Guilt booted me in the gut; Drake had been punished because of me.
‘The Fallen are massing for another attack,’ Drake murmured. ‘You are called for.’
Footsteps sweeping out of the room. Tendrils sliding back out of the bond and my mind.
I slumped into Rebel’s arms, alone in the golden chambers, where humans had been animals, angels were toys, and vampires would be exterminated.
I burst into the quartz throne room.
The clacking of my boots echoed up to the high arches.
I tilted my chin, sensing Rebel at my shoulder, and forced myself not to reach for his hand.
The bastards were holding a War Council.
The Matriarch lounged in pearl perfection on the giant throne of feathers. Behind her, the Mage and Nathanael lurked on the dais: shadow men.
Drake knelt at their feet. His chest and shoulders had been seared raw. No wonder Nathanael hadn’t figured he’d be up and walking. Drake clasped his singed wings around Haman, as if he could shield him.
Like he had us.
How long had Drake known Haman? Shielded him?
Rebel stumbled mid-step at the sight but then stalked on again, gaze carefully down.
‘I’ve seen the light! This is me, humanity stripped.’ I gripped Rebel by the scruff of the neck and hurled him to his knees; he let himself be thrown down with a painful crack.
Haman gasped. His wings beat frantically. ‘Zachriel? You came for me…’
Rebel struggled to rise, but I pressed him down.
‘Be silent,’ Drake warned, tightening his grip on Haman; he studied us warily.
I didn’t bastard blame him.
‘No, you be silent, bitch. Dragging me out of my own party like you’d shapeshifted into a girl and not just a girlie pretty boy.’ Drake stared back at me with wounded eyes. I forced my expression to harden. ‘How about I kick your arse right now?’
The Matriarch didn’t even turn her head. Instead, she continued to scrutinize Battle, who lounged at the side of the throne room against a column.
I was veiled with smoky violet because Harahel knelt in front of Battle.
Or what broken toy was left of him.
Bruises swelled over his ribs, his curls were matted, and his feathers were bloodied.
And his eyes…? There was nothing in them but a flat despair.
‘Aye, right. The wee madam’s suddenly behaving like a true Glory? I’m not daft. She wouldn’t even take a Poly-Wing.’ Battle snorted, shaking her snake braids and raking her nails through Harahel’s hair.
Finally, the Matriarch turned her gaze on me. ‘You would have us believe you fly true now? My, you must think me as trusting as a human.’
Humans taught me how to shank, bitch.
I spread my hands in the universal gesture for nothing up these sleeves. ‘Test me, then. Come on, hit me.’
‘Don’t tempt me, lass.’ Battle growled, before her dark eyes lit up. ‘Matriarch, may I?’
The Matriarch nodded.
‘Will you prove it this way then?’ Battle challenged. ‘Take a Poly-Wing. Show your support to the whole of Angel World.’
I shook my head, stepping back.
When I caught the Mage’s gaze, I wished I hadn’t. He wasn’t conned for a moment.
I blinked, steadying myself on Rebel.
Could the Mage read minds?
‘Now is the time for your choice: my shadow and the heights, or the shadows and the depths.’ The Matriarch tapped her fingers on her knee. ‘Who do you wish as your Poly-Wing?’
I twisted away, head in hands, before peeking back at them. ‘Harahel.’
‘What in the Jesus…?’ Rebel leapt up, springing towards Haman.
At the same time, Harahel dived across the room towards me, with more strength than he looked to still have in him, throwing his arms around my neck. ‘Thank you… You’ve no idea… Just, thank you…’
In the chaos, Battle snarled, storming towards me and drawing her bow.
Drake clutched Haman, caught in a tug-of-war with Rebel.
‘I’m not finished, bitches,’ I hollered.
Silence.
The Matriarch steepled her fingers.
Poker face, poker face…
‘We need an epic example. This greedy bird wants a third Wing. I’ll take Haman too, cheers.’
Drake let go of Haman, and he fell in a tangled heap with Rebel.
