Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  Why had the bitch held back on the barbecuing?

  Gabriel shuddered next to me, sweat beading on his forehead. He still clutched Diniel to his chest, but silver burst from the vortexes of his eyes, which swirled as they had in the Angel Games, shielding us in a protective bubble that reminded me of the golden one that I’d generated to protect Drake and the angel kids in battle against Lucifer.

  Had that been a Seraphim skill?

  The gleam of the bubble cast the cool white and blue of the arched room in a fairy moonlight, just as it held back Istafil’s flickering ribbons.

  The fire shadow’s flames snapped back in irritation. “You know better than to interfere with a chastisement, lamb.” Istafil’s voice had hardened; I shivered. The bitch was taking the wicked step-mother role a little too far. “Your tricks are for Court One alone. Now drop the shield and return your brattish brother to my care.”

  I snorted. “Not happening, Cruella.”

  “Please, Violet…” I swung around to stare at Gabriel. I didn’t know if it was the please or the Violet. But I knew then that Istafil had a higher status in Court Two than Gabriel, and that his reaction to save me and his brother had been pure instinct. “Put away your dagger.”

  I glanced down at my hand and my white knuckles around Star’s hilt. Shakily, I forced myself to sheath Star, which was bastard hard when there was a fire shadow in the room.

  Isafil’s shadow slowly took form: A Seraphim with flaming wings and ruby ribbons, which wound around her body; her floor-length hair was the same ruby as the ribbons, whose long lengths weaved like cobras about to strike with shining jewels for eyes. Sickening wafts of rose clouded the Gilded Cage like an invasion.

  At last, Gabriel ran his hand — just once — over his brother’s shaking shoulder, then he blinked. His eyes settled, as the bubble faded.

  Istafil darted forward, wrenching Diniel away from Gabriel…and Gabriel let her.

  Diniel wailed, as Istafil twisted his sensitive wing tip, forcing him onto his knees. “Foxies…”

  Spark leapt forward, but Blaze caught him around the waist, pinning his hands. Spark snarled and thrashed.

  “I’m sorry, lad.” Blaze nipped at his neck.

  “So, this Mongrel Witch thing…” I didn’t miss Istafil’s cringe. “Is that because you’re a bitch and buttugly?”

  Istafil almost raised her hand to check that her Miss Slutty Arabian Princess face hadn’t erupted into boils: vain.

  “Such language.” Istafil’s false outrage couldn’t hide the undercurrent of malicious spite, as she scowled at Gabriel. “It makes me wonder what naughty little birdie first taught the Archduke here such an insulting name for me…” Gabriel paled. Istafil rapped her nails, as if in thought, on Diniel’s still twisted wingtip. I shuddered in sympathy. “I dedicate so much time and effort to your training and yet all I see are two disobedient, defiant, and disrespectful sons. Our loving Emperor will be most displeased.”

  Gabriel hurriedly dropped to his knees.

  Why did it make my guts roil at how wrong it was to see Gabriel kneeling before Istafil, whilst she stared down at him with an infuriating little smirk?

  It was as wrong as it would be to see Mischief kneel. Especially when Gabriel was kneeling out of fear for his brother.

  Istafil had discovered Gabriel’s belly and she was shanking him in in his softest part.

  “My apologies, Favored One.” Gabriel didn’t look up. “We deliver ourselves to your chastisement. Please punish us as you see fit. Thank you for taking the time to train us to be good sons for the Emperor.”

  Istafil’s ribbons writhed more wildly in excitement. She gave a satisfied smile.

  Time to wipe that off her face…

  “So, you’re looking for a new nickname? How about Medusa? Because you’ve got that whole snake vibe thing going on. Or Baby Doll because if you’re the despot’s chief toy, you’re more or less a blow up—”

  “I’m the Favored Beloved!” Istafil snarled, hurling Diniel to the floor and booting his wings out flat — punishment position.

  My breath caught. When Gabriel slid onto his front as well, stretching out his wings next to Diniel, his velvety amber scent shuddered through me calling protect, protect, protect, until my silver screamed.

  I clenched my fists to stop myself drawing my blade again and diving on Istafil to defend both Archdukes.

  When I glanced at Blaze and Spark, I could see that they were struggling just the same: they clung to each other, hiding their faces in each other’s necks.

