Rebel Vampires: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  I’d winced. “I get the idea.”

  “She may be all but she’s also my elected. I’ve been kept from my family and held in the dark…it’s no matter how or why. Only that in First Life, I was a bastard.” Plantagenet’s expression had gentled. “You were an orphan, were you not?”

  I’d nodded, avoiding his eye.

  Plantagenet had gripped my chin, however, as he had when we’d first chatted in the penthouse, forcing me to meet his suddenly serious gaze. “In faith, to be different is a hard path. My father was a king, but my mother was the daughter of an Italian painter; she was the jewel of the Court. The fame of her beauty was both much spoken of and envied. Edward the Third plucked that rose.” Plantagenet’s fingers had trembled, before he’d steadied himself. In the rumbling shadows of that moving jeep, we could’ve been the only two blokes left on earth. “I was raised on an Estate away from Court. Away from my mother, father, brothers and sisters. I was a shameful secret: the bastard. The servants who weren’t thrashing or mocking me as weak and feeble issue, branded me with that name.

  “Later, when my Author freed me to Blood Life, I watched as civil wars tore my family apart, and one by one they were executed for treasonable and wicked deeds. I learned then that my mother had begged for my seclusion because illegitimate or not? I had a claim on the Crown, and the brothers and sisters who I’d longed many piteous summers spent alone to play knights with in the sunshine, to ensure their own claim, would indeed have murdered me.” Plantagenet had licked along my lips, resting his forehead against mine, as if for comfort and nothing more. He’d tasted of oranges and — bugger it — family. I could fight it, but it was stronger than it’d been with Ruby, even though she’d been like breathing to me for over a century. “The world rejected me, and so I rejected the world. I forged a new family, even after my Author burned to save me. Because what is a good thing to a man if he has all the worldly wealth and power but not love?”

  There was a sudden rustle behind me, and I jumped when a delicate hand touched my shoulder.

  “What’s the sitch, bitches?” Mother asked.

  I carefully eased away from Mother’s hand.

  Mother looked like a Californian Valley girl: gold trousers and halterneck. Her diamonds were still sharp around her snowy neck. She’d slipped her highlighted hair up into a clip.

  There was no chance that she wasn’t in charge of that poor old pillock’s credit card.

  Plantagenet turned without a word. I shrugged, swaggering at his heels down the wooden staircase, under the sombre gaze of Mr Minister’s framed ancestors. Mother clattered after us on her gold kitten heels.

  At the base of the staircase, Mother’s cool arms wound around my waist, whilst her fingers wank-wandered, and she licked down my throat. Then she hissed, so close to my skin that I could feel her fangs, “We are forced to woo because none dare woo us.”

  Before I could react, she was shoved backwards against the wall with Plantagenet’s arm across her throat. “Light is not yours to… By this hand, you will not bite.”

  Mother laughed: high and delighted. I shuddered. “But he’s so bomb,” Mother pouted. “And he’s family; I can taste it.”

  Plantagenet pushed away from her. Gently, he stroked down her cheek and she leant into his touch. “Things are not as they were. You can’t simply take. We are all of us changed.”

  “By my Soul,” Mother gave a robotic tilt of her head, which was as disconcerting as her shifts in speech like she couldn’t remember what time period she was in, slipping into past lives and roles, “you have no fangs.”

  Plantagenet reddened, and his shoulders hunched.

  Blake had been right: she was a back-stabbing bitch.

  Mother smiled, vicious and victorious, as now she stroked Plantagenet’s pink cheek. Plantagenet didn’t lean into her touch, however, in fact he shrank away, as if she was poisonous. “Why do you look so melancholy? I am here now. Foolish man to think that you did not need me. I am your creature, as you are mine. Now, let’s go kill the kinky minister. I’m so psyched for this!”

  Plantagenet finally grinned, before taking Mother’s hand like he’d taken mine. They twirled each other round, as they danced out into the courtyard garden, like I’d once danced with Ruby in the carnage and the flames, a kid let loose in the world. No conscience or battle for redemption. Nothing forcing me to grow up and face an adult world beyond my own will, wants, and delights.

