Rebel Vampires: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  I didn’t tell them that I’d been forced to drink it out of a baby bottle as a way to break me. Hartford and Donovan had killed the human slavers at Master’s Estate but they hadn’t drunk from them. The destruction of the Blood Club hadn’t been about feasting, but freeing our species.

  “Tomorrow?” Donovan hissed, clutching Hartford to his chest. Hartford was convulsing with cramps.

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Get him to drink it all down; he needs this.”

  I stared across at Donovan’s stormy face and Sun’s stony one. The incense was a choking entity between us.

  Frustrated, I shoved myself up, breaking the circle. “Hartford’s a Long-lived. He shouldn’t be tame. I promised to free you and I will.”

  Christ in heaven, I hoped that I was right about this and I wasn’t unleashing a dangerous side to Hartford that I hadn’t yet seen. Yet I had no right to control that…or Hartford. He should never have been enslaved, even if I freed something deadly now.

  I swung the Triton towards London Bridge and the embankment, cutting across the tangle of traffic in a hail of furious honks. Parking up, I hopped off, unloading my precious bundle under my arm. I couldn’t help the grin.

  The others reckoned that I was working another shift at Peter Pan’s. Instead, I was sneaking off to see my…mine. Let’s leave it at that.

  My snake betrayal coiled inside. Secrets — I was tangled in them. I knew that Emo kid was still in the shadows: hunting. My new obsession, however, was wound too tightly around my heart to let go.

  I was weak as any junkie. Obsession has always been my heroin, and I was hooked.

  Sand skittered away in fine storms, as I scooted down the embankment. Before I could even holler, Trinity was in my face — all swagger and despot style — waving a brown paper bag of fresh blood like it was groceries.

  The stash.

  Trinity — my new dealer — snatched the bag back; her smile was razor sharp. “How you feeling, cuz?”

  “Let’s just do this.”

  “Alright.” Trinity ran her hand down my chest, circling my nipples with her long finger. “Tell me, Mr Angel Man, how did our Will taste?”

  I froze. “What?”

  Then I chucked up in my mouth… The needle pricking into Will’s too thin arm… The crimson drawn out… Life from him to us… My single lick…Then Hartford drinking…

  My predator roared retribution, possession, and revenge.

  Except, I did remember that one sublime taste: the bubbling universes meeting all at once and then exploding in end of days and dawn of new ages. I didn’t know if it made Will prey or bonded him closer than anyone before. Yet Hartford had tasted too, and once a Blood Lifer has your taste, we never forget the hunt.

  “You promised,” I gritted out. “Our deal was for my protection; I’d keep all of you safe. In return, no blood from Will.”

  “I lied.”

  I flung myself at Trinity, crushing her against the embankment. The paper bag crumpled between us. When I looked down, I saw the knife pushing hard against my heart.

  I knew it was a mistake to teach her that.

  “This is mine, I believe.” Pulling together my tattered self-respect, I snatched the bag with an air of dignity, before backing away.

  “Don’t be vexed. The rest’s got no Will flavoring.” Trinity crossed her arms. “That was so funny; you were shook.”

  “Dead funny,” I huffed. “This is me splitting my sides.”

  I threw the two-finger salute, before spinning on my heel and marching towards the bridge.

  Trinity made me feel like we were siblings: ones who bloody hated each other.

  I peered into Trinity’s dark world underneath London Bridge. Smoke stung my eyes from fires, which were burning in overturned steel barrels, built-up from scrap wood. I coughed; smoke wound into my nostrils and lungs. Through a watery haze, I made out blurred ghosts, who were living on the banks of the salt-brine Thames. Battling against both smoke and wind, I staggered between sprawled meth heads, who were huddled over sweet smelling foil chasing the dragon (and who could blame them for seeking an escape from this reality?), a bloke who was ranting at an invisible adversary, and a gang of kids.

  A heap of curls and tiny body: my Will.

  He smelled…like mine.

