Vampire Princess

by Rosemary A Johns

  And now?

  True kid soldiers had been marched to war and for a second time, as I stared out over the trammelled chaos of London Fields, I was powerless.

  Drizzle teared from the moon-drowned sky, hiding the wetness that wept silent down my cheeks.

  Leathers shoved his claws deeper into me, and I juddered.

  My hands edged to my sides, slippery around Flight’s hilt; I held onto my sword by my fingertips.

  Would it be so bad…to let go?

  Just like little fingers had dropped Star. Little fingers dead on the grass.

  Spinning, spinning, spinning…

  Down into a dark tunnel.

  Enough.

  Life and death is a cycle, my daughter, but this is not your time.

  Please, J, I… Cheers for everything. You’re—

  And who’s J?

  Hell.

  My befuddled mind snapped to attention.

  A mate. Ignore me, I always suck the crazy juice when I’m about to get ganked.

  You have so much to learn of your talents. Because you’re not. The enemy are.

  Claws through my back say different.

  Truly? Then let me make it simple. If you die, your army will dance in the flames with you.

  By my wing, I’ll burn every. Last. Child.

  And that’s when it hit: the righteousness.

  A roaring burst of ancient power exploded through me, lashing me with the strength of a whirlwind. It awoke me from the blood loss, pain, and grief of Eah’s death.

  If I didn’t defeat the vampires, Eah’s wouldn’t be the only corpse. Every tin soldier would be thrown onto the flames.

  Then coherent thought was lost in the seething coils that clouded my eyes, filled my nostrils, and pounded in my ears.

  My fingers closed around Flight’s whining hilt, ignoring the heat that scolded my palm.

  I thrust my boot back against Leathers’ thigh.

  Leathers startled, as I used the pressure to push myself off his claws with a squelch, no longer feeling the pain or the sticky crimson spurt down my dress.

  I tipped forward off his claws, shaking with chest thudding rage. He backed up, holding his hands in front of him, like you’d ward off a rabid dog.

  I swept Flight round, arcing out pure winged fire.

  Leathers screamed and then gurgled, as fizzing feathers sliced through his throat. He clutched his charred neck, before collapsing.

  I twirled to Albino, only to see the back of his long black coat; he’d already been swallowed, safe behind the grey winged wall of fighters.

  I howled, amidst that night of shrieking terrors, at the cowering moon.

  And then?

  The world flooded to violet.

  When a shadowy silence seeped back — a blood-red tinging the London Plane trees with the dawn’s birth pangs — I blinked.

  Then I hurled.

  I stood, clasping both Flight and Star, in a blackened circle of corpses. Their bodies were beheaded. Their wings and hands chopped off. And the sky above was stained dove-grey with fleeing vampires.

  I sheathed both weapons, wiping my sleeve across my mouth, my stomach still roiling, before I noticed the armour on my sleeve was no longer gold. It’d been tarnished to bronze by blood.

  And not mine.

  I only just stopped myself hurling a second time.

  What had I bastard done?

  Rebel had taught me to kill only to save and not for sport. That if I didn’t control the monster, I’d become as bad as the monsters we hunted.

  Guess he’d been right.

  When I turned, I tripped over a broken body. And came face-to-face with Wings.

  Hell, I’d slaughtered Rebel’s only remaining relative: his brother. It didn’t matter if I ever rescued Rebel from the dark now, he’d hate me. Because I knew I’d kill Rebel if he ever hurt my sister.

  I reached out to touch Wings’ shattered cheekbone; a shard of bone stuck out, silver in the moonlight. His wings were curled around his shattered body, but at least his neck and head were intact.

  Please, let him still be alive…

  Although, I drew in a breath when I brushed my knuckles over what remained of Wings’ blackened wrists.

  I’d taken Rebel’s brother’s hands, just like Harahel’s had been taken. Would Wings, if he survived, also be reduced to the ranks of the Imperfect?

  Drake, as bedraggled and beaten as I probably looked (but I was certain more of the scarlet on him was his own blood), crouched next to me.

