Contents
Title Page
Description
Copyright
Books in the Rebel Verse
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
About the Author
VAMPIRE DEVIL
REBEL ANGELS BOOK THREE
Rosemary A Johns
VAMPIRE DEVIL
REBEL ANGELS BOOK THREE
This is why Fallen angels fear the light…
Snatched to the Under World, Violet discovers that the father who abandoned her as a baby is the tyrannical king of hell. She’s forced to battle in the Bone Carnival to prove her loyalty in a court of the wildest vampire rebels ever to be cast out of Angel World. Or else she won’t be able to save the angels…or her sister.
When she defies the anarchic vampire court, she’s tested in three impossible Devil’s Quests, which risk letting out the worst monster of them all: and it’s inside her. If she fails, she’ll be bonded eternally to a ruthless general, whilst the vampire geek and sexy angel she loves will become the elite army’s playthings.
The Apocalypse is coming, and Violet may just be the weapon that destroys the world…
VAMPIRE DEVIL: REBEL ANGELS BOOK THREE © copyright 2018 Rosemary A Johns
www.rosemaryajohns.com
First edition 2018
Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Book Cover Designer: Rebecca Frank
Fantasy Rebel Limited
BOOKS IN THE REBEL VERSE
REBEL ANGELS
VAMPIRE HUNTRESS
VAMPIRE PRINCESS
VAMPIRE DEVIL
VAMPIRE MAGE
REBEL VAMPIRES
BLOOD DRAGONS
BLOOD SHACKLES
BLOOD RENEGADES
1
Vampires? Angels? I once hunted the bastards.
Now I’m the bitch who rules them.
I reign over a valley of feathers and bones: death, the End, destroyer. Half vampire, half angel, I’m a monster amongst monsters.
My human life of gamers, shanks, and sister burnt on my twenty-first birthday, when my powers arose phoenix-like. They marked me out as anything but human. Until tricked into the harem boy Angel World — an angel princess with the vampires’ king as dad — I torched the corrupted court, only to become a captive in hell.
Light.
I squinted through the migraine white, stumbling in the heat. My hands clawed around the bars of the Cage; I grimaced at the slurp, as gloop clung to my fingertips.
My violet-and-black wings, which had broken from my shoulder blades and flown me free from Angel World, beat slowly, as I wrinkled my nose at the stink of tar and oil, wiping the ooze down my leather trousers. Then I backed away from the sides of the Cage: a giant birdcage, which swung from chains.
Rattle — clank. Rattle — clank. Rattle — clank.
I peered out at the shadowy vampires beyond the light who were running bones along the bars.
Humans called them vampires, but I’d discovered they were Fallen angels who’d been cast out of Angel World where my mother reigned, leading to centuries of war.
And now?
Captured, I was trapped in the Fanged Wild West: only the most savage rebels survived.
Oh yeah, and my dad was the sheriff.
I spun, whirling my ash-blonde hair like fire, before raising my hands. ‘Place your bets, bitches.’
Because this was the Cage: the fighting ring where anything went, and we proved our worth in the Under World through pain to win the prize.
I was a huntress, princess, King of the Under World’s daughter and undefeated Champion since I’d been brought here — reluctant guest — eighty-seven fights ago.
How else could I judge time trapped below the City of London in this Fallen Under World?
Alone.
Each time I fought — and won — without the blokes who’d saved me and battled by my side, I couldn’t help the worming thought: did I need anyone but myself?
Would I ever be allowed to see my fam again?
A shadowy veil of pain, grief, and despair touched me through the bond with Rebel: my bondage Irish angel.
Could he feel it…my rejection?
I shuddered, allowing the ache for only a moment before I shook it off. Exhaustion clung to me like spiderwebs. Then I straightened my throbbing shoulders. The thrill of the fight lit me up, fairyland. I fiddled at the straps on the black leather armour, which was slashed down the back to release my wings, tightening it over my latex top: I was being roasted inside.
Rattle — clank. Rattle — clank. Rattle — clank.
My obsidian wingtips quivered.
It was never a sign of singing unicorns when they got with the bone rattling.
I eeped when the steel floor tipped, fairground ride special, and I skidded…towards the tarred cage bars.
I furled my wings behind myself, like a kid holding its hands over its bum to hide itself from a smacking.
Titters and hoots.
I scowled, flushing, but couldn’t help closing my eyes and waiting for the thud. Only to trip backwards, as the floor gave a metallic hiccup and levelled.
I gasped, just as I was caught in a grey-winged embrace; cherry scented feathers swept around me, cloying in their sweetness. A tongue flicked out and, lazy as a cat, licked up my throat.
I arched, wriggling closer.
This cowboy either had a shooter in his pocket or…
I shivered. ‘No more fights today, Misrule, this bitch is toasted to a crisp. Stick a fork in me: I’m done.’
