Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  “My word, you appear to be describing yourself.” Vampire Me licked her tongue over her canines, which still glistened with my blood.

  Angel Me roared, towering with righteous glory; she spun away from me, launching herself at Vampire Me.

  Clank – Star struck steel nails.

  My past selves swung in a wild circle: a parody of a dance.

  I groaned, shoving myself to my knees. Blood stuck my uniform tacky to my back; my limbs were weak with the loss of it. Stumbling, I reached my feet, unsheathing Flight who hummed; her hilt was cool and welcoming in my palm.

  Angel Me was a bloody Coriolanus: Mars brought to life. I realized now that even in attempting to bring about my death, she’d been gentle: regretful. Against a vampire, however, she held nothing back; she was a slashing whirlwind of vengeance. At last, she pinned Vampire Me against the wall.

  I glanced up at Jahael who watched hungrily. He caught my eye and smirked, inclining his head in admiration.

  He bastard knew that I’d caused this.

  I pinked, even as I didn’t loosen my grip on Flight.

  It was a surreal experience to watch myself die.

  One moment, Angel Me was pinning Vampire Me against the wall, and the next, she’d slashed Star so deeply across Vampire Me’s throat that her head hung off like it’d been held on by nothing but thread.

  Then Angel Me turned: a vision in blood. And she was coming for me.

  Flight whined.

  All of a sudden, Angel Me hesitated. “By my wing, Flight allies herself with you?” Her haughty voice was subdued, as if the scarlet splattered across her face like a mask had changed her.

  “Yeah, she’s my main bitch.”

  Slowly, Angel Me lowered Star. Only then, did I notice that she was shaking. Destroyer or not, maybe it’d taken more strength than I’d guessed for her to kill the vampire incarnation of herself.

  “Riff raff such as you should not be able to hold her. Only the most righteous may touch her without being burned.”

  I huffed. “What’s up with the riff raff disrespect?”

  Angel Me eyed Flight, who hummed, jumping in my hands. Then she sheathed Star, before murmuring, “May we speak under a flag of truce?”

  I nodded. “Let’s parlay.”

  “First, knock me onto my back and wrap your hand around my throat.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “It turns out that I am kinky.”

  I smirked at Angel Me’s glower. Then I drove her backwards, whilst she grappled with me.

  Whack — Angel Me hit the floor.

  I scrambled over her, straddling her chest, whilst leaning over her. I squeezed my fingers around her throat.

  “Promise that you shall save Zachriel,” Angel Me whispered.

  I nodded, confused.

  Angel Me’s shoulders slumped, as if relaxing into the choking. “I understand little of this time and wish to understand even less. Yet tell me, is Zachriel in much peril from this lunatic Seraphim…?”

  “Yeah, and every Glory and Wing in Angel World is in danger too.”

  Angel Me’s eyes widened, before they steeled with resolve. “You imagine that I know not that this isn’t my time? That Zachriel is not mightily changed? He’s…no longer my Wing.” I flinched from her pain. “It is a second death indeed to know that he’s yours. In truth, I’d damn you both, but…perhaps, I too love as a Wing and not a Glory in the end.” Tears pricked her eyes, but she clenched her jaw, and they didn’t fall. She was all warrior, even now. “I care nothing for the world, but all for Zachriel. There can only be one winner in this battle, and it must be you.”

  Angel Me lay beneath me, in shining perfection, and she offered her life, so that Rebel would live.

  She truly was me.

  I stroked her cheek. “How’d you want me to…?”

  Kill you…? How could I even say it?

  “Star.” Her voice wavered, but she tilted her chin. “I shall remember my Zachriel. It is most fitting.”

  I fumbled at her waist, pulling out the dagger. I’d held many shanks in my palm and sliced through soft skin more times than I wish that I had. I’d grasped my own Star in battle, but never to take a willing life.

  Never to take my own.

  I held it to Angel Me’s throat. “Thank you.”

  Angel Me grasped my arm; her nails gouged scratches. “You live for all three of us now.” I blinked away my own tears, whilst my powers reached out to hers, soothingly. “Be victorious.”