I couldn’t look away from the two brothers, as they wept, clinging to each other and stroking each other’s wings.
Hell, I missed my sister.
Laughter and clapping.
I stared up at the Matriarch who, as if she’d just watched the most entertaining dark amusement, had thrown her head back with delight.
I guess harems truly did it for her.
‘In truth, you are my daughter.’ The Matriarch leaned forward on the throne; the feathers in her hair rustled. ‘I won’t keep you from your new toys.’ I fought to suppress my shudder. ‘Just imagine, if we can only capture the older brother, you’ll have the full set.’
When Rebel growled, I steeled myself to shoot him my best fake stern Mistress look. ‘Spoils of war? I’ll look forward to owning all three matching pretty bitches.’
Battle prowled around me, blocking my planned hasty exit. She still held her bow at her waist. And she had a twitchy finger. ‘Passing that test was a belter. As her Trainer, I say Princess Violet is ready for the Warrior Trials.’
When Battle smirked, it was clear: I’d won Harahel, but she’d condemned me to death.
Harahel limped forwards. ‘Hey, are you crazy? No one’s ever taken them so soon and survived. I’m her Trainer too and I say—'
‘Nothing. Because you’re an Imperfect. You are nothing.’ The Matriarch’s voice boomed through the throne room; Harahel cringed.
‘Still, all those down with me surviving raise their hands…’ I half-raised my hand, before I quailed under the Matriarch’s glare.
‘You may refuse,’ her voice was lethally soft, ‘but your Poly-Wings would be forfeit to the Legion.’ Haman whimpered; Rebel clasped him closer. ‘And that vampire in our gaol? In truth, I’ve already promised him to the Mage if you dance with such cowardice. Plus, your hands are too beautiful to lose…’
I grinned weakly. ‘Bring on the Trials!’
The Matriarch inclined her head. ‘Tomorrow, my daughter, you’ll take the Warrior Trials and make me proud.’
I gave a curt nod, ushering Harahel around Battle, as Rebel and Haman followed.
I’d saved the Wings. But sacrificed my morals. Stand. Principles.
What the hell did that matter?
Because tomorrow I fought in the Warrior Trials.
Tomorrow, I died.
22
Discovered as a baby on a gravestone, raised in a children’s home, and then stolen into a supernatural world as soon as my true powers exploded in a fiery haze, my mind became my safe place.
Refuge.
But today nowhere was bastard safe because it was the day I took the Warrior Trials.
Alone, I stood in the centre of The Pit: a valley sunk so deep, I shivered in the dark. I squinted up into the weak morning light and at the huddled forms of the Glories, who perched like eagles along the valley’s peaks, which were wreathed in mists.
I had to fight not to retch; the fetid air stank of piss, dung, and a spoilt copper sweetness I wished I didn’t recognise.
You can do this, Feathery-fighter.
Who rescued Harahel and Haman? Who became the Rebel Princess? Who saved herself in the dare?
And who’s about to get ganked gladiator style?
Look at this pussy party. There’s not a dick in the crowd, except for the Mage and his Goldilocks son.
So, are you bowing down before these skanks or are you bitch slapping their angelic asses?
I smiled.
Time to crack on with the bitch slapping.
As I stared up at the Matriarch, wh
o was high above me on a ledge that jutted over The Pit — the Mage and Battle at her shoulder, with Drake kneeling in front — I jolted.
Feathers had been stuck around the ledge, like the spirits of a hundred dead angels, the same as the prehistoric wing imprints on the corridor walls.
I dragged at my golden armour, checking the straps with trembling fingers.
Screech.
I twirled round, resting my hand on Flight’s hilt; Flight moaned and jittered.
Gleaming eyes shone from a cave on the far side, behind stone bars. The Gateway’s pit of nightmares.
Screech.
I turned back to my mum, who was forcing me to fight in this ultimate twisted sport.
‘What you waiting for?’ I hopped up and down, boxer-style. ‘Let’s get this party started.’