  Will was scrunched against the wall under a nest of cardboard like a mouse. He was as far from the others as possible. Mutt was by his side, a wag of black and white fluff. Will was fidgeting ritualistically at that friendship bracelet again.

  I sighed, before lobbing my gift at him.

  Will jumped out of his bloody skin, but Mutt didn’t even wake up.

  I laughed. “Easy to hunt, you are.”

  Will tried to pout but then broke into a broad smile. “Only because you ain’t hunting me, innit?”

  “Touché.”

  Will nudged my gift with his foot, before glancing up at me hopefully. “Is that for...?”

  “It’s a tent. Pop-up. There’s a sleeping bag too. I reckoned with it being cold at night...”

  I hadn’t expected the armful of First Lifer. I stiffened. Then I heard sniffling.

  Buggering hell.

  I patted Will’s back. “Alright?”

  “Yeah.” Will disentangled himself, before hunkering down to investigate the tent.

  Good luck with that. I didn’t have a clue how to put up even a pop-up tent.

  “Here.” I chucked a luxury bar of chocolate at Will.

  I’d been carrying it around since last night, when Hartford had given it to me as a peace offering or a cheers for the unleashing. Maybe it was a breaking abstention pressie. Whilst Donovan still looked ready to rip off my balls, Hartford was buzzed. All singing and dancing, Hartford was a Long-lived in the world once more.

  Regrets…? Helping Hartford back from the dark wasn’t one of them.

  Will caught the chocolate with one hand — good reflexes — whooping like it was Christmas. When he ripped open the wrapper, however, the blanket shifted.

  “What’s this then?” I plonked down the blood, snatching up the handle of a gangster-sized knife. I waved it like it was confiscated contraband in front of a naughty schoolkid. “Little man…?”

  “It’s protection.”

  I tucked the blade into the back of my jeans (and that’s one place that you don’t want it to slip), and then I thumped my chest. “Here’s all the protection that you need.”

  Will was picking at his chocolate with his head twisted away from me. “You ain’t always here.”

  “What does that...?”

  “Just put it back, yeah?” It was hardly more than a whisper.

  Reluctantly, I drew out the knife. A lad like Will shouldn’t even have touched a shank. Real rebel, right? All these shoulds.

  There’s no such thing as should, yet we still pretend.

  First Lifers like these don’t exist: hidden under bridges, down alleys, or in squats. They’re invisible to the other First Lifers, as they stroll by and choose their own reality, escaping into drugs, medicating on alcohol or prescription pills, or hiding away from the real world in TV box sets or the Internet.

  Because who asks for help in there? Who needs you to be strong?

  Will took the knife from me with trembling hands, before burying it under his blankets. Then he drew something back out with a flourish.

  My jacket: mended. I twisted it around first one way and then the other. You could barely make out the rent.

  Will was blushing, staring down at the floor.

  I tipped back his head with one finger. “I won’t forget this. I promise.”

  The next night, I’d been prowling through London on the hunt for the Emo kid, when I’d heard a commotion up ahead.

  “Filthy whore,” a posh voice had sneered, followed by a hyena burst of laughter.

  It’d come from the bench outside the comic shop…where my Will sat.

  I raced towards the over-excited gang of drunken gentlemen. They were a pinstr
ipe platter of red faces hawing to themselves as they booted and grappled with the whimpering figure at their feet. Swollen with power and coke, they stamped their place in the world by stamping on someone else.

  And the crowds that thronged either side, whilst these businessmen got their jollies with a homeless boy…?

  Didn’t do a sodding thing to stop them.

  “Oi, you!” The blokes glanced up at my holler, which was when Mutt launched her attack.

  Growling like a bitch possessed, Mutt didn’t know which bastard to bite first. She circled the whole pack, snapping at their ankles. Until one tosser kicked backwards, and I heard a crunch.

  Then Will’s only defender was lying still.

  “Mutt!” A muffled wail from the pile of blood and bruises trapped beneath the businessmen.

  Not Will’s only defender because then I was there.