  ‘Princess,’ Drake touched my chin, tilting me towards him, assessing the damage with tender efficiency, ‘you fight most honourably.’ He looked down. ‘Yet I fear you shall need to learn control, or you will be the greatest danger. To all sides.’

  I pulled away from him. ‘You wanted me to save your arses or not?’

  ‘Who said we needed you to fight alone, Queen of Egos?’

  ‘The Matriarch said—’

  Drake simply raised an eyebrow.

  I gaped. ‘The bitch just played me.’

  ‘Who’s the clown now?’

  I groaned. ‘She threatened to burn the kids if I…’ Drake stiffened, his wings furling around himself. ‘She used the same trick on you?’

  ‘It’s a weakness she discovered. In a game, you must know another’s loves, so you can turn them against your opponent.’

  ‘Why do you care about these little soldiers?’

  His gaze darkened. ‘Why do you?’

  I gripped his hands between mine; he flinched. But then, his knuckles did normally end up crunched. ‘I’m not busting your balls. But why’d my mum bluff about the kid ganking? Just to wind me up and wait for the boom?’

  ‘Bluffing?’ He blinked, his thumb tracing circles over the back of my hand. ‘Queen Miniel never bluffs.’ I blanched. ‘Her power is to poison love: to know the words to whisper, enflame to hate or fury. She played on your love to mould you to her will. To become her killer.’

  I ripped my hand away from his, stumbling to my feet. ‘Keep your bitch mouth shut. I’m no one’s toy destroyer.’

  ‘Lie.’ Drake moaned as he pushed himself up to his feet, swaying. The bastard had taken some serious licks. He clutched his arm across a deep slash that seeped from his guts. ‘Now, allow me to execute the Fallen’s Commander.’ He toed Wings’ ribs with his bare foot. ‘A certain Addict should direct his…ire…at only one of us.’

  He glanced away, but I didn’t miss the pain in his eyes.

  Before Drake could snap Wings’ neck, I shoved him back. ‘Let’s not direct Rebel’s bastard ire at either of us. How about we don’t break his punk heart?’

  To my surprise, Drake nodded. ‘As you wish, princess.’

  When he touched my forehead, intently staring into my eyes, I frowned. Then I realised what he was warning me: The Matriarch was watching.

  What did I care about my own arse? But Drake…?

  He’d just signed himself up for a session beetle-pinned in my mum’s chambers by letting Wings live. But had he done it for me, or for Rebel?

  ‘That’s an order, Commander,’ I dragged Drake away from the circle of corpses. And away from Wings. ‘The sort of thing you have to follow because I’m a princess, you get me?’

  He tried to hide his smile behind his hand. ‘I would never dream of ignoring an order.’

  Lie: genie boy was big brother bossy.

  As soon as we marched out of the scorched circle, Battle and Anpiel swooped above our heads. A violet tornado, our surviving army flew around them.

  More than I’d ever hoped would live.

  Cheering, whooping, chanting.

  ‘Monster Princess, Monster Princess, Monster Princess…’

  Like I was the hero of the midnight hour.

  I was the Monster Princess but I was no hero.

  Day Two of the dare, and I’d been conned into becoming the weapon the Matriarch wanted, even if I’d saved Drake’s kid army.

  I gazed down
at my rust-coloured leathers. I wasn’t the warrior of my computer games, shooting up to perfection.

  I was the dark reflection.

  The drizzle had turned to rain, stinging against my cheeks and plastering my hair against my head; I shivered.

  I’m proud to have a daughter who has flown so truly today.

  Proud?

  I hugged my arms across my chest, staring blankly at the swooping angels above my head, who giggled and played, as if they were at a birthday party, not a battlefield.

  All my life I’d craved that one word.

  To have — someone — proud of me.

  You can become greater than the spectres haunting your dreams.

  You can have everything and everyone you wish.

  You can stand above the world and own it.

  You are mine, baby bird, and you are the new power.

  Proud? I have never experienced such pride.

  I flushed.

  And finally, I got it.

  Why Rebel had allowed his adopted witch family to hurt him. Because at least they’d loved him — had been proud of him — enough to notice what he’d done. Even if that had meant the crack of a thrashing.