  Together? A fanatical Magnificoe and his wicked witch?

  The First Lifers didn’t stand a chance.

  Frowning, I prowled after them.

  The courtyard was in front of a yew tree maze, which stretched into the dark behind the Jacobean mansion. Mr Minister — naked, shivering and shackled — was on his knees, sacrificial in the center of the courtyard. The stars above were blindfolded by cloud. The First Lifers in black with the guns were pressed against the brick walls. Basil, mint, and thyme from the raised beds washed me back to Abona and my servitude.

  The scent strengthened my prowl.

  When Mr Minister noticed us, the sobbing started. Then he pissed himself.

  Plantagenet’s face was oddly blank again, as we stood ranked in front of the First Lifer. “You are accused of the most wicked deeds against Blood Lifers—”

  “I never hurt Mother. Never. Ask her. I’ve treated her like a princess,” Mr Minister babbled.

  I glanced at Mother; Mr Minister hadn’t used a slave name. I’d been reduced to shadow, yet he’d used her true name.

  I half-expected Mother to jump to his defense, but she only gripped tighter onto Plantagenet’s hand, as if for protection from some terrifying sultan.

  “As high heaven is my witness, you shall pay,” Plantagenet declared, “in this life and I am certain in the next. I give you one chance to make peace with your maker. The sentence is death.”

  “Please, please, please…”

  Mother waved, giving that false smile of hers, “See ya.”

  And I saw it. The deep genuine agony in Mr Minister’s eyes: of a bloke who’d been played.

  Just like we were being.

  Suddenly I knew that all this — the First Lifers with guns, the execution-style killing, and Mother’s gloating — was wrong.

  Hartford, Donovan, and I had taken out the Blood Club on the Isle of Man, but that’d been fangs and fists in the red-hot heat of battle. In the all or nothing desperation to save our species from slavery.

  But this was more like…

  “Mother? Do you wish to complete the sentence?” Plantagenet offered.

  “Wait,” I held out my hand, knowing that I couldn’t stop them but having to say something.

  I was too late.

  Mother gripped Mr Minister’s head, screwed it round like the cap of a bottle, and then pulled — plop. When she tore it off, his lips were still wetly begging.

  Mother hurled his head next to his twitching body, which toppled slowly forward. I heard one of the First Lifers hurl into the herb bed.

  “The devil rot him.” Mother spat on Mr Minister’s wrinkled back.

  A burgundy pool puddled out of the headless neck. I was sickened at the urge to fall to my knees and lap every wasted precious drop.

  Breaking abstention? Drinking human blood? Simulated skin?

  Unleash a Blood Lifer and the predator will find a way to come out and play.

  Plantagenet knelt down, dipping his finger into the blood. Then he spelled out, as if it was paint, onto the courtyard floor: RENEGADES.

  Point made.

  Plantagenet slipped his arm around my shoulder. His smile was mischievous. Mother snuggled on his other side, and he let her. “Watch now.”

  I stared at the red-brick mansion, which was above the sweep of steps.

  Bang.

  Plantagenet laughed, as I startled.

  Whoosh.

  Red flames dragon-like flew up into the silence of the night. There was the shatter of windows imploding. The smash of centuries-
old walls falling in on themselves. The roar of paneled walls and that posh staircase turned to crackling, as ash billowed into the sky.

  I’d seen it before on Mann. I’d been the cause.

  I’ve never been frightened of the flames. Yet this time it did terrify me because I was trapped in a nightmare. The slavers hadn’t a clue what they’d unleashed from the shadows…in all of us. Now I knew what this was more like, as well as what we were, and it wasn’t freedom fighters.

  It was terrorists.

  9

  NIGHT 9

  What would you do if you knew the true identity of a terrorist leader? If you’d also been ordered to kill him? Yet your newly discovered family loved him hearts and cupid, and the woman that you loved was caught in his web?

  Blake.

  You’re insinuating that Blake is the real leader of the Renegades? Are you expecting me to believe a First Lifer capable of taking on Captain?

