Blood Dragons (Rebel Vampires Book 1)

by Rosemary A Johns

  A sheet of fire roared across the hold. It climbed the walls, up the tubes and flamed the First Lifers’ motionless bodies, like burning lollipops.

  Still the humans didn’t utter a bloody sound, as I smelt their crackling skin and that - right there - is the worst of it. When I’d whimper in the night and you’d nudge me awake, hugging me closer into your warm shoulder, that’s the recurring dream, which I’d never repeat to you. Because it wasn’t a dream. It was too real, and I deserved every sweating, restless night and will do, until the day of my second death.

  We all have our ghosts.

  When I gagged and backed up the stairs, there he was - Silverman himself. He was leonine in his lab coat, which gave him an austere air of false authority.

  Silverman was storming down the corridor towards me, staring aghast at the black smoke, which was curling from the hold. ‘You, what on God’s earth are you doing?’

  ‘I don’t reckon any of this has got to do with God.’

  I launched myself at Silverman’s stuck up, shocked mug. I belted him back against the round window of a DJ’s booth; on the other side, some Blood Lifer with wavy hair and a straggly beard, was still transmitting.

  The DJ was so lost in his tunes that he was oblivious to the life or death struggle inches on the other side of the glass. “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” was leaking from his booth.

  Silverman grappled me, twisting me round and banging my nut against the window, as he tried to jab his thumbs into my peepers.

  The smoke was drifting down the corridor in choking clouds, stinging me, until I could barely see through the tears. When I choked, Silverman clocked me round the jaw and then kneed me in the groin. I went down but rammed Silverman against the opposite wall with every shred of fury for what I’d seen in the hold: those First Lifer experiments and food banks.

  Now my fangs were out. My blood up. When I bit into his thigh, Silverman hollered. He ripped desperately at my hair, stomping down on my foot, so hard I felt the bones crack. I didn’t release my grip, however, as I tore into Silverman’s flesh, tasting the powerful kick of his blood.

  I’d forgotten the glory of a right royal barney, even amidst the horror, fear and the knowledge I was aboard a burning ship in the middle of an ocean - all alone - because right now this felt bloody good.

  When at last I let go, Silverman punched me across the temples, until I could see the stars, even though we were below decks. But he was down, bleeding out from his wound.

  Then we were wrestling on the wet ground, lost in the chemical fog.

  The toxins were infecting my lungs: I was struggling to breath. Vampire bollocks myth… Bugger it, we need oxygen, that’s what’s in the blood, all right? It’s why the heart pumps it round the body. I had to get out of this corridor if I wasn’t going to cop it.

  Silverman, however, had pinned my arms behind my nut. He was twisting my wrists with painful knack.

  Lucky for me, as you know, I don’t play by gentlemen’s rules. So I nutted Silverman, hearing the familiar yelp and crunch of a breaking nose. Silverman was a determined bugger though and didn’t let go. His grip, however, loosened just enough for me to wriggle one wrist free and down to my pocket. I snatched out the syringe of paralysing venom. My lungs searing hot, throat hoarse from trying to gasp in air that wasn’t there, I was in the realm of last bloody hopes, when I rammed the syringe hard into Silverman’s throat.

  Silverman’s peepers widened. He scrabbled at the syringe, but I’d emptied the whole sodding lot before he could yank it out. Now that’s a bloody overdose.

  How’s that for poetic justice?

  Silverman backhanded me one more time, before he stiffened and fell back, one eyelid twitching, as he stilled. I pushed him off my legs and then crawled closer.

  ‘You’re a bloody monster,’ I stared down into Silverman’s peepers, which were still open and staring as vacantly as the First Lifers, who I’d discovered having the life sucked from them in Silverman’s lab. I reckoned he had as much chance of hearing me, as they’d had. ‘Know what? I can smell burning, can’t you? Best of British to you, mate.’

  I patted Silverman on his motionless nut, before throwing myself through the dense fog of smoke, up the steps and onto the deck. When I rushed to the rail and stared out over the churning ocean, I could just see the lifeboat - a tiny speck carried away on the waves.

  I was about to take my jacket off to jump into the water but hesitated because…it’s a blinding coat.

