

  Catch bastard 22.

  Whining, the girls shuddered, as they knelt in nothing but the tattoos that covered them head-to-toe: living art.

  “The bairns are starving,” Spark huffed, perking his ears and snuffling at the girls’ shaved heads.

  Blaze clicked comfortingly, circling them. “Don’t just gawk. Where’s your real swag?”

  I dragged out the bone skull, which had been tucked underneath next to the junk food.

  This is my choice, J. If I don’t fight, then the kids starve.

  I didn’t say that the choice was easy. Your daddy feeds you treats — familiars, slaves, and chips — because a hooker who has something to lose can be kept in line like a schoolgirl.

  If you’d been shut up with no one but your pretty little self, could even Hercules have forced you to whore yourself in the Cage?

  I bristled, pushing the slopping blood towards the girls. They shuffled forward, peering at me.

  Silent.

  They were always silent. Why didn’t Bloods talk? Couldn’t they…or weren’t they allowed?

  Sighing, I dropped to my knees, stroking over the bristles on their shaved heads. Instantly, they dropped to lap at the blood, cat-like.

  I traced over the tattoos on their heads, which depicted intricate tales of battles and the Fallen’s myths: living fairy tales.

  When I heard the clank of the doors, I snatched up my precious tortillas and hustled the Bloods and familiars into the toilet at the back of the carriage, snapping shut the cubicle. Then I twirled to face General Trick, the albino vampire who owned Ash and who’d captured us before escorting us to the Under World, who lounged in the carriage’s doorway. He studied me, twirling one waist long strand of white hair around his finger. The silver hoops in his ears gleamed.

  Crunch — I bit into a chip, licking the chili dust off my fingers with an exaggerated slurp.

  Trick shuddered.

  “What’s up?” I shook the packet, offering one to Trick who shrank back, dragging his black coat around himself against the spray of chili. “A Fang can’t live on blood alone; let the sensations blow your mind.”

  “I’ll decline.” Trick curled his lip. “Although, sensation shall suit you well in your wicked night with the Seducer, our Bone Princess.” I’d forgotten that his words were as cruel as an oiled blade: congratulations on inciting the psycho. “A most interesting condition of such whores is that we allow them to bring delightful pleasure to others…”

  Crunch.

  Trick gaped at me, as I munched on the chip.

  I gestured the universal go on with my stained hand. “With you. Whores…delightful pleasure…?”

  Trick shook his head, as if dislodging an irritating fly. He tapped his fingers against the edge of the carriage door. “But they’re not allowed to find…their own completion…unless their wingtips are touched. As you can imagine, it keeps them in quite the state of readiness and trains them…”

  Crunch.

  Trick stared at me and then the bag of chips. If we’d been on the battlefield, both the chips and me would’ve been a fine red mist.

  Trick took a deep breath; his foot was tapping now along with his hand. “…Into a state of passion, where even the lightest touch is akin to pain. When they’re naughty, it takes little to punish…”

  Crunch.

  “Will you desist from that infernal feasting, you insufferable creature?” He howled, panting.

  I hesitated with a chip halfway to my lips. Then I smirked, dropping the tortillas onto the seat. “What’s with the Hulk out? You only had to ask.”

  When Trick sidled towards me, sinuous as a snake, I stiffened. “Then let me ask this, princess, isn’t our world what you’ve always wanted? No rules? Star of our carnival? Dark anarchy to let out your monster? And a world to devour?” He pinched my arm, and I yipped. “Are you even listening?”

  Heat blossomed on my tongue, as I sucked my thumb of crumbs, before letting it free from my mouth with a pop. “Carnival, blah, anarchy, blah, monster, blah…”

  “World to devour, blah, blah,” Ash’s voice called from outside the carriage.

  I sniggered.

  Trick glowered, throwing up his bone-white hands in disgust, as he stormed back to the doorway and yanked in Ash by the silver chain that bound his hands like a leash. He threw Ash to the floor in front of me: sacrificial victim.

  And I was King Kong.

  Ash sprawled on his side, as if he’d chosen to stretch out on a bed. Kudos on the not looking intimidated.

  At least he wasn’t naked now: he wore tight black jeans and unbuttoned shirt with slashes at the back that freed his wings. I instantly missed his red military coat, which I’d ground into the mud on the Snowdonian mountainside.

  Ash smiled. “Hey, babe.”

  “Two butter knives and a garlic crusher…is that creative enough on the babe death front?”

  Ash shrugged. “So worth it.”

  “Butter knife, garlic crusher, or nut cracker, it matters not,” Trick muttered. This time, Ash winced. Trick hesitated in the doorway, before slinking back into the frustrated howl of Misrule’s party. “One night to punish him. No one goes back on a bet here.”

  At last, I crouched down in front of Ash; he quivered, battling to hold onto the mask of nonchalance.