  A toddler could take on Captain.

  The greatest mistake that you can ever make is underestimating your enemy. Humans aren’t only prey. They’re vibrant, bright, and deadly. Blake could kill or save us all.

  You’d say anything to exonerate your well-beloved Plantagenet. Why isn’t it just as likely that he’s the true leader?

  He’s nothing more than a puppet. We all are to Blake. Good little boys to be trained. You don’t need starvation or torture to condition a slave. You can lose your freedom without ever being chained.

  Captain won’t want to hear this. He already has you in custody: A Blood Lifer. He can present his neat case to the Council and have a blaze on Easter Day as offering, cementing his standing.

  I’m sorry, Light, but without Blake to put on trial in your place, there’s simply no case.

  “Just ask him. Then I’ll have a look around and—”

  “Why?” Sun contorted her legs underneath herself. She was practicing some Pilates bollocks in the gym, and her hair cloaked her face. “It’s fried the way that you’re so into Blake’s business, when you didn’t care before.”

  I dropped onto the sweaty mat next to Sun. “I’m asking now.”

  No answer, just another unnatural twist of her legs. The mat sucked onto my arse, as I shifted. The gym stank of rubber, leather, and that scent of new equipment never used. The machines gleamed out of every corner: shiny, electronic, and expensive.

  Pointless wankery.

  Bang…bang…bang…muffled thuds from the room next door. Someone was getting beaten up. Please don’t let it be Hartford or Plantagenet. I couldn’t help the way that I thought about both of them at the same time.

  I stroked back the ash blonde strands that had fallen over Sun’s cheeks. To my surprise, Sun was also smiling. When I leaned in to snog her, she tasted of salt and…oranges.

  I pulled back sharply, but Sun was still smiling. “You want to know where I work now on account of I’m so wicked awesome, huh?”

  I bit my lip. When had she kissed Plantagenet? “Something like that.”

  She shook her head. “Ya huh! You’re a big boy. Ask Blake yourself.”

  Bang…bang…bang…

  Troubled, I glanced at the steel door. “It’s not the same thing. Blokes like Blake? You ask them for something, it means that they have you by the balls.”

  “Blake loves RE.” Sun rolled out of her pose, tumbling us both into a tangle of limbs. She pressed her orange tainted lips once more onto mine. “He’s like an automaton that won’t shutoff on account of his business is his life.” Sun latched her arms around my neck as she whispered in a singsong, “Let’s evolve this!” Then she burst into laughter.

  Bang…bang…bang…

  Now we were both staring at the door.

  “Blake?” Sun was serious again. She clutched me close. “He’s a killer leader but he’s the man in charge. You need to step up if you want to lead too. So, do you?”

  I leapt up, marching to the door. Then I pushed it open.

  Bang…bang…bang…

  Louder now, it was like someone being clouted.

  I stalked inside to be faced with a boxing ring: brand new in gleaming red, with pristine ropes. And Blake, wearing nothing apart from shiny emerald shorts and boxing gloves. His tanned torso glistened with more muscles than I knew existed. If I’d reckoned him tall before…?

  Now I bloody did feel like fairy folk.

  And the bang…bang…bang...?

  Blake was beating a punchbag, which was hanging from a hook. Other punchbags were suspended around the ring like alien pods about to birth. With the look of determination on Blake’s face, there was no way that he wasn’t imagining someone, and I could guess who.

  I leant against the boxing ring’s ropes, before giving a cough.

  Those bloated shoulder muscles bunched. Then Blake clocked back his fist and whacked the punchbag so hard that it flew off the hook and thumped against the far wall. A gnat mist of sand flew up like they’d burst early from the womb.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Better now?”

  Blake turned to me. “Security are—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m not here to paralyze and dismember you, before I…” Blake had stilled. That muscle tic again. I smiled. “Not here for that. I just want a friendly word.”

  “Do you box?”

  I eyed those huge hands encased in crimson. “I used to.”

  “You were a MMA champion, I believe?” Now it was Blake’s turn to smile. “I know more about my guests, than they even know about themselves.”