  I slashed Star across her throat.

  Red…red…red…

  I clutched Angel Me, whilst she died, and I was as Coriolanus coated in death as she’d been. I bathed in the blood of my past selves and I soaked in their strength.

  I lived for them.

  “Well hail the conquering warrior! Weren’t you just the cleverest and the fiercest thing? The toys will be so relieved, and Violet-darling, so am I.” When Jahael plummeted to land in front of me, ethereally perfect, I raised my savage gaze, and imagined bloody hand prints across every immaculate inch of him.

  His step faltered.

  Godmaker hung in the air in front of Jahael, buzzing with silver. I gripped Star, until my knuckles whitened.

  …Blood touched…

  What if the riddle in the Gateway had actually been about this moment? Star had fed on the blood of all three versions of me.

  What if he could kill an Emperor?

  I craved to launch myself at Jahael and slash him until he bled out too. Fuzzy brained on the adrenalin high of the fight, grief, and blood, plots and plans were hidden in the haze.

  Only the need for more pulsing blood, blood, blood throbbed through me.

  Jahael seemed to read the thought in my eyes, because he soared up into the dark, just as I lunged. His eyes sparked, as he wagged his finger at me. “Ah-ah. Calm down, girl, it’s all that new power coursing through you. Time out, Fallen God.”

  I screamed, as waves of fire blazed through me. Then everything faded to red.

  25

  Silver magic tingled in static bursts across the back of my shoulder blades, knitting my shanked skin together and shocking me out of sleep.

  Mischief healed me in light touches, whilst he crouched over me. I was lying on my stomach on something hard and cold, but nothing hurt anymore: Mischief had taken the pain into himself. It felt like I’d been asleep all my life, and finally I’d truly awoken.

  I knew who I was and had been. I didn’t need a Prince Charming to kiss me out of sleep.

  I might be Violet Lazarus, but I was also a god. And I had my own blood on my hands: I’d never wash them clean, unless I took down my creator.

  “If you wish to feign sleep,” Mischief said, leaning down and licking the base of my neck, “perhaps you should retract your claws. Please tell me they were triggered by happy thoughts, rather than beastly ones because I’m too exhausted for a unicorn one-on-one.”

  I wriggled away from Mischief’s wet tongue, turning onto my back with a grimace at the mild twinge.

  I opened my eyes, staring up at the same windowless cell that I’d been held in with Gabriel and Quinn before the Test by Monster; red still bled in streaks through my vision. I blinked to clear my sight but the edges of the cell were blurred with blood. I shakily sat up.

  Mischief knelt next to me with his hands resting on his knees. Shadows bruised under his eyes, and his skin was clammy. I caught him before he toppled forwards.

  Taking pain was a bitch.

  “It appears that my brother swoons like a damsel.” I startled at Gabriel’s teasing voice. He sauntered closer out of the edges of crimson with his hands clasped behind his back.

  Mischief pouted. “And it appears that my brother has yet to learn the meaning of sexism.”

  At least they were calling each other brother…and bickering. Just like real siblings.

  I grinned. “You’re both wallads. Now why are we locked up?”

  Gabriel and Mischief glanced at each other uneasi
ly.

  Then Mischief eased himself out of my arms. “Our oppressive father believes that you need time to calm down and reflect.”

  The bastard truly had put me in time out.

  I scowled. “On how hard I’ll curb stamp his face?”

  “Oh, that might be on the list, along with your place by his side, the new weapon that awaits you, and how not to transform into the Big Bad monster inside who’s high on the slain blood of your own past selves.” Mischief’s lips quirked. “Be glad that he didn’t make you stand in the corner with your hands on your head.”

  Gabriel nodded. “By my feathers, he does that with the Acolytes.”

  I sighed. “You’re not about to go all Exorcist on us again? Jahael can’t hear us?”

  Gabriel glanced through the grille down into the Acolytes’ sleeping quarters, then stilled as if seeking the slither of his dad inside his mind, before shaking his head. “We’re safe — briefly — from his possession. The Acolytes are at worship, and the Emperor is distracted.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “The distraction of dictators never means adorable puppies in bows.”