  That was all sorts of wrong. But it didn’t mean I didn’t get its false pull. Because my mum’s honeyed words were trapping me now.

  So, dare’s off? I’m all proved up?

  I never change a game, and we said seven days. If you lose, you die. Those are the stakes.

  Cheers for the heads up, Mother of the Year.

  As you’ve flown in my shadow, however, let’s make it more interesting.

  How about we don’t?

  You’ve proved yourself worthy of training for the Warrior Trials. My people bow down before a Queen of Love, not a monster. If you pass the trials, they’ll worship you as a Warrior Princess.

  You start tomorrow.

  Before you Xena me up, Trial is kicking off alarm bells.

  Will I be locked in a dungeon with Big Bads? Or naked in a maze with feral goats? Little help here?

  ‘She’s talking to you?’ Drake fastidiously wiped off a streak of blood, which streamed down his cheek in the rain. ‘I am to suffer, am I not?’

  ‘Not everything’s about you, Goldilocks.’

  He huffed. ‘But everything is about you?’

  I shrugged. ‘What’s a kickass bitch to do?’

  ‘I prefer not to answer that,’ he muttered, ‘for my own wellbeing.’

  ‘Good call, bro, especially as you’ll soon have a Warrior Princess on your arse.’

  Drake spun, clutching my arms hard enough to make me gasp. ‘The Matriarch has begun your Trials?’

  I nodded, struggling back from him. ‘Why the freak-out?’

  ‘Be still,’ he commanded, his voice hard. Shocked, I relaxed in his grip. ‘No creature who is not pure angel has taken the Trials and survived. They are your foulest nightmare. Even amongst the angels…’ He pulled me close, smoothing his hands down my back. ‘You’ll die.’

  I pulled Drake closer, allowing him to pet me.

  The rain smacked my sore shoulders, striking out of a scarlet-flamed sky.

  Even though I’d survived the battle, it prickled through me in terrifying violet flashes, that tomorrow the war had only just begun.

  Because Drake’s trembling, unexpected hug spoke louder than his shocked words.

  For a half vampire like me, the Warrior Trials were geared to kill.

  9

  The day after the battle was like waking up with a killer hangover after the compulsory Christmas office party and still having to go in to work.

  And how screwed sideways was this princess gig, when now I missed hangovers?

  I groaned, resting my head in my arms, as I curled up on the library’s dusty floor.

  Grrrrrr…

  The Gateways snarled even louder than they had been all morning, vibrating on the shelves high above me in the ruby room: teacher pissed at slacking student.

  I pouted, rubbing my aching back.

  The blocks, however, like jumping beans, bounced in agitation and roared.

  Epic fail on conning the blood books.

  Whatever was feeding my angelic power had juiced my healing.

  Day Three of the dare, and it looked like I’d been training with Rebel, not been slashed to ribbons in a war.

  Talking of training…

  ‘Get your arse down here, your…pacing…won’t stop the Trials.’ I stared up at Harahel; the wind from his wings wafted apple-scented onto my face.

  Harahel had been swooping above the room in laps since I’d told him the Matriarch’s new plan.

  At last, he dove, landing lightly. His trousers slipped on his hips, and he went to hitch them up with his right hand, as if he’d forgotten it was no longer there. He blushed, before reaching over with his left hand and tugging.

  …Wings’ blackened stumps…

  Harahel lifted a graceful eyebrow, slouching towards me.

  How long had I been gawking at his missing hand?

  You’d better get your mind off the pretty boy. The Bitch Queen of Asshole Mountain has served you up on a feathery platter, and it’s fly or fall time.

  J, my freak mum was inside my head. I reckoned—

  I’d been deleted? Replaced? Nothing more than some programme?

  That she’d bitch discovered you, and I get it, you’re the greatest secret of all.

  Stop, Violet-sweets, you’re making me swoon with all the sentimental love tingles.

  She said I was hers.

  We both know you’re mine.

  This time I hid. But if angel dicks with more power try to force themselves on us, they’ll find me.

  And kill you.

  I shivered, nestling further into my arms.