  The ancient possessive powers inside me roared to punish Ash for his betrayal and to force him to be mine again, even as I touched my knuckles gently to his cheek.

  “What’s first?” Ash’s gaze flickered to mine. “Castration? Thumbscrews? Pear of anguish? Or straight down to the butter knife?” He touched a tentative thumb to my latex top. “Although, the kinky bondage look’s hot on you.”

  Why the hell was the Master of Misrule in charge of dressing me for the Carnival…?

  “Hold on there, torture happy, this isn’t a medieval dungeon. And you set that bet, not me.” I frowned, flapping my seared wing. “You fired at me. I
’m not in the punishing family business.”

  Even if I was shaking with the effort to hold in the bitch.

  “If you don’t, General Trick’ll think that I went back on the bet, and that means a trip to medieval dungeon land.” Ash rolled onto his back, clasping his hands in front of him, which were caught in his chains: my spoils. “I’m ready, Violet.”

  I rolled my eyes. ‘It’s not a military campaign, Brigadier.”

  I hadn’t expected the flinch.

  When I leaned over Ash, the monster rattled inside, exultant, even as the carriage did with the passing of another train. Our bodies vibrated, joined by the wild thrumming. He gasped: he truly was hypersensitive.

  If he couldn’t back out of his bet, then I’d have to find a way that I could fulfill it, which didn’t involve pain, only pleasure because no matter how much he wanted me to punish him, so that I’d forgive him, I wouldn’t. I loved Ash, but if he wanted my forgiveness, then he had to earn it by having my back.

  I arched a brow, swinging my legs over Ash. When I ran my fingers over his chest, his breath stuttered. “Enough with the burn you, cleanse you, kill you crap. I won’t hurt you to order.” My thumb grazed his nipple, tugging at the nub, and he keened. “Sorry, chili fingers.”

  “Then what’s with the Sharon Stone routine?”

  I growled, throwing open his shirt; he tilted his chin defiantly. “You can’t go back on a bet? And I can’t hurt you? But there’s no reason that I can’t use you: pleasure is pain. My mum taught me that freaky lesson. Don’t worry, you won’t even need to be bare arsed.”

  I feathered ghost touches down Ash’s sides, and he gritted his teeth. Down the fluttering muscles of his stomach, and he hissed as if I was branding him. Then I circled his nipples with a single finger, and he whimpered.

  Was I truly scorching him with a touch? And why did it spiral me higher on the black?

  “See?” I murmured, as Ash tried to scrabble away. “One finger.”

  I clawed my nails into Ash’s wing, holding him still, and he bellowed. At the same time, the tenting in his jeans was hard against my thigh; the Seducer had been well trained.

  “Would Princess Leia use Han like a toy?” Ash demanded.

  “The problem with that?” I stroked through Ash’s feathers. “You’re not Han: you’re bastard Lando. And I reckon that Leia would do this…”

  I edged my fingers towards his wingtips.

  I burned, as much as Ash must be burning. My mind was clouded by a berserker rage that twined with an inferno of possessive desire.

  What the hell was I doing?

  How screwed sideways was it that I no longer knew how to control the beast, which had grown stronger after every fight? I shivered, struggling to battle it down…to stop it hurting…pleasuring…Ash like this…and I no longer knew the difference between the two.

  No, no, no…

  Abruptly, Ash shoved at me with his bound hands, and I stumbled back onto my arse. “Your eyes…” He stared at me. “They’re doing the fairy glow thing: sparking with light. That’s the king playing inside your head.”

  “Not a chance,” I snarled.

  Frustrated, Ash pinned me with his wings, and I was flooded by their scent, which was like being wrapped in a clove studded orange. “The king’s power is to spark light…fervor…into your deepest desires. To incite rebellion, anarchy, or…”

  “The bitch?”

  Ash snorted. “You said it. And just so you know: I’m not one of your kinky angels. I don’t play games of submission. I can’t fight what I’ve been turned into but I will fight you if you touch me like that again. Note the deadly sincerity.”

  The toilet door burst open.

  First came the geekering guttural chatter, as the Blood Familiars leapt onto the seats, and then nothing but hissing crimson.

  Whistle — red whips flashed through the air.

  Ash twisted to the side, before the sticky coils of the whip slashed down over my face.

  I screamed, as they burned like jelly fish stings, clinging to my skin. I ripped at the strands, but they glued my hands. Caught in the scarlet, I thrashed, as the Bloods advanced on me. Their tattoos weaved — alive — out of their skin.

  I cringed, curling up my knees. I was desperate to look away but when a nightmare comes to life instead of a fairy tale, there’s nowhere to hide from the monsters.

  “I’m safe,” Ash murmured. Even through my shaking, I could see that his eyes gleamed like he was holding back tears. Why did he care about my Bloods? “You can turn off destruction mode. I’m here now.”

  When the tattoo whips pulled back, sinking into the Bloods’ skin like they’d never danced to life, I groaned: that was me flayed.