  Whatever begged me to cherish Gabriel, despite knowing his power, wasn’t about him being the godly son of an Emperor, although it was about love. All I knew was that he was mine, and he was about to be hurt. And he wouldn’t even allow me to stop it.

  “Curiosity costs. If you wish to know why I’m called Mongrel, then you pay.” Istafil’s ribbons whipped out.

  Swish — crack.

  Gabriel jolted. Blood peeked through his feathers, where the rubies on the end of the ribbons had bitten in like belt buckles.

  My pulse thundered, as I remembered the swish — thud of Rebel’s flogging in the Bailey by the cat o-nine tails, which had clawed scarlet down his back.

  “I’m a hybrid: both witch and god. Surely you didn’t believe yourself our Emperor’s first creation, dear heart?” Istafil simpered. Why the hell did that sting, as if I wanted to be special to my…creator? Like she’d caught my thought, Istafil laughed. “They all so prettily line up to be the Emperor’s toys in the end.”

  Swish — crack.

  When the ribbon whips hit Gabriel’s other wing, he bit his lip to hold back the gasp. Angel wings were as sensitive as a vampire’s claws or a bloke’s prick. It had to be bastard agony. So, why was he frightened to make a sound? Then I saw the tears in his eyes, and that was worse because he must’ve learned that he wasn’t allowed to yell out, or even to cry, during his chastisements.

  How many times had Istafil done this to Gabriel and his brother?

  Why did Gabriel allow her to?

  Istafil’s look was suddenly sharp, as her gaze narrowed on me, assessing. “I’m the Fire God’s favorite toy, even if he never asked permission to play. And as soon as I have a son…”

  Swish — crack.

  Gabriel convulsed under the strength of the blow, curling away with a whimper.

  “Poor little lamb prefers that I take this to the Emperor after all?” Istafil crouched over Gabriel, stroking the tears from his cheeks with mock tenderness.

  Could I at least burn her hands…?

  “Sorry, Favored One,” Gabriel gasped, forcing himself back onto his front.

  She straightened. “When I have my own son, the Fire God’s promised that I shall be his Empress.”

  “Oh well,” I gritted out, “if he’s promised…”

  Istafil’s vicious self-satisfaction dropped as she gaped at me. Then every single one of her whip ribbons raised in fury, before she twisted them, bringing them down towards Diniel.

  “Hold the hell up…” I hollered.

  To my surprise, the ribbons hovered just above Diniel’s quivering wing.

  Istafil sighed. “Do you think that I have nothing to do apart from deal with childishness today? Dear heart, a party in your and your bastard brother’s honor is arranged for tonight — let’s call it, an introduction into Court Two — and I do so very much more than look breathtakingly beautiful.”

  “So, get polishing the party hats.” I shooed her with my hands towards the gate.

  “You are a strange creature.” She tossed her hair behind her shoulder. “Much like the Irish angel whore: our newest Beloved. So sweet tasting and yet he actually believed that he could fight my touch…”

  Violet burst through me: it scented the air, pounded in my veins, and it was all that I could see.

  Istafil had Rebel in her harem and had been touching…

  I roared, launching myself at Istafil, who stumbled backwards, only
to find my hands catch on nothing, as Gabriel netted me in silver.

  “Guilt by association.” Gabriel gingerly forced himself back onto his knees with a grimace. “If you spill a drop of the Imperial Favorite’s blood, you’ll be punished, and if she chooses, your whole family will be punished alongside you.”

  As the violet faded, although not the ache in my chest at the thought of Rebel trapped in the Forbidden Court — a toy — with Istafil, I got why Gabriel didn’t fight back.

  By trying to protect his brother, his brother would suffer far worse. It was screwed-up and better than any leash.

  Tentatively, I felt through the bond to Rebel.

  Shame, despair, humiliation…

  Shocked, I gasped. Then glared at Istafil, craving to take out every ounce of pain that I’d experienced through the bond on her.

  I might not be able to take her blood, but there were other ways to make someone hurt, and I was the Queen of Hurt. Plus, risky escape attempts, and I would save Rebel from the Forbidden Court. His love ached through me from the feather in my pocket: I missed him, as badly as I missed the wings that Mage Drake had stolen from me.