The Matriarch raised a cool eyebrow. Her dress glittered with pearls and silver-threaded lace; her hair had been braided into two wings on top of her head, with pearls and feathers entwined. But she spouted no words or speeches.
Instead, Drake rose into the air, his flaming wings like judgement.
Silence.
Drake hung above The Pit; his gaze was locked on mine. His wounds had healed already, but I regretted the last thing I’d said to him had been a promise to kick his arse.
When he swooped down, I stood my ground because a bitch had to have some dignity. Even if I did eep, when he landed so close, the beat of his wings sprayed dirt into my face from the muddy floor, like dark freckles, and stained my armour.
He smirked as he sauntered closer, folding back his wings. He wiped the grime from my cheek with his thumb. ‘For shame, princess, you could at least have cleaned for the big day.’
I smacked away his hand. ‘See how much I’m not dying with hysterics. Let’s get to the dying by Trials.’
‘Today, I am in charge.’ His voice had raised for the benefit of the audience. I bet he had a stiffie. ‘The test is mental; I shall utilise my Angelic Power and I shall be the judge on pass or failure.’
‘No playing in my head without permission.’
He hesitated. ‘Then grant me permission. You must be willing on your Trial. This girlie pretty boy isn’t forcing you.’
I winced: how much had I known that was going to bite me on the arse? And now Drake could fail me with a word.
Here we come, Land of the Screwed.
I nodded.
‘Close your eyes,’ he said quietly.
I took one more glance around the rancid pit, with the creatures behind bars and the angels watching me from high perches.
When I screwed shut my eyes, there was a light touch on either eyelid.
Then I was falling, Drake’s arms were catching me, and I was lost to my nightmare.
Rebel was stretched naked and bound across the bed, except for his spiked collar. His wrists and ankles were strapped in hard leather cuffs, even if he lay on gold silk sheets. Slashes stood crimson against the moon-white of his skin.
The air was thick with the scent of cinnamon, candles cast cavorting shadows, and the room was a sunburst of velvets and damask.
The witches’ house…
Dazed, I shook my head.
That wasn’t right, was it?
Driven by a raging desire that consumed me, even if somewhere far back in my mind I was battling against it, I climbed onto the bed, straddling Rebel.
The angel was helpless underneath me.
I ground down, Rebel’s cock as trapped as the rest of him, and he groaned.
‘Truth’ Rebel whispered. ‘Is this what you wish? Me, bound and underneath you?’
Wait… He hadn’t said that, had he?
‘What do you reckon, bitch?’ I pinned him down, circling his nipples with my tongue.
They peaked, until I caught the delicate nubs and twisted.
Rebel arched, breathing hard.
Stop it, stop it, stop it…
I shook my head against the voice, instead scoring my nails down Rebel’s sides, gouging fiery lines.
‘You dream of taking me against my will?’ He gasped.
I scowled, wrenching back his head, as I sucked bruises at his fluttering pulse point, marking him. ‘I dream only of your submission.’
I yanked his head harder but jolted; the red strand became golden curl.
What. The. Hell?
I struggled to scramble away, but then he reached up and snogged me, and I forgot everything.
Rebel had never kissed like that.
Passion, yearning, despair: beautiful pain flying on tender love.
Too much, I had to breathe, escape the flaming intensity.
I caught his lip between mine. Then I bit.
Blood burst in a magical burst like frankincense stars.
Frankincense…?
‘Drake,’ I snarled, tumbling off the bed.
The image of Rebel faded, leaving Drake bound instead on the golden sheets. A creamy vision of slender limbs stretched out.
Naked.
My hazy brain focused in a startling moment of clarity: this wasn’t real.
I was still in The Pit.
Blood dribbled down Drake’s chin from his lip; he poked at the cut with his tongue, before giving me a sad smile. ‘I invade dreams. If you fail here? You never escape the nightmares again.’
