Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  “Prophecies jerk you around; I’m not falling for the self-fulfilling trap.” My gaze was steely. “I’m rescuing Rebel and Harahel. You wanted punishment? Then you spend one night with me taking on the bastard FF who play fetch with you.”

  Ash nodded, holding out his hands.

  I undid the chains that chafed his wrists. “My dad awoke the monster. Now he can meet the bitch.”

  Yet I hid my shaking hands in the pockets of my trousers because this was the first time that I’d been free to step outside the cage, including the one that’d been built inside my own mind.

  Ash and I had one night to save the angels from the vampire elite guard, risk Wild’s punishment, and defy a king who could cast us into the flames.

  4

  Obedience had been the doggy trick for the kids in Jerusalem Children’s Home who, with tamed smiles, had been conning their way into the adults’ hearts.

  That is, for the kids who had a chance to be adopted.

  With one violet eye and one black…? I was the freaky kid who scared prospective parents away with a look. Yeah, the world’s crappiest super power.

  What did obedience gain me? No one tamed the Bitch of Utopia because no one wanted her. Or needed her.

  Now that I had family, however, mine was the heart that could be split bloody. At last, I was needed.

  So, could I also be taught to obey?

  Misrule’s cane thwapped on the arched wall, blocking Ash and my way into the Ossuary and the angels’ cells.

  I jumped; sweat trickled between my shoulder blades in the furnace heat. The air was so thick that it stuck in my throat, damp and heavy, like being suffocated by a wet cloth. I choked on my own spittle, backing up. Ash caught my elbow, wincing as I stepped on his toes in the gloom.

  Misrule waggled the wing bones on the end of his cane, as if we were naughty kids caught behind the bike sheds.

  So much for our stealthy mission to save the angels.

  Ash and I had crept to the deepest FF owned tunnels, only for the Master of the Cage to block our way.

  “I thought that you had an orgy to run, cravat face?” I shoved at the cane, but Misrule only stepped closer.

  “And I thought that you had a Seducer to punish?” Misrule shoved Ash against the wall, which was encrusted with fangs, and nibbled up his neck. He smacked his lips. “Delicious. Is this why my monster has run away from the Bone Carnival? Or…” Ash glared, as Misrule traced down his chest. “Does that lie within the Ossuary bones?”

  “Why?” I demanded. “So, you can toss them in the Cage and make me beat on them too?”

  Misrule cocked his head. “The Under World would go wild for an angel vs vampire feature but,” he spun me, catching me in the sweetness of his cherry wings; his lips grazed my ear, “I Fell with my lover, Tiger, and he was stolen. I know the heart of pain, so how could I steal from you that which I lost?”

  Ash smirked, crossing his arms. “Plus, it helps that you have a hard on for angels.”

  “What…?” I spluttered.

  Misrule drew back, throwing Ash a knowing look. “Takes one to know one.”

  Then it was Ash’s turn to splutter.

  Misrule twirled his cane. “Our new world under the ground was meant to be a fresh start, uncontrolled. But as you may have noticed, the FF squeeze our balls with rules.” He grinned. “We’re rebels. Let’s snog rebellion until it swoons.”

  “Bitching speech.” I linked my arm with Misrule’s, as we slipped through the archway. “I’m tingling with Marlon Brando feels already.” Ash, however, slunk down the narrow tunnel opposite. “Where are you going? We’re having a moment here.”

  Ash’s smile was tight. “Guards. Distraction. Seducer. Not drawing you a diagram.”

  Shocked, I jolted towards Ash, but Misrule held me back. “It’s what he does for the FF. It’s what he is.”

  “You’re wrong,” I hissed, whilst my eyes prickled with tears. “He’s a funny brave geek who loves Star Wars, iconic pop culture, and gaming. That’s what he is. He’s not the FF’s, you get me?”

  Misrule studied me. “You’re different. Something’s changed.” I stiffened. Could he tell that I’d broken free of the spark? Then he leaned in, conspiratorially. “I love it, and the king’s going to hate it.”

  “Bring it on.” I marched into the Ossuary. My own dad didn’t even want to see me, yet he reckoned that he could control me? “Let’s see how he likes taking on the Bone Princess.”

  I spun in the center of the cavern, gasping against the suffocating black.