  When you get to wearing something for such a long time, it becomes your second skin. So I was figuring I could still make it even in my leathers (after all, I’ve always liked the thrill of danger), when Kira’s arm caught me around the throat.

  Kira dragged me back across the slippery deck, my boots kicking ineffectually and sliding out from underneath me. I clawed at her, but this night witch was made of iron. My tongue wagged in my mouth; Kira was crushing my larynx.

  ‘Donovan was wrong. He should have let me kill you.’ Kira chucked me across a pile of heavy ropes.

  I gasped, rubbing my bruised neck. I ran my hand along the coils, looping one behind me.

  That lifeboat would be bobbing further and further away. If it was out of sight, I’d have to burn too on this ship or swim into the unknown. I didn’t fancy being caught in the waves, as the sun came up.

  Still, if this was my last stand, I’d promised I’d go down bloody kicking. I felt lighter than I had in weeks. I’d chosen how I went out of this Blood Life: now that’s liberation.

  I forced myself to smirk in the way I knew had always annoyed Ruby the most. ‘Everyone makes mistakes, darlin’.’

  Kira hissed. She bent to grab me by the collar to haul me up. Her fist was already cocked. That’s exactly what I’d been waiting for.

  I caught Kira around the throat with the rope, twisting it in one quick motion, which I’d learnt from the Blood Lifer in Berlin, who’d strangled his kills. I’m nothing but adaptable. I dragged Kira down between my knees, pulling harder. I ignored the horrible little sounds, which she was making, as she scrabbled at the rope and then as she beat at my chest. Her feet were flapping up and down. I throttled her until…

  Here it is. The biggest bollocks myth of them all. Because when I killed Kira there was no explosion of dust, blood or dramatic screeching. There was simply a body, alive a moment ago and now dead for the second time. Blood Life, right? We’re as fully alive as you First Lifers and we die the same.

  I’d just murdered a member of my own family. Kira’s blood was on my hands, the same as every one of the First Lifers I’d ever killed. Except those had been about feeding. And Kira’s death? Had been a betrayal of my own species.

  I was sick from it.

  If there’d been no corpse, it would be like our existence didn’t count in the same way as a First Lifer. Like we were that bit less, just as Aralt, Silverman and their followers reckoned we were the superior more.

  The truth is more complex because isn’t it always?

  I had to push Kira’s dead body off me, not quite knowing why tears were pricking the corners of my peepers.

  Dense smoke was now billowing up onto the deck. I dashed to the side of the ship, clambering to the edge. There was the lifeboat - a shadow in the night. Sod the rope ladder. I dived straight into the freezing water, striking out for the boat and battling the force of the rolling waves.

  I swallowed mouthfuls of brine, shaking uncontrollably, as I was swept under the swell. But I was driven - possessed. I wasn’t going to be beaten, not after everything I’d seen and done. The lifeboat grew larger and larger, like a beacon.

  Do you want to know, however, what got me there, when I was close to sinking down to the seabed?

  I thought of you and your pain if Susan never got back to you safely. My legs were numbed to hell by then, but that thought made me kick harder. I pulled my arms more briskly through the skin of the water.

  At last I was there, heaving myself up over
the side. I gasped and spluttered in a sopping heap on the floor of the lifeboat.

  That’s when I looked back. For the first time I allowed myself to focus on something beyond simple survival. I turned to watch Radio Komodo as it burned. The shadow of the high, orange flames danced across the waves - bright in the dark - as the ship slowly sank.

  When I heard Susan groan behind me, I wrenched myself away from the sight of the world I’d set alight and could now never return to. It’s not as if I wanted to. Not after what I’d witnessed. Torching it, however, had set the seal on it.

  I dropped down beside Susan. She was beginning to come round for the first time. Her dress had ridden up; her knickers were on show. I quickly straightened her out so she was decent and then on impulse, stroked her cheek because that’d soothed me when I was a kid.

  Susan stared up at me. ‘What’s..?’

  ‘You’re all right. Everything’s sorted now. I’ve got you.’

  I grabbed the oars, feeling their tug against my raw palms and shooting up into my wrenched back and neck, as the blades ploughed through the rough waves. We started towards land, away from the burning hulk of Radio Komodo.

