Blood Dragons (Rebel Vampires Book 1)

by Rosemary A Johns

  You know when you die and are elected into Blood Life, the one thing you reckon you won’t bleeding have to do any more is go to lame parties with limp, wilting grub and warm beer and make nice with the natives.

  Do you reckon it’s a pass to some glamourous VIP lounge?

  Yeah, that’ll be right, well, maybe when it was just me and Ruby and I let myself dream, like some doe-eyed berk, that we were set apart, alone and united in blood and love and bollocks to the rest.

  But that was the lie.

  Now I was finally waking up to the fact that this Blood Life was no dark fairy-tale: it was hard science. Ruby had warned me, hadn’t she?

  Pissing evolution.

  There are some amongst us, who claim there’s no difference between magic and science.

  But I’ve seen the numbers streaming in my head. I’ve witnessed words whispering from across the globe and tiny bastards trapped in TVs for our entertainment.

  And in the 1960s? I even heard First Lifers boast, like a declaration of war, that they’d walk on the moon and at its tail end, I saw them take the very first step. You can’t experience wonders like that and not reckon them beyond magic.

  We’re all creatures of the earth; it’s simply nature. And we all want to survive - even you.

  That’s why you should fear us.

  Gammon, pork pies, cheese straws, scotch eggs, sausage rolls and crisps: ready salted, cheese and onion, smoky bacon and roast chicken. Like an alien hedgehog, a halved grapefruit in foil, stuck with pineapple on cocktail sticks, acted as a centrepiece on the plastic table. To the side were stacked crates of brown ale and tall bottles of wine.

  See here’s how it stacks up: one pint of your blood (which is what we generally speaking drain), that’s only 500 calories. You reckon we could subsist on that, even if we killed once every twenty-four hours?

  Man would die of bloody hunger.

  We’d need to guzzle four First Lifers a night, if we didn’t eat up our meat and five a day.

  Still, there are some Blood Lifers who rise to the challenge. It burns them out quickly, however, so they don’t tend to last long.

  Since our senses are enhanced, I think about food almost as much as I obsess about blood and sex because we still dig the flavours, the same way as you crave chocolate or that third cocktail. It’s about indulgence, revelling in the moment because who knows, tomorrow you may die, right?

  They’d pulled out all the stops for Ruby’s welcome home party in the cavernous dining hall, which I reckoned, with the sticky party food, banners and glitter was Donovan’s, rather than Aralt’s, do. Of course, like a piece of battered luggage, I didn’t figure.

  Yet when I’d tried to skulk up to our room rather than play nice, Ruby had grabbed my wrist and dragged me down after her with a smile that melted, as much as her nails sliced.

  Ruby was stronger now than she’d ever been. It was because she was flooded with so much blood.

  She was also lost in it too, or from me anyway. Whatever she did at night knackered her. Yet after the last time I’d gone searching for her - finding her tripping and blood sharing with Aralt - I wasn’t going investigating again.

  Instead, I got used to being on my own.

  Ruby was worn out, when I woke in the day and lay next to her, stroking the soft hair from her cheek. They were the only moments of quiet we had together, but she always slept through them now; her peepers didn’t flicker open for a moment.

  I wondered whether Ruby saw me, even when she looked at me.

  “All or Nothing” by The Small Faces - the Mod band to end all Mod bands - buzzed from the hi-fi, as Donovan strutted his stuff by himself, where the chairs had been pushed back to create a dance floor. He used a weird combination of those dances with animal names, swinging his arms round in joyful communion with his Mod god.

  A bird, who I hadn’t yet met, was watching Donovan, like she was his bodyguard. Her brunette hair was scraped back dead tight and she was wearing - over a pair of pressed jeans - this blinding pilot’s jacket; I reckoned it was Second World War. But it wasn’t British… Nazi maybe? She didn’t look German, but then I’ve come to know there’s no look about it. Not for any of us.

  Aralt and Ruby were pressed close together by the drinks, yakking away. I couldn’t hear a single word over the music, although I was straining to. Of course the fact I knew I wasn’t meant to hear, was even more infuriating.

  I could see it played out, however, like a silent movie: Aralt’s fingers massaging the small of Ruby’s back. I could’ve broken every bone in his hand - crunch, crunch, crunch.