  The boss turned to me with a smile, like he recognized another predator. His thinning hair was sweaty, and his tie askew: beating on kids is a good workout. He knelt next to Will, flipping him onto his stomach with what could only be practiced ease, before ripping down Will’s jeans.

  The other wankers cheered like they were at a gallery opening.

  Will began to sob.

  Then the boss leered up at me. “Want to join in the fun?”

  He had no idea.

  I smiled too. The blokes cheered again: another damned soul for their club. Before — dead slowly — l let my fangs descend. “How did you guess?”

  There was this long moment, in which not one of them moved.

  Then they screamed…I’d say like little girls, except that would be an insult to women. In fact, they screamed like coked-up, drunken rapists, who’d just had their illusory power crumbled to ash. They legged it, stumbling, falling, and grabbing onto each other: predator to prey on the turn of a coin.

  The boss, however, I had by the neck. He scrabbled at me, scratching and gouging at my cheeks, but I didn’t loosen my hold. I could hear the beat of his galloping heart and feel his sticky sweat.

  One bite.

  My lips were on his madly fluttering artery…

  “Don’t,” Will rasped.

  That was all it took.

  Will: his humanity, or my humanity…I no longer understood the divide or why it mattered.

  Only that Will did.

  Will had pulled himself up onto his knees; he’d dragged his jeans back on and was hugging his stomach (broken ribs, I reckoned). He was watching me through swollen eyes.

  I shoved the boss away from me. He probably would’ve given me heartburn anyway. He crawled away but before he could make a run for it, I ordered, “Apologize.” The bloke’s head snapped around. I could tell by the lemon sour of his expression that he was struggling to get out the words to a homeless kid. “Or I could simply eat you.”

  “Sorry, OK?”

  I lifted my eyebrow. “Alright, toddle off then.”

  Managing somehow to look affronted, the businessman dusted off his knees, straightened his tie, and shakily wove away towards London Bridge and the City.

  By the morning, they’d all be too humiliated to admit to each other that they’d run from a vampire and would blame what they’d thought they’d seen on the drink and drugs.

  I turned my attention to Will. He was a mess. I crouched next to him. “Bloody work of art, you are.”

  He tried to shrug but stopped with a gasp. Yeah, broken ribs.

  He pouted. “I ain’t had my shank with me. If—”

  “Not going to happen.”

  I suddenly realized that my fangs were still out.

  I don’t know why I was ashamed of them. After what happened at Abona? With Master? I shouldn’t have any shame left.

  Except, I did.

  When I ducked my head, Will’s fingers shot out, touching a fang.

  I wrenched back. What if he’d pricked himself and let in the venom? What if I’d killed him by mistake because I was a Blood Lifer yet again pretending that there was no divide between our species?

  Will cringed. “I’m sorry…”

  I grasped his hand before he could turn away. Why wasn’t I surprised that he’d taken it as a rejection? “The rule is that you don’t touch because they’re toxic.”

  Yet the truth was that it was more than that. A First Lifer touching my fangs was a violation.

  Humans had taken my fangs once, and no one was touching what was mine again. The only thing was that I was no longer powerless.

  Will played with my fingers. “You said that you ain’t an angel?”

  I cocked my head. “Want to know what I am?”

  Will studied me gravely, but then his smile was back. “Nah, man. You’re still my Angel of Light. You’re safe, all that matters, innit?” I blinked rapidly to hide my shock. No one had ever just…accepted me like that before. “He got you good and that.” Will pointed at the scratches down my cheeks. I guess that I wasn’t exactly in tiptop condition either. “Are you alright?”

  Something caught at me: the whispered memory of a woman called Susan who’d helped me believe that someone could care if I hurt, so maybe I should too. All it took was that hint of tenderness and to be treated like it mattered if I hurt, broke, and bled.

  Will was looking at me like I was…human. No: like it didn’t matter that I wasn’t.

  No way was I letting him see me bawl. “Where’s your teenage rebellion? Your Marlon Brando—”

  Will’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

  “The world hates you.” I couldn’t help it. The words were spewing out, and I couldn’t hold them back. “Look at it: what it does to you. What it’s done. Where’s your rebel fire?”