  Mischief snorted. “Unless they’re adorable puppies awaiting the guillotine.”

  I winced. “Why did you have to leave us with that visual?”

  Gabriel’s expression tightened, as he brushed the pad of his thumb over Mischief’s shoulder. “My illustration would’ve been…worse.”

  I launched myself up. The red had almost receded now from my eyes and beneath the powerful wafts of amber, which begged me to treasure, treasure, treasure Gabriel like he thought I’d forgotten him, was another familiar scent, as if a third angel was hiding at the back of the cell.

  The tang of lime.

  “Anael!” I staggered past Gabriel, reaching for the shadow, which bled into my savage prince brother. Then I dragged him into an embrace, even though he stood still like he didn’t know what to do with the emotion. I rubbed my hands across his wings, shuddering that at last I could hold my brother like I’d wanted — needed. When Anael continued to stand statuesque with his regal gaze averted, I drew back, gripping his chin to force him to look at me. “What’s with the cold shoulder?”

  “I slandered you.” Anael’s mask shattered, as he blinked at me, uncertain. “I hid in the Emperor’s court because trapped in my father’s Mirror Lodge, I learned the trick of invisibility in plain sight. I witnessed cruelties, depravity, and cunning that would’ve made my father blush.” At last, he rubbed his cheek against mine. “Sister, this is a monstrous realm, and I had no choice but to play the monster.”

  “It’s OK,” I murmured. “I know.”

  He drew back; his feathers bristled. “You jest.”

  I barked with laughter. “Enough with the shocked cat impression. You’re my brother: I knew that you had my back.”

  Mischief cleared his throat. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

  Nope, not acknowledging the betrayal tingles…

  When I let go of Anael, resting my hands on my hips instead, he leaned back against the cell’s wall. “Do you not think that we should seize this chance? We’ve already held a war council—”

  “You bastard what?”

  “To be fair, you were unconscious.” When I glared over my shoulder at Mischief, he raised his hands in mock defeat.

  “The Firstborn Archduke is as sly as his brother.” Anael’s sudden ferocity reminded me just how dangerous he was. I didn’t miss Mischief’s flinch. Or Gabriel’s. “He holds intrigues in his hands like cards, merely waiting for the time to play them. Do you believe that the conspiracies he wove with you were the only ones, when the fate of worlds rested on their success? Or that he loves only you?”

  Hell yeah, that was what I’d thought. I’d hungered for Gabriel to be my precious: for his smile, love, and plots…everything.

  But he’d also been planning to take down his dad with my brother…? He’d offered him love…?

  Yet when Anael spread his vast wings — my dark reflection — I couldn’t blame him.

  I’d want my brother on my side too.

  Gabriel spun me, shaking me until I looked up. I hadn’t realized that my breathing had become ragged. “On all that’s holy, I need you both. I was caged, and you freed me. My father divides to keep the court weak: he raises up, only to keep his people below him in squabbling petty jealousy with his Favored One, Beloveds, and Firstborn. There’s nothing but conditioned worship. By my wing, we must create a new unifying story, shining a light on a future where the past doesn’t simply endlessly repeat itself in cycles of war. A future of freedom and hope.”

  I cocked my head. “Practiced that in the mirror a few times, did you?”

  Gabriel flushed. “Possibly.”

  “It was a bitch of a speech, but Jahael can snap a dragon’s neck like it’s made of glass. We’re the ones huddled in the dark.”

  “Because we choose to be.” Gabriel smirked. “My father believes himself flawless: he’s not. Trust: it’s his weakness. He trusts both too little and too much. He trusts in those he breaks to worship him and those he’s bound.” Gabriel glanced at Mischief and then Anael, before adding, “My father doesn’t understand that true love and loyalty can’t be broken or bound. What that means for us…? Even though we appear Acolytes, Knights of the Seraphim, or nothing but his children, we hold the power in The Burning Temple.”

  Hell, they bastard meant it: they had a plan.

  Suddenly, the haunting, gentle strains of Eel’s “P.S. I love You” wound through the cell with its heartrending epiphany at a funeral.