  Alessandro was crouched in a shadowed corner, his knees drawn up to his chest. His hands would flutter in front of his peepers and then clutch to his lugs. I dived to the crate, pouring out a beer. ‘Here, wet your whistle.’

  Alessandro took the drink from me with shaking hands and a look of surprise. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Not your scene?’

  ‘Too many…you know.’

  ‘Yeah mate, for me ‘an all.’

  I glanced over at Ruby, bloody moth to flame. Aralt’s hand was on her neck now, playing with that delicate place where it meets collarbone and then tracing down to her blood-red pendant. Just like she’d beg me to when we’d lie naked, wrapped in each other’s arms. And that was it - right there: that was the line.

  A bloke can only take so much.

  I hunched my shoulders, as I swaggered towards them.

  Bollocks to it: Advance, the twins, whatever screwed up game they were playing and this whole crazy set up – I was out.

  I grabbed Ruby by the shoulder, swinging her round. I loved the shock in her peepers. I used to delight in that; we’d cross continents to do no more than jolt each other with some new wonder or horror.

  ‘You’re interrupting,’ Aralt’s voice was low and dangerous.

  ‘Sorry,’ I ran my hand down the crease of Ruby’s neck, which Aralt’s fingers had desecrated a moment before, caressing the pale, sensitive skin beneath her ruby pendant. I grinned when she groaned. ‘But I was here first.’

  I saw Aralt’s gaze dart around the dining room; we were now the live act. ‘Throwing shapes? Ma not giving you enough attention?’

  ‘She’s my Author, muse, liberator and my lover. She’s not my ma.’

  Ruby laughed, clapping her hands. ‘Foolish men to brabble and lock horns to put on a play.’

  ‘His death will not be a play--’

  ‘Dance with me,’ Donovan darted off the dance floor faster than his brother’s slam towards me, spinning me away against the far wall.

  I was het up; my pulse racing in fight or flight.

  Donovan twisted towards me, blocking his brother’s view.

  I dragged back from him. ‘I don’t dance.’

  Donovan smirked. ‘You know what they say: doesn’t know how to dance, doesn’t know how to shag.’

  ‘I didn’t say I don’t know how to. Just that I don’t.’

  Donovan’s thin tie was bobbing up and down like a snake, as he cornered me. ‘See my bro, he freaks out easy. And Ruby? You two are tight, but she’s not your chick; she’ll never be anyone’s chick, you cool? If not, you’re gonna get yourself dead real quick. So whilst she’s otherwise engaged, I’ve got some fab ideas how we can--’ Donovan’s hand was on my thigh, tarantula crawling higher… Bloody hell... I tried to concentrate on seeing round Donovan to Ruby and whether Aralt was back nuzzling her. I couldn’t see anything, however, as Donovan pressed closer still. ‘I’ve got this stuff that’ll blow your mind. You and me should…’

  Thank Christ in heaven, the bird in the boss World War Two jacket flung herself against the wall next to me, just as Donovan’s hand reached my tackle. He sighed and flexed his fingers, reluctantly pulling them away.

  I was starting to get shirty about being treated like a pretty toy, passed between this family, for a bit of slap and tickle. But I didn’t want to explain to Ruby the reason I’d decked her brother. Or more likely had been
duffed up by him.

  All the same, I couldn’t help noticing this edge to Donovan. It wasn’t exactly sadness, more akin to an aching emptiness, in the way he studied me. It was strange next to the waves of vibrant energy, which he radiated, like a bloody bunny, in every other bouncing moment.

  ‘She says time for a toast.’ Soviet - that was the accent - not German. Miss Pilot’s Jacket ignored me, like the disposable trinket I was beginning to feel. She tossed her nut towards where I realised Ruby had been watching us all along.

  No explanation needed then.

  ‘Right on, Kira,’ Donovan was unperturbed, waving me towards the plastic table with a grin.

  Ruby gripped my arm, her peepers glittering mischievously. ‘Out of the frying pan, into the fire?’

  I forced myself to shrug nonchalantly. ‘When was I frightened of the flames?’

  Aralt passed out the glasses. ‘Let’s welcome Ruby into the family again.’

  Again?

  And what was I? The bastard son?

  Aralt poured wine bubbling into our glasses, even into Alessandro’s, who was quivering on the edge of the circle, his peepers averted.

