Vampire Devil

by Rosemary A Johns

  Yet now I’d glimpsed even a part of this shadow world…?

  I soared with joy that Ash hadn’t been left alone in his captivity. And that sometimes with them here, I could pretend I was truly a guest, not a prisoner.

  Blaze’s narrow head shot up and his intelligent amber eyes scrutinized me, before glancing at his brother. ‘Away with you, I told you to stop greeting, she’d be returning in one piece with an extra fang around her neck.’ His Scottish lilt weaved into my mind, mildly accusing: a telepathic slap.

  I grimaced. Yeah, I so wasn’t telling him whose fang it was, hanging next to the others.

  Spark nuzzled at my singed wing. ‘She’s hurt, hurt, hurt,’ he whimpered.

  I stroked his brilliant white throat. ‘Don’t worry, bro. At least I didn’t turn into a unicorn.’

  ‘If you weren’t our Keeper, numptie, I’d say you were off your head.’ Blaze’s eyes narrowed.

  Spark whined, licking my hand. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry…’

  ‘Hey, it’s OK.’ I caught his chin, tipping up his head. ‘This numptie has a strict non arse kicking policy on foxes…and unicorns.’

  Blaze huffed, hopping to the floor. ‘Learnt that from Rebel, did you now? You were all for arse kicking when—’

  ‘She wasn’t our Keeper then,’ Spark peeked over my knee at Blaze. I was tinged with the pride a mum must feel when the shy younger brother finally speaks up to his older one. ‘She makes sure we’re safe.’

  Or maybe the tear-prickling impotency of a mum who knows she can’t truly keep her kids safe from the bloke with a bottle of beer and a belt because even though I fought for my survival and my Blood Familiars’, we weren’t safe.

  ‘If you’re sulking, Blaze, I guess you don’t want a share of the swag…’ I reached underneath the seat. Misrule always changed part of my blood into different supplies, which was like the lucky dip at the fair each evening. Anything but cold baked beans again… I dragged out the first item, rubbing the sweet balls between the tips of my fingers. ‘And the emperors shall eat grapes.’

  I rolled one on my palm to Spark, before tossing a second to Blaze, who leapt and caught it.

  ‘You’re not going to peel them…?’ Blaze raised his tail.

  ‘What did your last slave die of?’ I dropped the grapes onto the floor, rustling back underneath the seat.

  I yanked out the packet of chilli tortilla chips with a hoot of victory, startling Spark scurrying to the floor.

  Rip — I tore open the packet.

  When the hot aroma blasted me, I groaned.

  Save your big ‘O’ moment for the Seducer, Feathery-sweetness, you’ll want some pleasure with the punish.

  All the pleasure I want is hard, spicy, and bad for you.

  You’ve just read the Seducer’s label.

  It’s not happening. You once told me that I’d destroy Ash if I tamed him.

  Did I say tame?

  You’re the victor gladiator with the whore about to be delivered to your cell. Why waste the sweet ass spoils?

  One-handed, I tore off my armour, hurling it across the carriage with a thunk; it whacked the Waterloo line.

  Then I squirmed down, settling in for a nosh, holding up an orange triangle. ‘The food of princesses.’ Suddenly, the carriage lurched. I clutched the armrests; my chips sprayed out. ‘Bastard…’

  The foxes howled, cowering, as the windows rattled. The floor and ceiling pulsed, whilst the human underground pounded by in the tunnel on the other side of the wall. My knees rose and fell at the vibrations as if we were on a ghost train. At last, the underground passed, and the noise quietened.

  Then two tiny, shuddering vampires crawled out of the bed, which I’d built in the corner out of the foam from inside the seats.

  The Bloods.

  My carriage had come installed with pets and slaves. I’d have settled for fresh towels and room service.

  The Bloods were the lowest vampires in the Under World: Fallen angels who’d been born after the Fall. The Children of the Dark, they were untested and unable to join the higher ranks until they were.

  Catch bastard 22.

  Whining, the girls shuddered, as they knelt in nothing but the tattoos that covered them head-to-toe: living art.

  ‘The bairns are starving,’ Spark huffed, perking his ears and snuffling at the girls’ shaved heads.

  Blaze clicked comfortingly, circling them. ‘Don’t just gawk. Where’s your real swag?’