‘This is a nightmare?’ I sneered, pushing myself up. ‘All you’ve got? Because I’ve been on scarier rides at the funfair.’
Drake snapped the leather bonds, rising off the bed with a beat of his wings. By the time he’d curled his wings back, he’d magicked on his silk trousers.
Although he couldn’t magic away the hard cock.
A bitch knows when it’s not the time to point out a bloke’s condition.
He strolled closer. ‘Your interesting psyche could fill a year of trials. But you’re too special to risk. I didn’t need to test you; I was always going to give you a pass.’
‘Then what was the disturbia-1000 scene we just shared?’
He shrugged, pulling up his trousers, as they slipped: the sudden blushing maiden. ‘It was for me,’ he muttered. ‘I wished to know…’ He swung away with a hiss of frustration, booting the bed and wringing his hands in the sheets. Then he turned to face me again, his face shuttered. ‘It was the only way to be certain whether you had in fact succumbed to Angel World and become the true Glory you so convincingly played yesterday.’ I flushed. I was well and truly bitten on the arse. ‘After all, you could’ve been acting all the time.’
‘Welcome to my world. It sucks.’
He nodded, cautiously.
‘Am I the Bitch of Utopia still or an angelic bitch?’
‘Who amongst us is not tempted? But you still fly in the light.’ Drake leaned closer, his lips ghosting over mine. ‘Your turn: did my kiss pass? I’ve been practising, princess, as you believed me to be…lacking.’
I slapped him; he raised his hand against his hot cheek.
I didn’t know if the image of Drake practising with other skanks (and please brain don’t blast my mum across my retinas), ignited the fury worse than his stolen kiss with me in the guise of Rebel.
‘Save your ire,’ he scoffed. ‘This afternoon in the second part of the trials, you shall face real nightmares. And you won’t have me to hide behind.’
I’d have slapped him again, except he was right.
This afternoon, I’d face true danger.
Alone.
The velociraptor’s narrow snout snapped at my guts.
Except, this bitch had feathers: jade wings, iridescent tail, and an emerald crest.
When did dinosaurs accessorize?
There was no mistaking the large sickle-shaped claw on each foot that it held aloft like it was gifting death or the slashing claws.
A creature from any time period…?
These angelic bastards didn’t mess about.
Click-clack, click-clack.
I backed up across the filthy floor of The Pit, whilst the Glories
watched from their ledges in the orange glow of late afternoon. And down in the shadows a monster stalked the Monster Princess.
Click-clack, click-clack.
I shuddered at the clicking of the dinosaur’s nails. The reek of rotten meat blasted from its snorting nostrils.
I inched out Flight; flames flared in the dark.
Bringing the bastard here to battle was wrong.
It turned its head to look at me, inquisitive, tapping that long claw.
Click-clack, click-clack.
Then the velociraptor opened its mouth, its tongue stabbing out, as its claws reached for me.
Screech — its shrill call was a nightmare brought to life.
I hollered my own war cry, lost to the terror, my palm sticky around Flight.
Air wafted behind me from the open cave: the one whose bars had raised, inch by inch, to allow out the fluffy lapdog from hell.
Click-clack, click-clack.
I froze.
A gust of rancid air was snorted against my back: I’d been herded into an ambush by a second velociraptor because I’d never been anything but their prey.
Stealthy bitches.
I glanced up at my mum, who watched impassively on the ledge above.
Heavy claws rested on my lower back, as Velociraptor One weaved closer.
Screech — both dinosaurs called to each other in victory.
I raised Flight. Even though I trembled, caught between two monsters.
23
When they jumped on my back, the velociraptors hadn’t expected me to duck.
I skidded under their flailing bodies, tumbling into the wall of The Pit with a crushing jolt to my shoulder. Black pebbles tumbled in an avalanche down the sides, and I shielded my head with my arms, as the rocks pelted me.
The velociraptor sisters collided in a green and blue tangle: all teeth and claws.
And predatory rage.
Vampire Princess Page 19