  When Aralt reached Kira, she whispered what sounded like a question in Russian.

  Aralt replied something to her (in a surprisingly placating tone), before Kira’s neck flushed and she looked like she was about to go nuclear. Her lips snarled and she hurled her glass at the wall; the wine stained, dripping down to puddle amongst the shards.

  No one said anything, as if nothing had even happened.

  I glanced between them. ‘Right, so that’s like a Greek thing?’

  Kira glared at me. ‘Nyet. It’s a die all Nazis thing.’

  ‘German wine,’ Alessandro muttered, behind his cupped hand.

  I shrugged, draining my glass. ‘Don’t think they pressed those grapes personally, luv.’

  Kira was like bloody lightening searing right at me - bam – but just as fast, Ruby’s body was crushed in front of me, one naughty hand having a wank wander, like it’d forgotten the feel of me, the other hard on Kira’s chest. ‘Don’t damage another’s goods.’

  ‘I was known as a Night Witch,’ Kira hissed, ‘but at least those bastards knew to fear me.’

  ‘But dear woman,’ Ruby smiled, ‘do you not know to fear me?’

  ‘Chill,’ Donovan hurriedly wrapped his arm around Kira’s shoulder, landing a smacker on her cheek, which left the faint impression of lipstick. ‘Light treasure, this here is my shadow. More kills than any other fighter ace - male or female. So when she was downed…’ He mimicked the plane’s crash with his glass. ‘I offered her revenge. And together, side by side, we became known as--’

  ‘The Night Terror.’ Ruby smiled.

  ‘You ‘an all?’ I grabbed Ruby’s naughty hand, pulling it away from me. So that was where Ruby had been in those vanishing times of loneliness? Battling the Jerry in some dodgy blood pact with the Night Terror? ‘You the unholy trio?’

  Ruby’s fingers batted mine aside, crawling back to their teasing. ‘I didn’t fancy you would welcome another dance with war, dearest prince. Not after the Great one.’

  Donovan sniggered.

  Aralt leant against the table, his dark gaze level and unflinching. ‘Boom, boom, boom?’ Then he raised his wine glass to his lips, which were curling into a smile.

  She’d told them - the bloody bitch had told them.

  Instantly I was back there, trapped in that hole, with the stink of the putrid corpses, the lights flaring, until my retinas burned and with those booming guns bellowing.

  Trying to hide the tremors, which were shuddering through me, I knocked Ruby’s hand forcefully this time away from my goolies.

  Ruby tutted. ‘Don’t take so, lover. We are not all fashioned to be warriors.’

  You reckon that’s what did it? The death knell to my male pride and yeah, as you know, I’m not exactly an innocent on that front. But you know what really did it? Broke something, which I couldn’t yet articulate, but I felt the snap of it, sickening and sharp?

  Boom, boom, boom…

  That’s when I’d known Ruby and me would never be truly alone. Just the two of us screaming at the world again.

  Because she’d bloody told them.

  I stormed down the dark corridor towards Aralt’s bedroom, nothing in my head but the image of Aralt and Ruby necking from the same bird, who was bent over the desk in his study, and then how Aralt had licked the blood from Ruby’s lips. No more thought than Aralt’s hand tight around Ruby’s neck in that proprietorial gesture at the party.

  Ma not giving you enough attention?

  Jealousy flamed. Burning and consuming. My peepers were filled with it. Searing.

  Love will get you like that and Blood Lifer love? Twisted obsession doesn’t come close to how I felt. I was losing Ruby to that bastard but I didn’t intend to go down without a fight.

  I imagined Aralt bleeding at my feet. His smart white shirt soaked in red. His smooth hair messed up. His peepers puffy, but he could still look up at me - the man who’d beaten him (yet he’d called babby) - whilst Ruby watched.

  I imagined that and it almost blotted out the rest.

  Almost.

  I swigged from the bottle of gin, which I was clutching and had been nursing, ever since I’d skulked away early from the party. I staggered on, wiping my wet mouth.

  ‘Light?’ Alessandro was staring at me, bemused, through the half-opened door of his bedroom. ‘What are you..?’

  ‘Not now.’

  Alessandro trotted after me, glancing at the gin slopping at my side. ‘Golly, how much have you had?’