  Violet flared from my feathers and Misrule’s wingtips before it danced along my skin in skittering sparks: fire goose bumps. I shivered, as it lit the brick walls; the air thrummed, and the roof throbbed.

  Crack, crack, crack.

  At each step, I crunched over the bones, which were also piled in haphazard pyramids in each corner. At last, I was walking over the land of bones, which had plagued my nightmares and desires since my powers had second puberty stirred within me on my twenty-first birthday. It wasn’t trapped within my mind or a tattoo.

  What came next? Did I destroy the world?

  I hadn’t realized that I was bent over, wheezing, until Misrule had his arms around my waist, soothing me down from the panic attack.

  “Where are the angels?” I panted.

  Misrule pointed at the walls.

  Yeah, so I had to ask.

  The metal doors looked like ovens in a Victorian bakery, and my angels would be just about done by now.

  Misrule yanked open a metal door.

  There was a sudden desperate breath from the black, before Misrule pulled Harahel out in a sweep of waist length brunet curls, swinging him around in a flurry of apple-scented wings.

  I guess Ash was right about Misrule’s hard on for angels.

  How often had Misrule risked the FF’s punishment to visit the prisoners…my family?

  I scanned Harahel for injuries. Although he seemed weak this far under the ground without sunlight — the food an angel needed to survive — his slight body, still only wearing his ash silk harem trousers, was unmarred. There wasn’t even a single welt across his pale back.

  So, apart from the buried alive bit, that was one-up on Angel World.

  Yet everything had a cost here; I’d been paying mine in the Cage. What had Misrule’s been to protect his pet from the FF? Had that been why he’d allowed Wild’s arm to press around his shoulder?

  To rig the fights?

  “Hey, breathing isn’t optional.” Harahel sniggered, slapping Misrule’s back.

  Misrule nuzzled Harahel’s neck, before allowing him to stand on his own feet, but not before he’d tenderly kissed the stump of Harahel’s missing hand. Harahel blushed but he didn’t pull away, and I didn’t miss the gesture.

  On Angel World, Harahel had been reduced to the ranks of the Imperfect because of the loss of his hand but here he’d been chosen by the highest-ranking civilian.

  Misrule spoke more in that kiss than any words.

  “What do you weep in my ear every time that I see you? What gift could I conjure to stop your tears?” Misrule murmured.

  “Enough with the mocking,” Harahel pouted. “I’m small but wind me up and watch me explode. BOOM!”

  “Pull back on the atomic tantrum, tiny terror. I don’t want to be washing you out of my hair all week,” I smirked, pushing past Misrule, who let go of Harahel with a smile.

  Harahel’s violet eyes widened, before I was enveloped in a koala bear clinging angel who was quivering hard enough to break apart.

  Why hadn’t I fought harder to find and protect him? Had my dad’s angelic power truly been clouding my mind? I could still feel it inside me: the shifting black that snarled with rage and the thirst for battle, which my dad’s fervor had incited and controlled. But I’d allowed it, reveled in it, and desired it.

  My angelic side had been as buried as the angels.

  Harahel stroked my back, before finally liftin
g his head from my shoulder. “Thanks for the perfect gift. Although,” he traced a fading bruise underneath my eye, “I’d have picked different gift wrap.”

  “By the shadows, where’s the kneeling?” Misrule tapped his cane on the floor. “Don’t you angels worship her? I’d heard tales of cowering—”

  Harahel’s eyes twinkled, before he cringed back in mock terror, falling to his knees before me on the bones – crunch.

  He pressed his forehead to the floor, and I rolled my eyes. “Forgive me, oh powerful and wise one, for I’m only a lowly Imperfect and should never raise my gaze upon the face of my—”

  “If you say princess, I’ll boot you in the balls. No fam of mine calls themselves Imperfect. That’s a banned word, like moist or butthurt. And you don’t want to see me go BOOM. Get up, bro.”

  Misrule’s grip tightened on his cane as he watched us, but Harahel only slouched to his feet with a shrug.

  Harahel patted Misrule’s arm. “I was her Trainer and her Poly-Wing.” Misrule cast me a glare that made me glad that I wasn’t still in the Cage. “She didn’t touch me,” he added softly, “she saved me.”

