Purah had writhed in a haze of desire, heated by the aphrodisiacs that’d laced the alcohol. I hadn’t cared that it would’ve been me, blissed out and brought to agonized completion over and over and…until Purah had begged for Amitiel to stop, but she’d only massaged his wingtips, wringing more from him and taking control of his body.
When Amitiel had soothed Purah afterward, kissing his hair and cheeks, Purah hadn’t shoved her away, but rather had clung to her like his salvation.
After that demonstration, no matter what the drinks would do me, I’d drunk them with swaggering bravado.
Yet as I lost myself, forgetting just a sliver of why I hated Amitiel and beginning to look to her for comfort like Purah had, it grew harder every time to force the poison down my own throat.
“You have a hardon for experimenting on poor bastards, until you can see how they tick. Why your obsession with control?” I smirked. “Are you about to bore me with a sob story about how daddy was a bastard and mummy never loved you?”
Amitiel’s smile slipped. Then she leaned forward, tapping her fingers on her chin. “That’s what we call projection. And it’s time for your drinky-poos because if it’s not to your taste… My, my what a shame indeed, when I went to such lengths to design it for you.” When I gasped in mock horror, Amitiel’s eyes narrowed. “Drink, please. After all, you chose this, my perfect project. Or shall I call back the Official Taster?”
I downed the hissing tequila in one go.
Then I spluttered, choking on the foul aftertaste of sulfur and liquorice.
The glass vanished — like always — whilst my throat burned.
Amitiel chuckled. “The Archduke detested my drinks too at first; they are, after all, an acquired taste.”
I stared at Amitiel. Gabriel had been broken by her?
Amitiel sighed, catching my horrified glare, as if imagining an impossible dream. “Oh, if only. The Emperor has never allowed me to play in his son’s mind — yet. The Favored One, however, orders my drinks for her gatherings; she always selects something extra special to be used on the Firstborn—”
“You’re sick,” I growled, remembering how Gabriel had told me that he’d had no one to protect him at Istafil’s parties. “Can’t you get a bloke without drugging him?”
“Where would be the fun in that?” Amitiel straightened in her throne: deadly elegance. “Especially when my reward was the first taste of the Archduke.”
I howled, struggling at the skeleton fingers that held me into the chair, but they only dug bruisingly deeper. Silver swelled on dragon-wings, but it was muted; confused under a rising fog.
“Why are you angry?” Amitiel asked. “Do you even know?”
“I-I…” Why was I angry? “You said… You hurt…”
Amitiel’s scrutiny was the only thing anchoring me in a blur of confusion. I stared around, lost.
Where the hell was I?
“It’s all right,” Amitiel soothed. “You don’t need to fight to remember…or even to fight. All that pain no longer matters. Why be angry, when you can be happy here with me, hmmm?”
When she smiled, it was like comfort, safety, and home.
It was the only thing to cling onto, and I smiled back, desperate to keep hold of the calm joy that was spreading through me.
Wasn’t this better than the rage, shame, and despair that I’d been feeling before?
I jolted. Why had I been unhappy? It’d been to do with…family. Something important and just out of reach. I didn’t want to forget it… I couldn’t lose that… lose me…
I panicked, whilst my pulse pounded. “I-I can’t…my fam.”
“Who?”
In the haze, there were fragments of faces…blazes of battles…twists of kisses and love…
Was this what fam meant?
My temples throbbed; my forehead burned as hot as the drink had been. “I won’t forget my fam.”
“Are you sure?” Amitiel’s smile widened. “All I see is pain…betrayal…and lies. Your past? It’s not something anyone would want to remember. Let yourself forget and free yourself.”
“Forget what?”
I blinked around myself in confusion. Who the hell was I to be strapped to a throne?
“Who am I?” I murmured.
Amitiel laughed. “My perfect project.”
Then I tumbled into darkness.
When I opened my eyes, I gasped against the pulsing migraine behind my eyes.
I’d forgotten my past, family, and myself. And that felt like the betrayal of myself.
Even though my memories floated far back in my muddled mind, I watched them — detached — as if they belonged to someone else.