  I inched my fingers into my pocket to stroke over the feather, then jolted at Rebel’s message, which murmured through my mind like a love poem at the touch: Feathers, sweet Jesus, I hope that you can hear this. I’m trapped in the Forbidden Court with a young fellah, Sablo, who’s no older than Haman…he can magic these recordings, and I’d rip out every feather if it meant that you knew you weren’t abandoned. I’ll find my way to you. But, until then, this is my Reasons Why I Should be Off Your List of Asses to Kick. Number One: I love you and…wait, the Mongrel Witch is coming back…

  Tears pricked my eyes, and my pulse quickened, as the recording cut off.

  What had Istafil done to Rebel? Had she discovered Rebel’s trick? And I hadn’t missed Rebel’s anguish about a kid the same age as his brother being held as a Beloved in the harem.

  Rebel had taken the risk to smuggle out the message to me, however, because he loved me enough to ensure I knew that I wasn’t abandoned. So, I’d take the risk to set him free.

  Except, Istafil must’ve been doing her witch mind reader thing or else she knew enough about manipulation to know my next move because she tutted. “Only Beloveds and bodyguards are allowed within the Forbidden Court. If anyone else touches a Beloved without permission, their hand is struck off. Maybe Fallen hybrids aren’t bright enough to know the meaning of long words like Forbidden?”

  “I’m the Dragon Queen,” I forced myself to reply calmly, “I know the meaning of regime change.”

  Istafil stared at me. Then she spun to Gabriel who was watching me with an inscrutable expression. “Now, what do you say?”

  “Thank you for shining your beauty and kindness on us and correcting our faults,” Gabriel intoned.

  “Seriously,” I rolled my eyes, “you make them recite that? Here’s another long word I know: egomaniac.”

  Istafil’s hair burst into flame: bastard anger issues. “You must present this creature…your sister, as well as her bastard brother…at the party tonight.” She ran the back of her hand down Gabriel’s arm. “Let’s have some fun, sweet lamb. Unwind and relax. You’re so tense.”

  “No,” Gabriel whispered, “they’re not ready.”

  Istafil’s claw-like nails bit into Gabriel’s welted wings, as she held him close, and at last he wailed.

  I jumped forward, before stopping myself, as the ancient powers inside me howled to sweep Gabriel away from her cruel parody of an embrace.

  Finally, Istafil let up, patting Gabriel’s head. “There, there, lamb. You’ll bring them to the party, and it shall be songs and dancing and… If your new brother is not tame yet, then I’ll simply tame him myself. In fact, I relish the chance to train such a pretty one.” I swallowed bile, as Istafil twisted around to Diniel, dragging him to his feet. “Brat, if you don’t wish to spend your time in the Forbidden Court with me, you may spend it in the dark.”

  “No…” Diniel wailed, as Istafil swept through the archway towards the cells.

  Gabriel painfully pushed himself up. He looked…guilty. And I got that because he hadn’t saved his little brother from the dark.

  I truly understood now how much of a prisoner he was.

  “I…” Gabriel stopped, fidgeting with the hem of his top. “I apologize for my cowardice and—”

  “Enough of that.” Blaze caught Gabriel before his knees could buckle, supporting him to the bed. He wrapped his arms around his waist, licking up his neck. “She uses you against each other. It’ll damage your position in court if you can’t control—”

  “Mischief,” Spark whimpered.

  “I am aware.” Gabriel ducked his head. “As soon as I’m able, I shall allow your family free of the cells. I should never have put them in there and for that, I’m sorry. One thing I never want is to take after Istafil.”

  “So, what now?” I dropped next to Gabriel, stroking a sapphire behind his ear, which glistened in his hair. “Because a bitch like that shouldn’t be controlling the board.”

  “She’ll use you both to weaken me and gain strength for her own position with the Emperor, until she can bear him a child. She doesn’t believe that you and I will be able to tame Mischief or can become the new power: we must show her that she’s wrong.”

  I nodded because my mouth was too dry to form words.

  Tonight, I’d go to the Step-Mum from Hell’s party, impress the Seraphim, and tame Mischief. I’d break my promise to never force someone to submit against their will. And I’d do it because the gods, Istafil, and for all I knew Jahael himself was watching for Gabriel and me to slip up. Plus, if I didn’t, Mischief would be broken under Istafil’s training.