A sigh. ‘Your audience awaits, Bone Princess. The show must go on.’
‘Then are you stepping up, bro, or can I get with the Fang whomping already? Public groping’s not on my to-do-list.’
A deep-throated chuckle.
Then I was swung around.
The Master of Misrule stroked my wings; heat coiled through me, zinging desire in each light caress. His black eyes blazed, as he gazed down at me. I was lost in his towering shadow: a punk god.
The ringmaster of the Cage had bones threaded through his afro like pearls; a frilly lace cravat hung tongue-like over his PVC catsuit and coat.
The ancient vampiric black inside me carolled rejoicing at his
hold, even as the angelic violet chanted warnings.
Oomph — I elbowed Misrule in the guts, and he let go.
Misrule bowed, before kissing the tip of my nose. ‘We shall hasten to the main act, as the lady desires it.’
I snorted, ‘In your dreams.’
He waggled his eyebrows. ‘In every Fallen’s since our princess so cruelly denies us…entry…’
Whoops and cheers.
I reddened. ‘Congratulations. You’ve just achieved Gold Level Brat.’
Misrule laughed, dodging back, as I dived after him.
The spotlight dimmed, and I could see beyond into the cavern. The fiery violet tips of the vampires’ grey wings lit up the gloom, as they hovered in gangs or clutched the sides of the bars like they were the ones in cells.
In Angel World there would’ve been regimented division: the male Wings kneeling at the female Glories’ feet.
Here the gender divide, however, had been torn down. All were equal in the bedlam. Fishnets, leather, bondage. The flash of silver piercings, tattoos, and Mohicans. Below, the sounds of shagging — slap of flesh against flesh, howls, and smacks.
I guess they didn’t have a problem with public groping.
It was a wild chaos of desire, passion, and pain. And I was the star of the show.
You don’t know who you are, Feathery-fangs, too lost in the dark.
How sweet does the fight taste? Sweeter than your candy heaven angels? Or has your shank heart forgotten they’re held prisoner by their worst enemy, whilst you dance in the mayhem?
Do one. I’m not knocking back tequila shots here, I’m—
Letting the monster out to play.
Trapped, J. I’m fighting for my life.
I sighed. ‘J’ was the sassy voice in my head who’d plagued me, as well as raising me, since I’d been discovered as a baby on a gravestone in Hackney cemetery, clutching nothing but a violet feather.
So, what if I gank some vampires?
I’ve survived by myself.
What about your angelic Irish red-head and cutie pie librarian? They’re trapped somewhere here too. In the anarchy, you’ll need their biteable little asses.
Trusting fam got me betrayed and caged. I’d say I was done with the needing dance. I party alone now.
You’re never alone. You have me.
When Misrule twirled, his PVC flying out in bat wings, an expectant hush fell over the vampires.
A slow grin spread over Misrule’s face. He unhooked a thin ebony cane, which was topped with a wing bone, waving it around the audience: a ghoulish pointing finger. ‘Welcome to the Bone Carnival, where only the bravest enter the Cage! The prize?’ He stepped back dramatically, and a skull lowered from the roof. I gagged at the thick scent of human blood that pooled in the centre; Misrule licked his lips, his eyes glazed. Blood: the currency in the Under World and every drop had to be earnt. ‘The opponent?’
Clang — the side raised, and a bloke was shoved through.
He stumbled to his knees, blinking up at me through a cascade of shimmering silver hair, which tumbled to his delicate shoulders; his trousers were silver leather with a matching tunic that hung open over his chest.
He could’ve been a fae.
Except, the glimpse of his eyes through his hair was violet.
Why the hell was I battling a captured angel?
And who was he?
Whistles and jeers.
The Fae Angel shrank in on himself, before straightening his shoulders, and tilting up his chin with haughty indifference.
His gaze met mine.
He looked younger than I’d been expecting, with aristocratic cheekbones sharp as a shank. Then his wings unfurled.
Grey feathers dappled the violet. The angel was Falling, becoming a vampire because he’d been away too long from Angel World. In the Under World that made him one of the lowest ranks: The Shadows.
Was that why he’d been put in here to fight?
Misrule snatched the Fae Angel by the scruff of the neck, hauling him into the centre of the ring opposite me, whilst he bristled, cat-like.
I smirked.
The bastard eyed me warily. So, he had some street smarts.
‘At the order of the king,’ Misrule announced, bopping the angel on the head with his cane, ‘the next fight will be between the Bone Princess and Mischief.’
My dad had ordered it?
I twisted round, straining to see if — this once — my dad would be in the crowd, watching. I didn’t know how I reckoned I’d recognise him: he could be the bloke in sequin dress and nose stud for all I knew. But with the familiar way two vampires were rubbing against Sequins, I was going with non-royalty.