Had I ever been the Bitch of Utopia? Vampire Princess? Queen of Chaos? Silver Queen or Dragon God?
Now, I was numb and alone, except for Amitiel who watched me: a scientist tinkering with their latest creation.
When the fresh poison materialized in a crystal glass in my hand — gluttonous layers of cold chocolate with a chili edge, seeping down to crispy vanilla — I chugged it without even looking up.
Click, click, click.
Amitiel shattered the deep silence of the Citadel, as she strutted towards me on metallic heels; her dress flowed behind her like tar. When Amitiel straddled my lap, I didn’t draw back. But her dress slicked up my thighs like it meant to swallow me.
Maybe I was the mammoth: next to be extinct.
I giggled.
The mammoth slays the saber-toothed tiger, then is trapped in the tar…
Now that was a bitch.
I giggled again.
Slap — Amitiel’s palm cracked across my cheek.
I yelped, but the blow sobered me: bastard hysteria. Except, it’d slowed the crawl of the poison, which crept into the dark places inside. And now it howled.
I shuddered, clutching onto Amitiel’s shoulders like she was my rescuer, rather than my tormentor.
“What’s the problem, my perfect project?” She cooed.
“They’re coming,” I whispered, clinging more tightly. My heart pounded. “Help me, please, please, please… Hide.”
I stared horrified at the air in front of me: Rebel and Ash in towering glory stood with flaming wings. Their gaze sang doomsday judgment. Love transformed to hate. And they clutched knives.
They’d come for me.
Amitiel stroked my hair. “Why are we hiding?”
I whimpered. Then my waking nightmares struck at me in a flurry of strikes: Rebel and Ash roared, carving me bloody in the worst betrayal of love.
And I screamed, whilst I died.
Amitiel held me down, petting me, as I thrashed, trapped in my false dream.
At last, the nightmares faded, and I wept. Amitiel wrapped her wings around me. Shaking with a terror that spun the world, I was unable to speak. There was nothing but me and Amitiel.
Had there ever been anything else? Anyone?
“Shhh, now.” Amitiel lifted my chin, pressing a kiss to my lips. “I’ll protect you from those nasty Wings. You don’t need to be alone because you’re loved here.”
“I am?”
Amitiel slid her wings reassuringly up and down my back. “My, my, you must learn that the god who is love itself holds you in highest regard. Of course, he loves us all. So, we must worship him; it’s only fair.”
I nodded, tentatively.
When Amitiel slithered off my lap, I tried to grasp onto her dress to stop her, but she shook her head. “Time for a visitor and worship. You don’t want to go back into the place with those nasty Wings, do you?”
I shook my head frantically, as I clutched onto her hand.
Amitiel smirked, pulling free of my clasp and turning to a beautiful Seraphim in a pearly robe. “They’re all pulled apart as easily as butterfly wings in the end, Emperor, and just as beautiful. Be gentle with this one: she’s one of my best.”
The Emperor studied me, before reaching out his hand and gently untangling a knot in my hair. “S
uch a darling.”
“Do you love me?” I asked
I couldn’t work out the confusion of love and hate that mingled inside at the sight of this Seraphim: it was like he was everything and also the end of all as well.
The Emperor startled, before continuing with his work on my hair. “I love all my fabulous creations, Violet-darling. But you’re one special hooker.” Then he paused, before continuing more softly, “You worship only me now, right? Like your brother does?”
I jolted, pulling back from his touch.
Brother?
Hell, I did have a brother…and didn’t I have a sister too? And those Wings, were they truly the monsters that the vision had created…?
I schooled my expression to blankness, whilst I nodded.
Strands of the Emperor’s silky hair tickled my cheeks, as he bent closer. Why did my chest constrict with panic? “You’re the balance that worlds are built on. My Lazarus girl.” His breath gusted across my lips. “Simply worship me, and I shall raise you beside me for eternity. Adore me.”
“I adore you,” I parroted, although the words rang hollow. The Emperor drew back, however, with a delighted grin, snapping his fingers at Amitiel to follow him, as he swept from the room in a rush of incense through the melting wall. “Wait…don’t leave me…”
I beat against the skull arms of the throne, whilst fat tears wept down my cheeks.
