Vampire Princess

by Rosemary A Johns

  I flinched.

  The pretty boy Commander had a point. He’d thrown himself onto the fire to free one of my blokes. And his balls would be busted for it by the Matriarch.

  Literally.

  But cause pain? This was a decision between my two…enemies? Betrayers? Abandoners?

  Men who loved me? Who’d knelt for me, fought by my side, and would’ve died for me.

  Fam.

  How could I take one into the light and leave the other in the dark?

  Yet the way Ash had called Rebel by his name, treating his enemy and rival with tenderness because Rebel had asked if he was going crazy — three times without remembering — booted me in the gut.

  There’d only ever been one answer. Even if it felt like a defeat.

  ‘Rebel,’ I hollered, just as the blind snapped closed.

  Drake sagged against me, his grip relaxing, but was that a flash of displeasure in my mum’s eyes?

  The Matriarch corrupted with love. Was Ash another pawn? How much effort had it taken to hostage exchange for him?

  Ash, Rebel, Gwyn, Drake… All pressure points to press and make me jump.

  The Matriarch glanced at Drake. ‘Clean up my daughter’s little toy and then take him to her rooms.’

  Toy?

  Even though the Matriarch had said it’d happen, it was still a shock to hear it.

  ‘Not bare arsed,’ I blurted. ‘I want his bastard clothes, collar, and sword.’

  ‘You may have them. But now he’s an Imperfect, baby bird, he shall wear the ash trousers that mark all of such low status.’

  ‘Colour me surprised.’

  When she swept towards me, brushing her thumb down my cheek, I fought not to recoil. ‘I know you have little practice, but what do you say when a mother presents a gift?’

  I bit my tongue, sucking at the tangy blood to keep down the explosion of fury, before I forced out, ‘Cheers, mummy dearest.’

  ‘Oh, one day you shall even mean it. For now, I look forward to our Wings playing together.’

  My guts clenched.

  I’d never become like my mum or grow into the princess she wanted.

  I couldn’t win the dare. No matter if it meant my death.

  Warm, safe, and naked under the feather nest in my chambers — Gwyn’s snow-white arms and legs limpet wrapped around me, his cheek against my back, and Rebel’s chest against mine, his good wing curled around us all — was the best place to wake up.

  The crystals in the walls throbbed, low and steady, in lavender; the stalagmites sparkled like a fairy grotto, even with the bondage kink. The ivy-style plants crept fairy tale over the exposed walls in gentle waterfalls.

  I sighed, snuggling deeper; I pulled Rebel’s wing over us: a kick ass blanket.

  Give a bitch a break. If I had to face that pit of nightmares in the Warrior Trials, shouldn’t I win the swag? And my toys were sleeping on either side of me like I was the delicious filling in an angel sandwich.

  Welcome to my freaky domestic heaven with a slave, punk, and comedy mother-in-law sword.

  Now there’s the sweet buns I’ve been pining for like a floozy on a wheat-free diet.

  I could sink in my teeth and bite our red-haired punk until he couldn’t sit for a week.

  But why’s the Irish Judas already in the snuggle zone?

  You’re the hooker who’s been saying I won’t survive without him.

  Girl, you take it careful. He’s yours, he loves you, but he lies like a low market hustler.

  Trust is a bitch. And I don’t take her for walks.

  She’s pissed on your leg, but you still need her, Feathery-toes.

  Just…the darling’s been beaten…in the dark…for months. Don’t expect him to be the same. Things change.

  I traced the back of my knuckles down Rebel’s cheek.

  There was a smudge of kohl remaining under his eyes and mascara in his thick butterfly lashes.

  The Matriarch liked to keep her prisoners pretty, even if she broke them.

  I caressed my finger over faded bruises swelling Rebel’s eye. He was still beautiful.

  And the betrayal?

  The rush of rage that Rebel had not been sent to save me — my own angel — as I’d once thought, instead, he’d been a Human Addict, allowed out of prison by Drake to trick me up to Angel World, had died down. Because Rebel hadn’t handed me over to the angels, he’d hidden me, training me as huntress to give me time to work out what I was.

  And now I knew more about this place? I bastard got that.