  “No one likes a bighead. That mean you’re into all this my body is a temple bollocks?”

  “Why? Is your body a slum?” Blake slipped off a — smaller — pair of boxing gloves from the wall, before passing them to me. Then he hopped up into the ring, as if its height was nothing.

  I clambered up after him with the gloves slung by their laces over my shoulder. Then I pulled them on one after the other. Grudgingly, I held out my trapped hands to Blake. With a smirk, Blake wrenched off his gloves, before tightening my gloves’ laces, as if I was a boy asking for help with his mittens.

  No way was I admitting that he’d pulled them too tight.

  “All set, sugarplum?” Blake asked.

  I pushed up onto my tiptoes, punching my fists together like a gorilla declaring war. “You’ve no idea.”

  Blake was big; a slugger, I’d wager. All he’d need to do was connect with those powerful paws.

  “In some animal societies the status of a male is assigned by its size. Smaller — lesser — males play tricks to look bigger.” Blake circled. “They arch their backs, puff themselves up…or stand on tiptoe.’ Self-conscious, I rocked back on my heels. ‘They flutter feathers, faking dominance with their coats. Where’s that leather jacket of yours…?”

  “The same place as your suit.”

  “This is my pack,” Blake growled. “I don’t need to fake anything.”

  One moment I was standing there. The next? I was staring up at flashing lights.

  And my jaw? Sod it if it wasn’t broken.

  Blake grabbed my bicep, hauling me up. The world was bleeding into itself. A dizzy merry-go-round.

  Blake’s gaze was steady. “Now we’re even.”

  “Not yet.” I raised my wobbly fists again.

  “Don’t challenge me. This is ended. Although, if you insist…” Then Blake was sending a second staggering upper cut my way.

  But this time, I wouldn’t be distracted by his talking.

  I ducked.

  There was a snort of frustration and another upper cut from Blake. I bobbed and weaved, slipping underneath or to the sides of the punches. Being the smaller bloke has its advantages.

  Blake drove me back against the ropes. We were both sweating under the lights, but I knew his pattern now. I was a swarmer who’d been fighting for over a century before Blake was even a twinkle in his dad’s eye. I didn’t need any tricks because I was the real deal.

  There was just this moment when our gazes met, an
d Blake knew. His boxer’s instinct screamed that our roles had switched from predator to prey.

  I grinned as I closed in on Blake, launching my attack: a flurry of hooks and upper cuts, which made his look like a warm-up. Shocked, Blake fell back, covering up his face with his gloved hands.

  So, I went for his gut instead — bam — bam — bam.

  Blake shoved me back, until I was in the center of the boxing ring: conqueror of his world. Blake was against the ropes, however, with his eye swollen, gut reddening, and his lip split. Maybe I should’ve remembered that he was a First Lifer? Then again, I’d promised not to kill him, and he was still alive, wasn’t he?

  When Blake stalked towards me, however, wrenching off his boxing gloves with his teeth and holding out his hand, I tensed.

  Then I peeked down at his hand and realized that he was holding it out to be shaken.

  Wanker.

  Blake sighed, when I waved my gloves at him, but he began to unlace them. “This animosity? You believe that I abused my power and position to buy another person: Plantagenet. That’s why you’re behaving like such a brat.”

  “Got it in one.”

  Blake tossed down my gloves. “You’re right. I had no time or inclination to find a human partner, so I cherry-picked Plantagenet. He’s perfect for me. But you know what? Get over it.”

  “I reckon that your motivational speaking could do with some work.”

  Blake grabbed me by the back of the neck, shaking me as if he expected me to go limp.

  No such luck, tosser.

  “This isn’t some sweet romance, in which everyone adores each other and is good,” Blake snarled, “because people aren’t. That’s not the real world. We still have to work together, however, because we have a job to do. A mission. I’m not a nice man. You can’t fight genetics or evolution.”

  “I’m living proof that you can, mate,” I hissed. “You’re what you do, not what you are. And your mission is not the same as mine. You can’t just assimilate my family into yours.”