  Not exactly marching into battle playlist material…

  Gabriel’s gaze was so hopeful, however, as he clasped his arms around my neck and waist, swaying like we were back at Istafil’s party and this was the last dance at the prom.

  I bastard danced and I ignored the fact that this was the darkest love melody…ever. Because it was also about how it takes death to make you seize life. And hell, had I learned that.

  “This could be our courting song.” Gabriel pulled me closer; his wings settled on my lower back. “For our moment.”

  At Mischief’s wicked snigger, I glanced over Gabriel’s shoulder at him; Mischief had the decency to look abashed at his trick.

  “Yeah, bro,” I said. “The perfect moment.”

  When Gabriel looked at me with his radiant smile — the one like the sun — I craved to capture it so that it could warm me forever. Yet there was something off about the tremor that ran through him and the way that he clung to me just that bit too hard.

  A cold ball grew in my stomach. “You never answered me. Why are we the lucky ones held captive? Are we being punished or kept away from something?”

  “The Choosing.” Gabriel drew back, unable to meet my eye. “It happens within the hour, and until it occurs, we’re simply being kept separate, as you’d divide—”

  “Cattle at a market,” Mischief said, quietly.

  I gritted my teeth. “Choosing for extra pancakes, pony rides, spankings…?”

  “A place as the Emperor’s Beloved in the Forbidden Court.” At last Gabriel’s gaze lifted to mine: fury bubbled underneath the fear. “As it burns with love, so the hateful selection occurs each year. The Seraphim must send their most beautiful daughters and sons; it’s a great honor to be chosen.”

  …Beloveds writhing on satin cushions in wild agony or pleasure… Sablo strapped down in the heavy wooden device and Rebel tortured…

  Yeah, a great bastard honor.

  “I’m already his, which is why my taking isn’t necessary.” Anael waved his hand up and down at his diamond encrusted clothes.

  “And we’re his own children,” Mischief huffed. “Despite my bastard status.”

  “This Choosing is different.” Gabriel gripped my arm like he expected me to run, although I didn’t know where he thought I’d escape in a cell. “To test your love and faith as new Empress, he’s selecting his Beloved from your family.�
�

  I exploded in a whirlwind of enraged violet and black; silver snaked out, whilst phoenix shadows exploded, charring the wall. Gabriel hollered, letting go of my arm, whilst I roared. Flooded with the fresh wash of divinity, my skin hissed with the affront: I wallowed in fury, unable to pull myself back.

  Then I was skidding backwards, slamming into the wall. Silver disks pinned my arms, holding them to my chest. I wailed, struggling.

  “Why, the beast still resides within the godly jewel.” Mischief strolled closer, twirling his finger to tighten the bonds. I growled, battling his hold, just as I battled to soothe the ancient natures inside. “My father has requested your hot-headed presence at the line-up for the The Choosing. You shall attend as his future Empress, and our family shall attend as future Beloveds. Every one of us shall play our part. Unless you prefer that my father keep his crown on his cold-blooded head?”

  I panted, whilst the tempest inside me calmed, and Mischief’s magic caressed my own. “I won’t ask my fam to sacrifice themselves.”

  Mischief slammed his hand onto the wall next to my head. “Insufferable glorious fool, don’t you understand? You haven’t asked it of any of us. We are joined and together in this. We willingly risk our lives, as you do, to save each other, free the enslaved, and bring down a dictator who’s behind centuries of war…who would destroy worlds.”

  “Can’t I just be glorious…?”

  Mischief sighed, as his disks faded, and he caught me in his arms. Yet as he stroked his fingers through my hair, all I could think was that in less than an hour, I’d be forced to play Empress to his dad at The Choosing.

  For such a majestic temple, Jahael’s palace had a freaky number of cells. And for a god, I spent too much time trapped in them.

  I paced the windowless cell, rolling my shoulders in frustration. I’d been ushered by a swarm of knights to the courtyard behind the Gilded Cage and the line of dark cells that were used to punish the Archdukes.

  Then I’d been nipped on the arse, until I’d stepped inside.