  I dragged out the bone skull, which had been tucked underneath next to the junk food.

  This is my choice, J. If I don’t fight, the kids starve.

  I didn’t say the choice was easy. Your daddy feeds you treats — familiars, slaves, chips — because a skank who has something to lose can be kept in line like a schoolkid.

  If you’d been shut up with no one but your pretty little self, could even Hercules have forced you to whore yourself in the Cage?

  I bristled, pushing the slopping blood towards the girls. They shuffled forward, peering at me.

  Silent.

  They were always silent. Why didn’t Bloods talk? Couldn’t they…or weren’t they allowed?

  Sighing, I dropped to my knees, stroking over the bristles on their shaved heads.

  Instantly, they dropped to lap at the blood, cat-like.

  I traced over the tattoos on their heads. Intricate tales of battles and the Fallen’s myths: living fairy tales.

  When I heard the clank of the doors, I snatched up my precious tortillas and hustled the Bloods and familiars into the toilet at the back of the carriage, snapping shut the cubicle. Then I twirled to face General Trick, the albino vampire who owned Ash and who’d captured us before escorting us to the Under World, who lounged in the carriage’s doorway. He studied me, twirling one waist long strand of white hair around his finger. The silver hoops in his ears gleamed.

  Crunch — I bit into a chip, licking the chilli dust off my fingers with an exaggerated slurp.

  Trick shuddered.

  ‘What’s up?’ I shook the packet, offering one to Trick who shrank back, dragging his black coat around himself against the spray of chilli. ‘A Fang can’t live on blood alone; let the sensations blow your mind.’

  ‘I’ll decline,’ Trick curled his lip. ‘Although, sensation shall suit you well in your wicked night with the Seducer, our Bone Princess.’ I’d forgotten that his words were as cruel as an oiled blade: congratulations on inciting the psycho. ‘A most interesting condition of such whores is that we allow them to bring delightful pleasure to others…’

  Crunch.

  Trick gaped at me, as I munched on the chip.

  I gestured the universal go on with my stained hand. ‘With you. Whores…delightful pleasure…?’

  Trick shook his head, as if dislodging an irritating fly. He tapped his fingers against the edge of the carriage door. ‘But they’re not allowed to find…their own completion…unless their wingtips are touched. As you can imagine, it keeps them in quite the state of readiness and trains them…’

  Crunch.

  Trick stared at me, then the bag of chips. If we’d been on the battlefield, we’d both have been a fine red mist. He took a deep breath; his foot was tapping now along with his hand. ‘…Into a state of passion, where even the lightest touch is akin to pain. When they’re naughty, it takes little to punish…’

  Crunch.

  ‘Will you desist from that infernal feasting, you insufferable creature?’ He howled, panting.

  I hesitated, chip halfway to my lips. Then I smirked, dropping the tortillas onto the seat. ‘What’s with the Hulk out? You only had to ask.’

  When Trick sidled towards me, sinuous as a snake, I stiffened. ‘Then let me ask this, princess, isn’t our world what you’ve always wanted? No rules? Star of our carnival? Dark anarchy to let out your monster? And a world to devour?’ He pinched my arm, and I yipped. ‘Are you even listening?’

  Heat blossomed on my tongue, as I sucked my thumb of crumbs,
letting it free from my mouth with a pop. ‘Carnival, blah, anarchy, blah, monster, blah…’

  ‘World to devour, blah, blah,’ Ash’s voice called from outside the carriage.

  I sniggered.

  Trick glowered, throwing up his bone-white hands in disgust, as he stormed back to the doorway, yanking in Ash by the silver chain that bound his hands like a leash. He threw Ash to the floor in front of me: sacrificial victim.

  And I was King Kong.

  Ash sprawled on his side, as if he’d chosen to stretch out on a bed. Kudos on the not looking intimidated.

  At least he wasn’t naked now: he wore tight black jeans and unbuttoned shirt, with slashes at the back that freed his wings. I instantly missed his red military coat, which I’d ground into the mud on the Snowdonian mountainside.

  Ash smiled. ‘Hey, babe.’

  ‘Two butter knives and a garlic crusher…is that creative enough on the babe death front?’

  Ash shrugged. ‘So worth it.’