  But Rebel had also taught me that I could fly on trust.

  And right now?

  I didn’t trust Rebel.

  The day before, when Drake had carried in Rebel’s battered and naked body to my chambers, along with his clothes and sword, Gwyn hovering between us, Rebel hadn’t even been conscious.

  Drake had laid him on his front on the mound of feathers, with surprising gentleness. Then he’d backed out of the room like a priest offering a sacrifice.

  Except, as I’d dropped to my knees and grasped Rebel’s hand, rubbing at the still fingers, Rebel had been the broken god.

  Rebel’s left wing had been strapped down; Gwyn had crouched next to me, untangling the leather. I’d flinched, as his bent wing had been revealed.

  When Rebel had keened, I’d massaged his wing, hushing him. ‘You’re all right, bro. You’re safe now.’

  ‘Feathers?’ Rebel’s gaze had been fuzzy with innocence. ‘Are you…? Sweet Jesus woman, what I’d give for you to be real.’

  He’d grasped a shaky hand towards the iPod, which Drake had left to the side of the nest. I’d snatched it up, working an earbud into my own ear and then pressing one into Rebel’s ear as well.

  ‘Ash was after being right. She didn’t forget me,’ Rebel had murmured, like it was his most precious secret.

  I’d kissed the back of his neck. Then I’d dragged Gwyn into the three-way, losing myself to Eel’s poignant guitars and organ ballad “Manchild”.

  I stretched, before wriggling further into the feathers, as sunlight streamed through the crack in the back of the cave.

  I nipped at Rebel’s lips, the bond sang to me, just as his blood called to mine.

  The Frosty Butt Queen decreed our punk your bitch, but that doesn’t mean he’ll roll over.

  Were you topping up your tan in the Bahamas last night?

  My bondage punk begged to be mine. Being with me? That was his dream come true.

  Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Miss Big Head.

  I caressed the feathers spreading from Rebel’s shoulder blades, marvelling at their violet gleam, instead of the dappled grey I’d grown used to on earth.

  Gwyn peeped over my shoulder as he assessed Rebel. ‘Tidy! You saved him, Feathers. So, you’ll be calling me by my name, rather than his, when we shag now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hey, Mr Sassy Imp,’ I twirled, trapping Gwyn under me. ‘Maybe I’ll scream out: Sassy Imp! Just to serve you right.’

  Gwyn pinked. ‘The Commander’s expression would be a fine sight when he ran in to save you from the sprite.’

  I sniggered, palming two chocolates from the platter next to our nest and slipping one into his mouth.

  Since I’d discovered both Gwyn’s starvation and that he was as serious a chocoholic as me, I’d insisted he left my platter of chocolate beside our bed of feathers. Then we’d feast as part of our kickass morning routine.

  And routine…?

  That forced this dangerously too close to being home.

  Gwyn arched, moaning in ecstasy.

  I grinned against his chest, lapping down to his pretty prick that stood now on parade. When I kissed up again to his quivering neck, he groaned.

  ‘Now, what was that name…?’ I snogged him, chasing the chocolate that burst in smooth crescendos around his mouth. ‘Sassy Imp.’

  The violet wing over us pulled away.

  I froze.

  Then I drew back from Gwyn, who
slipped out of the nest to kneel beside it.

  Months. The dark. Alone.

  Your boy punk needs thinking time, not hands down his pants. And it’s a rare day in hell that I’m not saddled up for riding that tight ass.

  He needs me. And yeah, things change.

  I turned over, only to be met by Rebel’s scowl.

  I drew in my breath, squirming.

  Rebel’s eyes sparked with the cold flame of righteous fire. All burning at me.

  Hell.

  ‘It’s real then.’ Sharp and without any trace of the hazy innocence of the night before.

  Rebel shoved himself up, booting himself out of our nest.

  I instantly missed the feel of him. And wished we weren’t all bare arsed for this reunion. But then — Miss Big Head here — I’d reckoned this would go down like last night.

  That the warm and fuzzies had already happened.

  Yet the Rebel from last night was not at home this morning. Or maybe I’d been the wallad to reckon he’d been at home last night.

  His anger struck me through the bond in an ice shanking.