  “So, that happened.” I blinked.

  Ash held out his arms to the Bloods, and they darted to him; one nuzzled into each shoulder. He shook, and this time I knew that it was from tears.

  My mind was clearer than it’d been…maybe since I’d been brought here. It was as if the tattoos had sucked the king’s light out like poison, freeing me from his fervor.

  I touched the fang necklace and I remembered the joy that had zinged through me, whilst I’d held Ash down and tormented him with my touch.

  What the hell had I done?

  I ripped off the necklace, sickened by the feel of each fang and the memory of every howl as they’d been torn from my defeated opponents. Struggling to swallow, I hurled it skittering across the carriage. Then I ducked my head, nudging the skull with what remained of the blood dinner towards Ash. Why had I even hesitated to forgive him, when I knew how brutal the Under World was that owned him? Except, I’d find a way to free him, as well as my angel lovers.

  I peeked up at him. “If the king-sparked bitch makes another appearance, you have my permission to take the reins. Until then, the prisoner of war look doesn’t suit you, how about you drink?”

  Hell, as apologies went it was the best that I could manage.

  Ash gave a curt nod, but he lifted the skull to each of the Bloods first, stroking their wings, before he fed. I could tell how much it cost him not to guzzle the blood in desperate gulps, instead taking casual sips.

  After, he panted, bending over as if even that much blood pained his guts.

  I edged closer. “You know my Bloods?”

  Or the freaky creatures with the epic tattoo whips…

  Ash eyed me coolly. “They’re not yours, Violet.” I pinked. “They’re my sisters.”

  I jolted, and he hugged his sisters closer.

  Hell, had Ash’s sisters been placed in my room to control Ash or to control me?

  “Why aren’t they with you?” I asked.

  Ash’s laugh was bitter. “You free Angel World’s slaves, but it’s OK for vampires to be kept as pets? Our parents died, but I wasn’t allowed to raise my sisters. I can’t…save them…but I’ve sacrificed myself to stop them becoming me.”

  The Bloods stared at him with wide gazes. Their tattoos glowed, as they burrowed closer.

  “I’ve lost my sister too.” I traced across the pouch around my neck, which held my sister’s necklace. And how had the fang necklace tricked me into forgetting it? “She and all the disappeared kids of Hackney could be here. Have you been a good little soldier for the Fangs, or have you found them?”

  Ash’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been out there alone. Kept on a leash by the FF. Now I know where the angels are because Supreme Commander Wild’s bedtime routine is less cup of tea, bed, and more whip the angels, bed.”

  I didn’t miss Ash’s anguish at Rebel and Harahel’s pain because it smarted through me as well. Ash had savaged Rebel’s throat during our escape from Angel World. Had Ash’s taste of my bonded angel connected him, even closer than their centuries united against each other in the war between angels and vampires had?

  Or did they have something else in their entwined pasts that had transformed them from enemies to reluctant mates?

  My hands curled into fists. “
If Wild wants the monster out to play, then he can have it on his arse. We’re taking back our fam.”

  Startled, Ash pushed off his sisters and towered over me, whilst his wings beat. “Overruled. You thought that the Matriarch was an Ice Bitch, but she’s nothing to your dad’s Fire Devil. I want to save Rebel and Harahel too. But if we steal the king’s prisoners, he’ll burn us and sell seats, and I’m fond of my sexy arse. You think that the fights are just entertainment? They’re to publicly prove your loyalty and kill your angelic side.” His expression gentled. “You can’t love the enemy.”

  “Stick that, bro.” I pushed myself up, tracing his lips. “I never did well with rules.” At a sudden tugging at my leg, I looked down. The sisters had pressed themselves between Ash and me protectively. I sighed, kneeling down in front of them. “I’m not going to hurt your brother…again.”

  They glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, before nodding. But their tattoos still glowed.

  I traced my hand over one, but Ash caught my wrist.

  “Ask,” he said tightly, “before you touch.”

  There should be a limit on how many times you can blush in one day.

  He was bastard right.

  I peered at the crazy mix of lines that told intricate tales. One blazed brighter: an angel on the Blood’s back. She held aloft a trident, standing atop a mountain of feathers, above a valley of bones…

  I gasped. The bitch was me.

  “Bloods are inked in the tales and prophecies of our people,” Ash whispered. “They’re like our family photos.”

  “Then why am I…?”

  Ash tilted his head. “I thought that I was your family…?”

  I pointed a shaky finger at the trident. “What the hell am I doing with that killer fork?”

  Ash dropped his gaze. His voice was clipped. “You’re destroying the world.”

  I jerked, knocking back Ash; the Bloods whimpered. I blundered away from the tattoo and every dark desire and fear inked out on flesh. My chest was tight, as I struggled for breath.

  Ash reached for my hand, but I snatched it away. “Violet…”