  ‘Butter knife, garlic crusher, or nut cracker, it matters not,’ Trick muttered. This time Ash winced. Trick hesitated in the doorway, before slinking back into the frustrated howl of Misrule’s party. ‘One night to punish him. No one goes back on a bet here.’

  At last, I crouched down in front of Ash; he quivered, battling to hold onto the mask of nonchalance.

  The ancient possessive powers inside me roared to punish Ash for his betrayal. To force him to be mine again. Even as I touched my knuckles gently to his cheek.

  ‘What’s first?’ Ash’s gaze flickered to mine. ‘Castration? Thumbscrews? Pear of anguish? Or straight down to the butter knife?’ He touched a tentative thumb to my latex top. ‘Although, the kinky bondage look’s hot on you.’

  Why the hell was the Master of Misrule in charge of dressing me for the Carnival…?

  ‘Hold on there, torture happy, this isn’t a medieval dungeon. And you set that bet, not me.’ I flapped my seared wing. ‘You fired at me. I’m not in the punishing fam business.’

  Even if I was shaking with the effort to hold in the bitch.

  ‘If you don’t, General Trick’ll think I went back on the bet, and that means a trip to medieval dungeon land.’ Ash rolled onto his back, clasping his hands in front of him, caught in his chains: my spoils. ‘I’m ready, Violet.’

  ‘Not a military campaign, Brigadier.’

  I hadn’t expected the flinch.

  When I crouched over Ash, the monster rattled inside, exultant, even as the carriage did with the passing of another train. Our bodies vibrated, joined by the wild thrumming. He gasped: he truly was hypersensitive.

  I arched a brow, swinging my legs over him. I ran my fingers over his chest; his breath stuttered. ‘Enough with the burn you, cleanse you, kill you crap. I won’t hurt you to order.’ My thumb grazed his nipple, tugging at the nub, and he keened. ‘Sorry, chilli fingers.’

  ‘Then what’s with the Sharon Stone routine?’

  I growled, throwing open his shirt and exposing him; he tilted his chin defiantly. ‘You can’t go back on a bet? And I can’t hurt you? But there’s no reason I can’t use you: pleasure is pain. My mum taught me that freaky lesson. Don’t worry, you won’t even need to be bare arsed.’

  I feathered ghost touches down Ash’s sides, and he gritted his teeth. Down the fluttering muscles of his stomach, and he hissed as if I was branding him. Then I circled his nipples with a single finger, and he whimpered.

  Was I truly scorching him with a touch? And why did it spiral me higher on the black?

  ‘See?’ I murmured, as he tried to scrabble away. ‘One finger.’

  I clawed my nails into his wing, holding him still, and he bellowed. At the same time, the tenting in his jeans was hard against my thigh; the Seducer had been well trained.

  ‘Would Princess Leia use Han like a toy?’

  ‘The problem with that?’ I stroked through Ash’s feathers. ‘You’re not Han: you’re bastard Lando. And I reckon Leia would do this…’

  I edged my fingers towards his wingtips.

  I burned, as much as he must be burning. My mind was clouded by a berserker rage that twined with an inferno of possessive desire.

  What the hell was I doing?

  How screwed sideways was it that I no longer knew how to control the beast, which had grown stronger after every fight? I shivered, struggling to battle it down…to stop it hurting Ash like this…

  No, no, no…

  Abruptly, Ash shoved at me with his bound hands, and I stumbled back onto my arse. ‘Your eyes…’ He stared at me. ‘They’re doing the fairy glow thing: sparking with light. That’s the king playing inside your head.’

  ‘Try again, bro,’ I snarled.

  Frustrated, Ash pinned me with his wings, and I was flooded by their scent, like being wrapped in a clove studded orange. ‘The king’s power is to spark light…fervour…into your deepest desires. To incite rebellion, anarchy, or…’

  ‘The bitch?’

  ‘You said it. And just so you know: I’m not one of your kinky angels. I don’t play games of submission. I can’t fight what I’ve been turned into but I will fight you if you touch me like that again. Note the deadly sincerity.’

  The toilet door burst open.

  First came the geekering guttural chatter, as the Blood Familiars leapt up onto the seats, and then nothing but hissing crimson.

  Whistle — red whips flashed through the air.

  Ash twisted to the side, before the sticky coils of the whip slashed down over my face.