  I grimaced. ‘Not enough.’ I took another deep swig.

  Alessandro thought for moment, before offering, ‘Ruby’s been looking for you.’

  ‘Has she now?’

  Alessandro frowned. ‘Why yes, that’s why I said it.’

  I shook my nut. ‘I wasn’t… Can’t a bloke get a bit of peace and quiet to seek his vengeance in this sodding place?’

  ‘Vengeance?’ Alessandro snatched at my sleeve, dragging me to a reluctant stop. His peepers had widened to startled blue puddles. ‘I very much hope you’re not referring to my Author?’

  I shrugged.

  Suddenly I found my mush shoved against the wall, my arm twisted high up my back. ‘Buggering hell…’ For a small lad, Alessandro was surprisingly strong. I was stronger still (and larger), however, so it shouldn’t have been difficult to break Alessandro’s hold. Yet I couldn’t. He was dextrously pressing sharply into this one point on my back, sending sparks of pain that I hadn’t expected straight to my brain.

  ‘You see,’ Alessandro’s voice in my ear was light and matter-of-fact as he pressed harder, making me gasp, ‘what many people don’t realise is you don’t need to be the most powerful to win a set to, you simply need to have a scientific knowledge of anatomy. That’s another obsession of mine. The body, for example, has some bizarre quirks to it. It needs only the slightest pressure on a collarbone to break it. Do you wish me to break your collarbone?’

  I could feel the thin bones straining. I moved my lips with difficulty. ‘No, I sodding well don’t.’

  ‘Then please do not move and listen. Are you angry?’

  ‘Of course I bleeding well am; you’re crushing me.’

  ‘I meant before.’

  I blinked. This was one of Alessandro’s paper snowflake differences; his emotions were amplified, but whatever part of the brain decoded them, functioned differently. He walked in a world of perpetual emotional mystery, where we were as odd to him as aliens. It must’ve been bloody terrifying. ‘Yeah. And sad too.’

  ‘That’s why you’re drinking?’

  I gave a bark of bitter laughter. ‘It’s meant to numb, right? Bollocks does it.’

  I yelped with pain, as Alessandro pushed harder, enough to start a tremoring crack creeping through both collarbones. ‘Firstly, you will not drink anymore tonight. Secondly, you will
not see Aralt or say anything to him about Ruby. And thirdly, you will not jolly well get yourself killed. Do you understand these three points?’

  I struggled to answer with my gob squashed against the plaster. ‘I get it.’

  He twisted my arm. ‘Say, Alessandro, I understand the three points.’

  ‘Alessandro I understand the three sodding points, all right? Will you please get the hell off me now?’ At last, Alessandro released the pressure, first on my back, and I sighed as my collarbones tipped back from the edge of breaking (but bugger me did they ache), and finally on my arm. I twirled round ready to belt him one, but Alessandro had crumpled to the side of the corridor. He was curled into a ball, trembling, with his chin down on his chest. He was in a worse condition than me. Shaking my nut, I hurled the bottle of gin skittering down the corridor, before ducking down to Alessandro, whilst massaging my sore wrist. He flinched away from me, expecting the volcano rained down on him, but I only gently touched his shoulder. ‘Thanks, mate. I was gonna do something… Let’s get you back to your room, all right?’

  Alessandro glanced up at me in surprise, his quick hands fidgeting with the frayed threads of his vest. At last, he nodded. I helped him to his feet, feeling the soft quiver of him. Then we strolled together back down the corridor.

  Later that night, when Ruby slipped out of her dress, I watched her derig, as I sprawled naked on our bed, in the room the twins had allocated to us.

  It’d been a bland beige box, until I’d filched some dead blinding vintage Victoriana from local junkshops. It’d taken some ingenious lays: thick crimson curtains for the four-poster and a green and red Oriental rug. I’d even spent an entire night wallpapering with Gothic leaf patterns - right pretty it was.

  Ruby had poked her nut in with lifted eyebrows, before disappearing for the evening, until it was finished: she never got her hands dirty. Ruby left the decorating to me, no matter where we were.

  Once it would’ve been hard to unearth these types of pieces. Not now in this new London.

  Ruby liked me to bring her presents. Elizabethan objects, however, were hard to come by, especially as museums have better security.