Eighty-seven fights, and eighty-seven no shows. How was that for Parent of the Year?
Why didn’t dad want to see me now that that I was caught? Why the hell didn’t my own family love me?
Then my opponent’s name hit me: Mischief.
Just because the gossips tattle dirty secrets about this new fighter, doesn’t mean you have to curb stamp the Lord of Mischief.
Leave some of his pretty white skin for licking, not kicking.
But what the rumours whisper about him—
Is no worse than what they whisper about you, hooker.
What tales do you think he’s heard about the king’s daughter?
I was awash with oily black that Mischief was free, whilst my angels were hidden from me.
I spun, clouting Mischief in the nose.
Mischief yelped, staggering back.
‘The bitches around here talk. And the names they have for you…?’ I crouched, ready to attack, but I launched it with words first because they were the best advantage in any street fight and shanked deeper, ‘…Shadow, traitor, whore… Did you piss off my dad by not bouncing on his lap the way he likes?’
To my surprise, Mischief’s lips curled, but he didn’t flinch. ‘Why, I’m flattered you’ve heard of me.’ He touched his finger to his lips as if in thought, as he cocked his head. ‘Remind me: you are who again…?’
And that’s how you shank with words.
I snarled, launching myself at Mischief; he giggled, side-stepping so quickly that I landed on my face. I scrambled up, sweeping my wings round, but suddenly he was behind me.
My skin prickled: a static silver electricity and popping bubbles of…
Magic, Violet-cakes.
I don’t believe in fairies; I don’t believe in—
He’s your daddy’s floozy and a powerful mage. Only a jackass trusts their rival.
If he discovers me, you won’t be the Vampire Princess, you’ll be the freak, even in this world of freaks.
Hide me.
Mischief shoved me forwards, and I hit my kneecaps — crack — on the metal. I growled, before noticing the flaming arrow that sizzled behind me, which had fired from the roof directly to where I’d been standing the moment before.
The Cage was just bag-of-tricks fun.
Why the hell had Mischief saved me?
I ached for my own weapons: Flight and Star. They’d been stolen from me. I couldn’t blaze on their ancient light against the Cage’s attacks or my opponents’. Instead, I’d learnt new weapons, training through every battle to adapt.
Mischief sauntered forwards, holding out a hand to casually pull me up. What did he think this was, a polite round of fisticuffs?
Bones and blood. Bones and blood. Bones and blood.
I shuddered, as the chant rose around the cavern, animalistic and raw. Mischief had no idea what he was inciting.
Dark blasted through me; it roared to savage Mischief and revel in the battle. I snarled, batting away his hand.
Mischief gave me a cool look, as I crouched ready to spring. ‘Oh yes,’ he sniffed, ‘I remember who you are: the beast they keep in this cage.’
I howled. Nothing but darkness filmed my eyes.
I leapt onto Mischief, seizing him by the throat; my wings banded around him in a trap. He strugg
led, but I choked him. ‘Where are the other angels?’
‘It almost sounds as if the beast cares.’
Beast…
I quivered. How could words still hurt, when I’d owned the monster inside? A monster that now wanted to crush the angel who’d dared to insult me.
I tightened my grip, and Mischief’s long fingers scrabbled at my hands. ‘The name’s Violet, Feathers, or try princess on for size.’
He pursed his lips. ‘If you call me Mischief, rather than whore.’
Guilt trickled into my fury-soaked brain, and I eased off his throat, nodding.
Mischief lifted his eyebrow. ‘So, you keep angels as pets? I’d rather have every feather plucked out than see them under your care.’
I swept his legs out from under him, slamming him to the floor, then pinning him down. He stared up at me with startled eyes. ‘How about we start now, bitch? Where are my fam?’
Except, suddenly I wasn’t glaring down at Mischief’s face but a flame of red hair and thick eyelashes, curling over violet eyes smudged with kohl eyeliner. My hands weren’t gripping silver leather but a ripped black t-shirt.
‘Rebel,’ I breathed, lost in the candy sweetness of his scent. How had I ever reckoned I didn’t need my bonded and Marked angel? Need this? The feel of him beneath me, whilst he bucked into my touch, his wings pulsing. Mine…mine…mine… I kissed Rebel tenderly. ‘I promise, you’re off my List of Asses to Kick.’
‘Can I have that in writing?’ Mischief’s mocking voice out of Rebel’s pink bow lips made me recoil and throw up in my mouth. ‘Preferably in blood.’
‘What the hell…?’
‘Just a trick. A mere glamour.’
‘Turn back to your Gandalf self.’ I closed my eyes, unable to look at the false Rebel anymore; my bond ached more fiercely than it had in weeks with Rebel’s agonised despair.
It wasn’t dimmed now through the red haze of the fights or the drugged euphoria of the Bone Carnival.
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