Abandoned.
At last, the skeleton fingers snapped open around my feet, and I tumbled out of the throne, retching in the endlessly repeating obsidian room.
Who the hell was I?
I looked up at the soft pad of footsteps, followed by the gleam of a military uniform that burst like sunshine into the night of the Citadel.
Had a guard been sent for me? Where was Amitiel and the one who loved me? Why had they left me behind?
What had I done wrong?
Yet when I raised my arm to ward off the guard, I focused on my own golden uniform, which matched the guard’s. Had I always been dressed like this?
The Golden Guard crouched down, brushing the hair out of my face. A sapphire pendant shone around his neck.
Why were his eyes so sad?
When he pressed a silver cup into my hands, I sniffed it warily: the clear liquid had no aroma, but sometimes they were the worst.
The Golden Guard sighed. “It’s not…it won’t do anything. I swear on all that’s holy, it’s only water. Trust me.”
Trust me.
Silver tendrils burst through me on shadowed phoenix wings, lighting deadened nerves and numb powers, until I shuddered with the sudden awakening. I didn’t know who this Seraphim guard was, whose amber musk made me quiver with the desire to cherish him, but I knew that he was mine.
Yet I also didn’t know whether I trusted him.
The Golden Guard cradled me with his wings. “I’m… My name’s Gabriel.” He pushed the cup to my lips again, and I took a cautious drink: water.
I swallowed greedily, washing away the bitter taste of vomit. Then I peeked up at Gabriel. “Do I worship you too?”
“By blistering love!” Gabriel cursed. When I cringed, he hurriedly soothed a wingtip down my cheek. “Peace, I’m not angry at you. Amitiel does this to the Acolytes as well… She did this to Purah.” He nuzzled my jaw, and I realized that he was trembling as much as me. “I brought Purah back from such treatment and I shall bring you back as well. All your family will. Because the truth is, I worship you.”
I clutched Gabriel, desperate to believe it, whilst the silver chased in stronger waves through me. “I don’t have fam. Only the Emperor loves me.”
Why did the silver shock me in furious bursts at the words, which suddenly rang so false?
Gabriel’s gaze darkened. “My father requests your presence. Then you’ll see just who loves you. Rebirth is painful, but not a single one of your true family will let you break.”
Gabriel dragged me up, hauling me after him towards the melting door. I struggled, terrified to discover what was outside the obsidian walls.
Inside the Citadel, I only had to drink. Here, I was Amitiel’s perfect project and the Emperor’s darling.
Yet outside, with a family that I didn’t remember and this towering Seraphim with swirling eyes, I had the threat of an agonizing rebirth.
16
The Emperor’s smile was one of love and ownership. I smiled back with blazing adoration.
Standing looking up at the Emperor, I drifted on a safe wave of worship, worship, worship….
Why would I want to be reborn into something that would bring me pain? Remember a past that dragged me from this comforting cocoon?
The Emperor’s bedchamber was like being delivered into dreamland after the darkness of the Citadel: giant murals of the Emperor in shifting forms — male, female, and a mixture of the two — were painted in-between the rippling silver scales of the walls, whilst the fire breath of dragon statues blew in braziers, heating the room. It wasn’t cold, like Court Five had been, and I basked in the warmth of my god and creator.
The Emperor sprawled, with his six wings regally spread out, on a vast bed, which rose above a cage. I jolted, when a naked angel with flame red hair crawled to the front of the cage.
The Caged Wing clutched the bars, before hissing at the burn of the heated iron.
…Doomsday judgment… Carving me bloody… The worst betrayal of love…
I blanched, as the smile died on my lips. The Caged Wing was one of the bastards who’d shanked me in my nightmares. Was that why the Emperor had imprisoned him? To protect me or to punish him?
“Feathers, thank all the saints… I’ve been woeful worried…” The Caged Wing’s black eyelashes curved onto his cheeks, as he peeked out at me.
When the Emperor slammed his wings down on the bed, the base of the bed heated. The Caged Wing shrieked, falling back from the bars.