  “How fascinating that it’s now I who save you.” Misrule dragged Harahel closer again. “Maybe your princess,” yeah, the bastard was daring a Violet style explosion, “is now all monster?”

  I winced.

  Harahel snorted. “She was always all monster. You two should play nicely together.”

  I scanned the other oven doors, pressing my nails into my palms. “Which one’s Rebel?”

  My punk angel hated…feared…the dark. I’d promised that he’d never be put back into it again. Yet he’d been kept in this suffocating black…

  “So, the Bone Princess wants her pet angel?” Wild’s gruff Brummie accent startled me from the mouth of the Ossuary.

  I spun, but Wild barred the entrance with his arms crossed over his broad chest. FF guards ranked behind him, clutching Ash between them.

  Hell.

  Ash’s gaze met mine, before he forced himself to offer a brittle smile. It couldn’t hide his swollen eye or cut lip.

  Wild had just lit up the bitches inside me, and soon he’d be the one lit up.

  You’re in the heart of Fascists Are Us homeland. You don’t have your tickled punk yet. And you don’t even know what Daddy Devil wants.

  Think before you choose the angelic prisoners over the asshole jailers who hold the shiny keys.

  Allow that, J. These assholes hurt my fam.

  They also run this underground pageant where you wear the sash for Miss Vampire.

  Sometimes being on the inside works better than being on the outside.

  What? I should go undercover? Pretend I’m all vampire?

  The Supreme Commander expects a throw down. What better reason to deny him?

  The ancient powers inside howled, twisting up my throat, until I choked to spew out my fire and barbecue the smug face of the bastard lounging in the doorway.

  Instead, I forced the flames back down to sizzling embers before meeting Wild’s scrutiny. J was better at both diplomacy and treachery than me. If he thought that I should pretend to be a loyal vampire, then I’d put on an act, even if it tore me apart to pretend that I didn’t love my angels. “Cheers, I need a punching bag between fights.”

  Ash’s smile faltered; I hated the wariness lurking behind his gaze.

  “Princess…” Misrule tugged my sleeve.

  Smack — I slapped him across the cheek.

  Misrule raised his hand to the hot mark, staring at me through shocked eyes.

  “What did I just say about calling me princess?” I steeled myself not to look back as I stalked towards Wild. I’d never have been able to keep up the lie if I had. Undercover was harder than it looked. “Let’s go, yeah?”

  Snap.

  I glowered down at the cuffs that Wild had locked around my wrists. I pulled at them, but there was no budge: angel and vampire proof.

  Wild winked. “It’s not that I don’t trust you…” When he leaned closer, patting my cheek, I flinched. “…But I don’t trust you.”

  “Back at you, times a thousand, no returns.” Something about Wild brought out the kid in me. I only just fought the urge to stick out my tongue.

  Nonplussed, Wild stared down. “I see that there’s much training to do before you become my Bonded, wench.”

  Bonded? As in, his vampire bitch?

  “Hold the wedding bells,” I choked, as my heart thundered worse than in any fight in the Bone Carnival.

  I didn’t know whether my act hadn’t worked well enough…or had worked too well.

  Wild petted my hair, before prowling to Misrule. “We had an arrangement, and you’ve broken it by bringing her here.”

  Misrule’s arm tightened around Harahel. “You think that you bring the Bone Princess anywhere?” He scoffed. “By my blood, if you want pain for this, then punish me. I’m sure that it’ll put on quite a thrilling spectacle in the Cage.”

  “You’re half-soaked if you don’t know what I want.” Wild leaned over Harahel, ruffling his feathers; Harahel trembled. “The FF have been clamoring for him. The price for his arse alone has gone up, and you can no longer pay it.”

  Violet surged through me: why had I imprisoned myself? Now I couldn’t save Harahel.

  “Please…” For the first time, Misrule’s charisma waned, and I glimpsed the bloke underneath who was as fragile as he was tough.

  “Begging?” Wild’s lips curled. “How many beg in your bones and blood show? How many are granted mercy?”

  “None,” Misrule’s voice was hard, “but I didn’t set the rules. Just like this one.”

  I jolted, as Misrule’s teeth sank into Harahel’s throat with a crunch; Harahel shrieked.