  I stood up as well, offering the sticky chocolate in my palm.

  Rebel stared down at my hand, before scrunching his nose. ‘I could eat a reverend mother. But get on with you if you think I’m a pet to be handfed.’

  I recoiled, before hurling the mess against the now throbbing mauve crystals.

  He cocked his head, before examining the room, with my glimmering dresses, blood-tarnished armour, and kneeling Broken who timidly stared back.

  I crossed my arms and tilted my chin.

  Why did I shudder, like I was scoring an epic fail?

  ‘You’re the Matriarch’s princess now.’ It was blank, hard, and not a question.

  He raised a pierced eyebrow as he glanced between our naked bodies.

  Yeah, should have gone with clothes. And when had I come over nudist?

  ‘I didn’t… I mean, we didn’t…’ I narrowed my eyes. ‘Kinky angels don’t get to play the prude.’

  Rebel straightened his shoulders, grimacing as he shook out his wings. ‘Stop grousing, I believe my virtue is intact, woman.’ Why wasn’t he calling me Feathers, like he had last night? Violet swirled, ignited by his ingratitude. ‘Where’s the Brigadier?’

  I stiffened, unable to meet his gaze; he blinked with wounded hurt.

  Hell, not the bastard puppy eyes.

  ‘I had to choose—’

  ‘Not a chance, princess. If he’s abandoned in the dark, then you put me back in there with him. End of story.’

  I slammed Rebel against the wall; he hissed, as the crystals sliced his back.

  ‘It was either you or Ash. Now word on the street is you’re the one who’s been riding the crazy train trapped in your personal nightmare. So, excuse me for saving you.’

  He looked down, his black eyelashes curving on his cheek. ‘Here’s the thing of it, angels must obey or else be the one who forces another to obey. The fib of it, see, is that Wings submit willingly. We’re to kiss the feet of our chastisers. But some of us aren’t built that way. Imperfect, the Matriarch calls it. So, a fierce rebellion raged. And those who wouldn’t submit or dominate? Fell.’

  ‘You didn’t Fall.’

  ‘Not all of us gits had the balls to rebel….and we believed in something else. So, I lost bleeding everything.’ I eased back from him. His gaze flicked up to mine. ‘But you, princess? I was a muppet not to see you were made for Angel World.’

  I pulled away from Rebel like he’d burnt me. Hot and cold flooded through my body in shivering waves. When I caught Gwyn’s desperate, bewildered gaze, however, as he stared between us like a toddler watching his parents fight, I was buoyed on a bubbling fury.

  ‘Submit or dominate?’ I spat, hooking Rebel’s spiky collar from his pile of leather clothes, which were next to his sword, Eclipse. ‘Then you know which way this is going down, bitch.’

  ‘That’s mine,’ he snarled, wrenching the collar away from me and buckling it around his own neck.

  Screech — the crystals darkened to indigo, pulsating.

  Gwyn wailed, backing against the ledge, before he curled into a ball.

  I lunged at Rebel tumbling him to the floor.

  Bang — Rebel crashed against the cupboard.

  The iron latch sprang open, and sixty-six feathers rained down on us — one for each day we’d both spent prisoners in Angel World.

  Rebel in the dark, and me in the light.

  Rebel rolled to the side into the stream of sunlight. He hesitated, panting as it hit his wings.

  How long had it been since he’d fed?

  I dived on top of him, pinning his hands over his head. Unlike Gwyn, he struggled, bucking against me.

  He tried to knee me, but I dodged, pressing harder on his balls with my own knee in retaliation, until he yelped. When we’d played these fighting games in the woods behind the witches’ house, Rebel’s dick had always been pleased to see me.

  But not this morning.

  I closed my eyes, savouring the sensation of his body thrashing under mine and the way, weakened by his ordeal, I could hold him down.

  I opened my eyes, studying him, as at last he slumped, turning his head.

  ‘What do you want, princess?’ He asked wearily. ‘No games, please. I can’t—’ He bit his lip. ‘You’re treating me like a Broken and getting off on it.’

  ‘Not a Broken. My Imperfect.’

  Rebel twisted back, his gaze sharp again. ‘What in the Jesus…? You blessed me by naming me Custodian. But now you reduce me to Imperfect?’