  “I reckon that you’ve enough for all of us.” Will twisted away. His fingers — little one dislocated — stiffly played now with his frayed jumper. I wished that he was still holding my hand. “The world has a beef with me? Then that’s sad because I ain’t got no beef with the world. Just so you know.”

  I was a wanker and feeling half an inch tall.

  Just then, I caught a glimpse of a black-and-white body.

  I straightened, before scooping up Mutt and laying her next to Will. At least she was still breathing. Thank Christ for that. I half-convinced myself that I only cared for Will’s sake.

  Will stared up at me like I could perform miracles: Resurrect the dead.

  Oh yeah, I could.

  I swept my hand over Mutt’s body. She was surprisingly soft and warm. I rubbed my hand backwards and forwards. Her heart was thudding, slow but still beating. I laid my head close to hers.

  Suddenly, something wet slobbered across my face from top to bottom. Mutt was awake, and I’d just experienced a Mutt tonguing.

  I glowered at her. “Bad dog.”

  Will, however, was grinning. “Good dog.” He tried to wrap his arms around Mutt but groaned. No way was he walking anywhere.

  “Let’s get you to hospital because that’s the craze for you humans.” Will scooted away from me on his arse, however, squeaking with pain. “Bloody stop it now.” Will stopped but still eyed me warily. “No hospital?”

  Will shook his head.

  I frowned. “I’m not taking you to that…under London Bridge. Not in that state.”

  “I ain’t asking you for nothing.”

  “You don’t have to.” And Will didn’t. It didn’t mean that I wouldn’t tear the world asunder for him, lie to my family, and betray promises. I’d give him my very blood if he’d have it. Sodding hell, I wished that he’d be ready for election soon, and that he’d want it, unlike Kathy. The waiting was agony. “Come back to my home.”

  There – I’d said it. Exploded myself out of the water; it was too late to go back.

  I was buggered.

  As soon as my Blood Lifer family discovered that I’d been hiding Will and keeping this secret from them, I’d be the one lying in a pool of blood. Yet this would be my chance to persuade Will to stay with me for good and join my misfit family, and t
he pain would be nothing compared to the loss of Will if he hated them…and rejected me.

  “This is not cool, man,” Donovan whispered, glancing at the closed bedroom door.

  Scarlet candles dotted the floor in upturned beer bottles; their flames were votary offerings in the black.

  It’d been Hartford who’d offered to take the bloody pile of rags and curls from my arms and sweep Will into the kitchen to patch him up like my latest stray, before the hollering could begin. Hartford had an uncanny nose for that.

  See here’s the thing: that coffee cup of thick crimson – human – blood? Will’s blood? Hartford acting all demon possessed on the floorboards?

  Don’t reckon I hadn’t figured on one unleashed Long-lived scenting Will’s grazes and thinking dinner time.

  Yet there was something about the way Hartford took Will from me, and the way that Will’s skinny arms transferred from my neck to Hartford’s, as if he’d always known him or he was family.

  Like he trusted him.

  And trust? It’s harder to find than love. You can lose it too, twice as fast.

  Donovan’s intent stare could’ve set the bedroom door aflame. “You told us that you were at Peter Pan’s? Are you lying to us now?”

  Heat flooded my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  Sun was sprawled on the mattress, her hands clenched in the faded sheets. Her hair hung in a veil, which masked her face; I could just see the laser slits of her eyes. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a flint-speckled top, which she’d returned with from a charity shop. Wearing them, I always reckoned, was a protest.

  “Sorry?” Donovan shook his head. “What’s happened to you and my baby? These First Lifers...?” He spat out the words like they were venomous. “Bringing one into our home...? Unless he’s a snack…” I had my hand around Donovan’s throat as I slammed him backwards and onto the bed, so fast that I didn’t even know I was doing it, until we were both breathing hard and staring into each other’s startled eyes. “Hey, no need to wave the fangs around.”

  Surprised, I licked my teeth with my tongue and then yelped. I drew my fangs back slowly.