  “Bastard no.” I fell to my knees.

  Crack — the bones broke, dusting me in white.

  Wild dragged Misrule off Harahel, slamming him against the wall.

  Harahel fell next to me amongst the bones, and I cocooned him in my wings. The scent of his spring orchard blood juddered through me, as it dribbled down his neck onto his chest. Tears soaked his cheeks.

  I clutched him tighter. “Way to protect a bloke, bastard,” I hissed at Misrule.

  “Actually, that’d be a yes,” Misrule panted. Wild’s long black claws pinned him through the shoulders against the brick. “I’ve claimed him as my sole Blood Lover. I’m owed one, since mine has been missing so long. I’d only wished to take the willing but…. Well, who’s willing in this dance?”

  Wild withdrew his claws with a squelch, and Misrule slumped. “The boss will have something to say about this.”

  Misrule sighed. “Doesn’t he always?”

  Wild wound his fingers in my hair before I could pull away, wrenching me to my feet. Still dazed, Harahel tried to hold onto my legs, but was booted back.

  “Come on, wench, let’s leave the happy couple together,” Wild leered. “I have a pet to break and a princess to tame.”

  “This monster won’t be domesticated,” I growled, struggling.

  Yeah, undercover wasn’t my thing.

  Wild only chuckled as he dragged me out of the gloom of the Ossuary and into the dark.

  Trussed in chains, I’d become the sacrifice for the leader of the elite guard.

  When Wild Bonded with me, I’d be forever trapped in the Under World.

  5

  A violet feather floated in the copper rich air of the Charnel House. I batted it away with my manacled hands as I shifted on the floor. Wild nudged me onto a steel stool in the corner, and my back scraped against the wall, which was pitted with fangs.

  How many enemies of the FF had they been ripped from? Had they all been tortured in this Charnel House?

  I couldn’t look anywhere but the wooden slab, which was suspended on chains from the center of the room, waiting for gingerbread men fresh from the oven and ready for decorating.

  And Rebel was the gingerbread man — naked, of cours
e, apart from the spiked black collar around his throat. Chained faceup, with his violet wings spread wide and his skin translucent in the specter light of our feathers alone, he was just waiting for the baker…

  I tugged on my own chains, bruising my wrists, as I stared at Rebel, hungering for the slam of his sugar blood after so long apart...craving all of him.

  Why wasn’t Rebel moving?

  I cataloged the yellow, green, and purple of past beatings, healing blister burns, and scabbed slashes. I was desperate to sooth each one with kisses, as if angel kisses truly could heal like Rebel had once told me. Yet what gave me the Mythically Screwed tingles was his stillness. Rebel was a bouncing, unpredictable, volatile ball of energy that had torn through my life and thrown it into chaos.

  He shouldn’t be motionless, as Wild teasingly stroked his wingtips.

  “Enough with the wandering hands. This one’s mine,” I snarled.

  It was no use pretending that I could keep up J’s suggested act of being an angel hater: not when Rebel needed protecting.

  My pulse pounding, I reached through my bond with Rebel: silence.

  What the hell have they done to Rebel?

  How about worrying about what Supreme Commander Jinn will do to your ass?

  If he Blood Bonds with you, he’ll be the one with the reins. Nothing but death will separate you.

  The bastard can’t force a bond, and there’s no way that I’m offering up my neck.

  Like tall, dark, and caney sank his fangs into our sweet apple thing? Now Harahel’s his Blood Lover, no permission needed.

  A Blood Bond can be forced.

  But if bonds only go one way, they’re tricky things: consent’s a shady whore. She sells herself for bargains.

  Wild stared down at Rebel, before petting his hair. “No need to throw a tantrum, wench, the whole world knows that he’s yours. After all, you Marked him as your bed slave.”

  I flushed.

  Wild pushed aside the hair on Rebel’s neck: VZ stood out in a blood tattoo. I couldn’t deny that I’d had Rebel Marked to claim and control him.

  To force him to kneel.

  Except, I’d been under the influence of my mum’s — the Matriarch’s — poisoned love at the time. I wasn’t as blind to my dad’s world as I’d been to hers. The dreams that I’d had of my parents, when I’d been growing up alone in the children’s home…? They’d been chased away by the nightmares.