“Toys should be seen and not heard,” the Emperor scolded, before slamming his wings down again, lowering the heat.
Why did the Caged Wing’s whimper tug at me? Pain, humiliation, but also love… How did these foreign emotions spiderweb across my mind?
When the Emperor beckoned, I abandoned the guard, Gabriel, with the sapphire pendant, at the foot of the bed. Gabriel remained ramrod straight: he hadn’t smiled at the Emperor. But then, the Emperor hadn’t smiled at him.
Maybe the Emperor didn’t love guards like he loved his darling?
I clambered up onto the satin sheets, ignoring the Wing who was trapped beneath me, even though he never stopped staring at me. I wound my arms around the Emperor’s neck, breathing in his rich scent like it was life.
Holy, holy, holy…
I shook with desperate fervor; my eyes fought against a sudden heaviness, as I lost myself in the memory of the Emperor’s comfort and fought to forget the bitch who was whispering in my brain, trying to break out.
The Emperor stroked my cheek: I shuddered at the reptilian dryness of his skin. Had I always hated his touch? “That’s right, Violet-darling. Do you recognize, worship, and love me now?” His voice became cold and hard, as he gripped my chin.
I shivered. I knew the answer; I’d answered before, hadn’t I…?
It slipped out of reach, until all I could do was nod.
The Emperor loosened his grip. Then he elbowed the richly dressed angel, who lounged next to him on the bed. “Anael, my cutie Adviser, you owe me a sweet slice of your pie for counseling against my Head Poisoner. She builds worlds and nightmares with simple drinks, tearing down the old to create the blessed new.”
…Shattering glass… The whiff of tequila… Screaming, screaming, screaming…
When I quivered, the Emperor closed his wings around me: a Venus flytrap snapping shut.
I struggled, but the sudden surge of agarwood aroma overwhelmed me; I sank onto the Emperor’s chest, smothered in his wings and murmured pleas for devotion.
Why the hell should I worship him? The bloke kept Wings locked b
eneath his bed. Would I truly love a freaky god with a slave kink?
I met the dark gaze of the angel, Anael, through the Emperor’s feathers.
Anael shrugged. “Or maybe you owe me a night with Purah because she’s faking.” Anael played with the clip that held back Jahael’s hair. “Why do we waste time with a Glory? Throw her to your son who pants like a bitch in heat for her.”
Why did Gabriel flush? His wings flared behind him in a furious arc.
“Gabriel, do you need to atone in Monster Hall again?” The Emperor demanded.
Gabriel shook his head, forcing his wings to fold back in defeat.
The Emperor smirked over my head at Anael. “Watch how your most glorylicious god plays the game, my cute prince.” He tapped the bed with his foot, and the iron below heated again. When the Caged Wing whined, I winced. “This is where I put naughty toys. Yet this toy must be dear to you. After all, you risked your licksome arse for him.”
Had I?
Yet a litany of mine, mine, mine roared through my blood, boiling it until I gritted my teeth against the pain. Who the hell was the Caged Wing? But then, who the hell was I?
Hesitantly, I shook my head. “How can a toy be worth anything?”
Clank — the Caged Wing smashed his fist against the bars, despite their searing heat.
“Sweet Jesus, woman, would you listen to yourself?” He hollered. “The Violet Feathers I know would kick her own arse for that bollocks.”
Violet Feathers….
When I jerked, the Emperor’s arms only tightened. I sweated; the fires blazed higher from the dragons’ mouths. The murals bled brighter and taller: endless clones of the Emperor in multiple versions.
When the cage heated higher, Rebel keened, and the Emperor’s lips quirked.
I forced my expression to blankness. Even if the Caged Wing was a toy, did that mean his torment was play? Could I love a god who delighted in cruelty?
Was I truly a monster?
I gasped, as the prettiest angel in a blue dressing gown stumbled into the Emperor’s bedchamber ahead of a swarthy Seraphim with a sweeping oiled beard. The pretty angel had creamy skin, pale violet eyes, golden curls…and a purpling bruise across his cheek.
Anael stiffened at the same time as I did.
Rebel Angels: The Complete Series Page 118