  I screamed, as they burnt like jelly fish stings, clinging to my skin. I ripped at the strands, but they glued my hands. Caught in the scarlet, I thrashed, as the Bloods advanced on me. Their tattoos weaved — alive — out of their skin.

  I cringed, curling up my knees. I was desperate to look away but when a nightmare comes to life instead of a fairy tale, there’s nowhere to hide from the monsters.

  ‘I’m safe,’ Ash murmured. Even through my shaking, I could see his eyes gleamed like he was holding back tears. Why did he care about my Bloods? ‘You can turn off destruction mode. I’m here now.’

  When the tattoo whips pulled back, sinking into the Bloods’ skin as if it’d never danced to life, I groaned: that was me flayed.

  ‘So, that happened,’ I blinked.

  Ash held out his arms to the Bloods, and they darted to him, one nuzzling into each shoulder. He shook, and this time I knew it was from tears.

  My mind was clearer than it’d been…maybe since I’d been brought here. As if the tattoos had sucked the king’s light out like poison, freeing me from his fervour.

  I touched the fang necklace and I remembered the joy that had zinged through me, whilst I’d held Ash down and tormented him with my touch.

  What the hell had I done?

  I ripped off the necklace, sickened by the feel of each fang and the memory of every howl as they’d been torn from my defeated opponents. Struggling to swallow, I hurled it skittering across the carriage. Then I ducked my head, nudging the skull with what remained of the blood dinner towards Ash. ‘If the king-sparked bitch makes another appearance, you take the reins. Until then, the prisoner of war look doesn’t suit you.’

  Hell, as apologies went it was the best I could manage.

  Ash gave a curt nod, but he lifted the skull to each of the Bloods first, stroking their wings, before he drank. I could tell how much it cost him not to guzzle the blood in desperate gulps, instead taking casual sips.

  Afterwards, he panted, bending over as if even that much blood pained his guts.

  I edged closer. ‘You know my Bloods?’

  Or the freaky creatures with the epic tattoo whips…

  He eyed me coolly. ‘They’re not yours, Violet.’ I pinked. ‘They’re my sisters.’

  I jolted, and he hugged his sisters closer.

  Hell, had Ash’s sisters been placed in my room to control Ash. Or to control me?

  ‘Why aren’t they with you?’
>
  Ash’s laugh was bitter. ‘You free Angel World’s slaves, but it’s OK for vampires to be kept as pets? Our parents died, but I wasn’t allowed to raise my sisters. I can’t…save them…but I’ve sacrificed myself to stop them becoming me.’

  The Bloods stared at him with wide gazes. Their tattoos glowed, as they burrowed closer.

  ‘I’ve lost my sister too.’ I traced across the pouch around my neck, which held my sister’s crystal necklace. And how had the fang necklace tricked me into forgetting it? ‘She and all the disappeared kids of Hackney could be here. Have you been a good little soldier for the Fangs, or have you found them?’

  Ash’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve been out there alone. Kept on a leash by the FF. Now I know where the angels are because Supreme Commander Wild’s bedtime routine is less cup of tea, bed, and more whip the angels, bed.’

  I didn’t miss his anguish at Rebel and Harahel’s pain because it smarted through me as well. Ash had savaged Rebel’s throat during our escape from Angel World. Had his taste of my bonded angel connected him, even closer than their centuries united against each other in the war between angels and vampires had?

  Or did they have something else in their entwined pasts that had transformed them from enemies to reluctant mates?

  My hands curled into fists. ‘If they want the monster out to play, then they can have it on their arses. We’re taking back my fam.’

  Startled, Ash pushed off his sisters and towered over me, his wings beating. ‘Overruled. You thought the Matriarch was an Ice Bitch, she’s nothing to your dad’s Fire Devil. I want to save Rebel and Harahel too. But if we steal the king’s prisoners, he’ll burn us and sell seats. And I’m fond of my sexy arse. You think the fights are just entertainment? They’re to publicly prove your loyalty and kill your angelic side.’ His expression gentled. ‘You can’t love the enemy.’

  ‘Stick that, bro.’ I pushed myself up, tracing his lips. ‘I never did well with rules.’ At a sudden tugging at my leg, I looked down. The sisters had pressed themselves between Ash and me protectively. I sighed, kneeling down in front of them. ‘I’m not going to hurt your bro. Again.’