  Yet how much harder would it be to break Mischief myself?

  Did Jahael know the dangers in his courts? The truth of the Angel Games and the cruelty of his Imperial Favorite? Or was the party tonight my first chance to meet him and discover whether out of all the gods, the Emperor was the deadliest?

  6

  The bone-white moon beamed from the ruby-tinged dark of the night sky; specter fingers crept across the silver arches of the Gilded Cage. The opals embedded in the roof glowed and hummed lullaby-soft.

  I shivered in the cool that at tonight’s party I’d be honored, and Mischief would be humbled.

  And I’d be the bitch who’d put him in his place.

  Mischief pressed another amethyst bead onto my midriff, stoking the skin with his elegant finger first.

  When I’d been left alone in the Gilded Cage with Mischief, I’d discovered the outfit, which Gabriel had laid out for my introduction to Court Two: a purple fringed belt and bra that jingled every time that I moved, a flowing chiffon skirt and ballet shoes.

  If Gabriel expected a belly dance, then he’d get the Seven Kicked Asses, rather than the Seven Veils.

  On the bed, there’d also been an ornate box of beads. Mischief had stuck the amethyst beads to my skin, until I’d become a gem encrusted doll: another one of Jahael’s playthings…or Istafil’s.

  Mischief glanced up at me through his hair, before bending over my hands and fixing the final two gems onto my palms. Then he kissed each tenderly.

  My breath caught.

  “My jewel.” Mischief cradled my hands to his cheek; his gaze sought mine. “I belong to you in all ways that could conceivably matter, as you belong to me. My father — how he is seeded inside you, as well as whatever we need to do to survive and protect our family — nothing changes that.”

  Did he know?

  Had Mischief worked out that his was the sacrifice that I needed in order to move closer to Jahael?

  Why did I always need to hurt someone to save my people? Was that what it meant to be a leader? People as pawns? But wasn’t that an abuse of power: the exact thing that I’d fought against?

  Yet Mischief could never be a pawn because he was as much a leader as me. And he’d granted
me permission to hurt him.

  My eyes burned with tears, as I pulled Mischief closer. The kiss was petal soft, infused with Mischief’s love and understanding. Our magic twined in gossamer curls, crackling like popcorn. I nibbled on his lip, but he pulled back.

  “Just don’t take pleasure from your actions, since I know that you’ll be tempted.” I froze: unable to swallow, or even deny. His smile was crooked. “You know quite well how you’ve thrilled in power before: it’s an aphrodisiac to any Glory, and I can’t suffer at one’s hand, if I know they rejoice in it.”

  Mischief had been abused by his bitch of a Glory mother. The Legion of the Phoenix had been a psycho cult but it’d also been a refuge, which had saved Mischief from Glories: like me. Every moment that he placed himself or his love in my hands was a gift.

  “Never, bro.”

  Mischief’s nod offered more trust than every time he’d fought at my back. “I may be the bastard Archduke but my Firstborn brother appears to have inherited the same traits as me.” Mischief’s gaze darkened. “He’s traitorous, scheming—”

  “Snarky?”

  Mischief sniggered. “Oh, the padawan has much to learn about the power of the sarcastic putdown.” Then he grabbed me by the waist, dragging me closer. “He’s dangerous—

  “By His wing, I consider myself safe as…well, there is nothing safe in this realm. Except, perhaps you, brother.” At Gabriel’s mocking voice from the archway, Mischief and I startled apart with a jingle.

  I stared at Gabriel, as he swaggered towards us in midnight-blue robes, which swept the floor. The robes were threaded with the same sapphires that shone in his hair, and his wings glinted like they’d been oiled. The warm aroma of amber made me gasp for breath: I stepped towards him, magnetized.

  Gabriel had pulled off one hell of a power play.

  Where was the Seraphim who’d knelt in punishment position before Istafil or submitted before Blaze? How many roles was Gabriel forced to play to survive?

  How many would I be?

  Mischief pulled a face as he hunched his shoulders like an unimpressed teenager on his brother’s prom night. “Go ahead and believe me safe. After all, leopard seals look cute but they’ll hunt humans.”