  Until Harahel’s delicate fingers clasped my upper arm. And yanked.

  Shocked at his strength, I jolted to my feet. When he shoved me against the Gateways, I squealed; the bruises on my back ached at the bang.

  ‘Lay off,’ I muttered.

  ‘Yeah, not happening,’ Harahel blew a brunet curl out of his eyes. ‘I’m your Trainer, and you’ve been put in for the Warrior Trials. Pacing? You’re lucky I’m not on a violet tantrum right now — boom.’

  ‘You do that a lot?’

  ‘Used to. Now? It’s not worth the spanking from Anpiel. And believe me, she knows how to pack a wallop.’

  ‘That’s called overshare, bro.’

  He sniggered. ‘You are new to Angel World. Since when did an Imperfect have the right to privacy? Does Commander Drake?’

  A powerful possessiveness towards Drake flooded me, flushing my cheeks.

  I shifted in Harahel’s grip. ‘And that’s called none of your business, Mr Spanky. What’s your beef?’

  Harahel let go of my arm but only so he could poke me in the chest. ‘You. Warrior Trials. Hey, wouldn’t it be great if you weren’t torn to pieces?’

  I winced. ‘So, Drake wasn’t being a scaredy cat when he acted like he’d witnessed the signing of my death warrant?’

  Then, for the second time in two days, I was enveloped in trembling angel.

  Harahel clung to me, his wings furled around me, like he alone could save me from the Trials.

  Or as if I was already dead.

  No bastard way was I going down without a fight.

  ‘You’re the only one I’m allowed to talk to like we’re mates. As if I’m not a Lower Order,’ he murmured. ‘Being Imperfect, I’m forbidden to talk openly to any but my Glory or a Trainee.’ He pulled back, fixing me with a fierce pout. ‘Don’t you dare die and take that away from me.’

  I saluted him. ‘No, sir. What if I simply tell the Matriarch to stick her psycho Trials?’

  He flinched.

  Snarls, rumbles, bellows.

  Not a popular suggestion with the freaky Gateways.

  Harahel stroked my shoulders with the tips of his wings; the feathers were downy soft against my neck. ‘An angel who ref
uses the Trials loses their wings.’

  ‘Safe. I don’t have wings.’

  He looked significantly — but with a sympathetic sigh — at my hands.

  I paled. ‘They’d steal my hands?’

  ‘Punishment for cowardice. Then you’d be Imperfect too. I promise, you wouldn’t like to turn from a princess into a pretty toy. Plus, you’d lose your own toys into the hands of Angel World’s magical cult.’

  You can’t dodge this. In a world of perfection, the only thing worse than death is to fall amongst the imperfect.

  I’m already imperfect: The Monster Princess.

  I’m not what this world, my mother, or Drake want. I can never be perfect.

  You’re not the Monster Princess, you just can’t see it. You’re the Vampire Princess in a world of angels.

  Just ask me how little I care right now, whether I even am a ruler. I either fight in some test that’ll kill me, or I lose my hands and become a toy for the kinky assholes.

  Then you fight.

  Let me read you some realness: the only way to learn to control the powers that slay your enemies like Saturday Night never has to end is to train.

  I’m not—

  The only way to win the trust of the Ice Queen, so we can plan an escape from this crusty avian nightmare, is to train.

  Screw that—

  The only way to rescue your sister and the Hackney Kids, as well as to play freedom fighter for the kid army if you’re still angsting…you know this tune.

  But if I die—

  What if the Warrior Trials are the minotaur at the centre of your personal labyrinth…?

  Isn’t your sweet pussy aching for the touch of all that power?

  Angelic and vampiric sides howled in unison, torching me from the inside. They clashed in a sizzling arc, reaching out for the power J had incited.

  Aching to fight and steal that power for themselves, until I burned, hotter than even the sun.

  Fevered, I thrust Harahel away from me. Surprised, he stumbled back, landing on his arse.

  I ignored his yelp, storming to the Gateway, which was rattling to itself on the platform. I rammed my palm onto the stone thorn, blending my blood as it dripped down, with the thrumming block.

  ‘Princess, wait…’