  ‘The Matriarch said—’

  ‘Away with you, don’t hide behind your Ma’s skirts. I see how you’ve been living.’ He glanced at Gwyn, who shrank back, even though Rebel’s expression softened. ‘Using a Broken. Seduced by the dark beauty of this world and your position and power. To be sure you’re now Princess Violet. Why wouldn’t you prefer that to being a huntress?’

  Zing! Your crazy sweet thing just read you for filth. And that steaming pile of reality he shoved under your pretty nose? Don’t say—

  You didn’t warn me? Cheers for the support.

  I’m not here to support you. Truth hurts.

  I dropped Rebel’s wrists, pushing myself off him. ‘I’m still a huntress.’

  He rubbed his aching wrists, before pushing himself up on his elbows. ‘Been controlling the monster then? Killing only to save, like I taught you?’

  I was the hero of the kid’s army. I didn’t answer to my Imperfect Wing.

  An Addict.

  Even as the thought surged, bitter and toxic, I didn’t know how it’d wormed inside.

  ‘On your knees,’ I barked.

  Rebel gawped at me. I gripped his hair, wrenching up his head; he gasped.

  Gwyn stared at me, startled.

  ‘I said, bitch,’ I repeated, ‘on your knees.’

  Rebel’s tongue swept across his lips in one quick swipe. ‘Cop on! I don’t care what you think, I won’t be your pretty toy. And you’re… I’m no good with blathering. But this is the Matriarch’s Angelic power: corruption. Can’t you see…?’

  ‘You’re the one who blathered about submission.’ I yanked harder on his hair, and he gritted his teeth. ‘Now on your knees, like a good little sub.’

  His mouth tightened, as he remained motionless. ‘I knelt for you once, princess.’ I’d never heard it sound such an insult. ‘But never by order.’

  I backhanded him.

  Slam.

  His lip split, and the sweet tang of his blood burst through me with an intensity I’d forgotten.

  Slam.

  I shuddered, craving to lick up the line of scarlet, as it trailed down his chin.

  Slam.

  ‘Kneel,’ I raised my hand to clout him again.

  To split him open and free more of that candy blood. To make him submit and make him mine.

  I shuddered because I didn’t know, as yet again Rebel
shook his head, if I could calm the violet, before it was too late.

  And I’d finally break Rebel.

  I warred with the powers, screaming inside, whilst they struck, spraying angel blood across the throbbing crystals.

  Stop…

  Because if I didn’t? What would that make me? Just another Glory like my mum?

  Another bastard.

  11

  There are bastards who defeat with pain, and bastards who destroy with pleasure.

  But the true bastards of the world?

  Break with a toxic mix of pain and pleasure.

  Drake whimpered, sprawled facedown over the Matriarch’s lap.

  The Matriarch circled her fingers half-soothingly and half-warningly through Drake’s curls.

  I crouched in front of his blushing face, as the Matriarch had instructed, trying not to glance up at the curious stares of the other Glories. Because this wasn’t another kinky punishment session in the beetle heart of my mum’s chambers.

  The Matriarch lazed on a pile of iridescent otter skin cushions that were heaped on a ledge, which circled the high cave.

  Merlin’s Grotto, she’d called it.

  The Grotto was flooded with a thin clear light and the fresh scent of freedom.

  The outside.

  When I tipped back my head, I couldn’t see the roof, only the tunnel of light, filtering down in smoky shafts, along with hundreds of streaky-brown Merlins who circled with chattering calls. And the Glories who flew, in joyous swoops, sunbeam to sunbeam, their feathers glowing with a perfection denied to their sun-starved Wings.

  The Glories who dived lower for a rubberneck at Drake’s squirming naughty boy embarrassment over my mum’s lap. All because I’d been less than stealthy about being unable to force my own toy to kneel…

  Why wouldn’t Rebel kneel for me? And why did it burn me that he wouldn’t?

  ‘You must think like a leader, baby bird. Angel World needs you in these days of shadows.’ The Matriarch’s voice was strained; her hair had been braided, as if she couldn’t bear for it to hang free.

  ‘But I bitch slapped that battle.’