  13

  DECEMBER 1968 LONDON

  When you caught a shufti of my bedraggled mug as you opened the front door, you nearly slammed it shut again. I didn’t blame you, just to make that clear. Then, however, you saw Susan leaning on my arm. Susan was shivering under my damp jacket, which I’d wrapped around her in an attempt to keep her warm against the bite of the night air. Her jersey dress stank of brine.

  Instantly, you swung the door wide instead, dragging Susan inside.

  I sloped in afterwards, relegated again to the role of the invisible man. It made me wish Kira had ripped out my heart (like she’d always promised), because the way you did it was more painful.

  You set to work, pulling out towels and blankets to drape around your cousin and then chucked my jacket to the floor, as if it was the cause of whatever had happened, rather than being the comfort.

  Maybe you had a point there.

  Irrationally protective, I snatched up my leathers, nursing them close to my chest, as you banged on the kettle. You slammed down the Union Jack mug, which I’d filched from Carnaby Street and brought to keep here, as if somehow it meant I could stay – clink – like the rattling of a bloody sabre (and no, I hadn’t missed it was only one cuppa being brewed).

  You left me standing there - cold and damp - like you reckoned if you ignored me for long enough, then I’d vanish – puff.

  I simply stood there, however, studying every inch of you because I’d been certain I’d never get the chance to again. What’d happened to your long black curls? The ones I’d fantasized about - so many times - in the agonizing weeks without you, when I was wracked with blood abstinence? Dreams of how I’d run my fingers through their softness, as we lay on your beanbags listening to Hendrix? You’d hacked them off, that’s what. Nothing was left now but the shortest Pixie cut.

  Moon Girl was no more: you’d killed her.

  You didn’t speak. Not a single sodding word. You didn’t look at me, even though I watched every move you made. If this was the last time I saw you, then I didn’t want to miss the smallest detail.

  I was knackered. I didn’t reckon there was anything still keeping me upright, apart from the edge of adrenaline. I wouldn’t let myself sit down, however, not in front of you and not after I’d… Not after what I’d done. So I leaned against the wall and started to talk instead. I gave you the sanitized candy floss of what was going on or at least as much as I dared.

  Look, that’s not an excuse: it’s an explanation.

  I told you Advance was an evil corporation run by dodgy characters, who were up to the sort of stuff that’d usually land a bloke at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. That the boss was worse than Caligula, if he’d had a twin and necked LSD like there was no tomorrow. That when I’d found out the danger of my situation, I’d broken up with you because I was in deep and wanted to protect you and your cousin. That you were both in danger now because of your link with me.

  In other words, I glossed over it. Just like every First or Blood Lifer always does, when it comes down to the true nasties of the world. I spun another bleeding cover up. What else could I have done? Would you even have believed me if I’d spilt the bloody truth? Freak as I was?

  When I’d finished, you just stood there across the lounge without moving. Your mush was so cold. It made my breath catch. I might’ve been a century out of practice but I still knew I was buggered. ‘You brought her back. Now you can go.’

  You meant it, bollocking hell did you. But when did I ever listen? ‘Reckon I saved her so you can both die now? You’ve gotta leave.’

  You shook your nut. ‘I’ve fought too hard for my life here. Dust a’reckon I’m going to run from these men?’

  ‘Anyone would.’

  ‘I’m not anyone.’

  You were pig-headed; it was the streak of ruthless courage and ambition, which I’d tasted in your Soul. That made you so ripe for election. Or death. Because in First Lifers it swings either way.

  When I stared into your blazing blue peepers, I knew I wouldn’t convince you. The only emotion radiating from you towards me now was hate. That bloody hurt. ‘All right.’ I shook my nut, ducking towards the door.

  Susan rose up, however, chucking off her blanket. She waved at both of us in disgust. ‘Are you both fair touched? Light saved me. That’s twice now. And you,’ Susan stabbed her finger at you, ‘love him.’ You flushed, turning away from me. I wished I could see your expression. ‘Stop being such a maungy bitch. Who stayed up with you when you fair cried your eyes out over him? Why hide it? Look,’ Susan marched to the door of her room, pausing in the frame. ‘I’ll pack and go stay with a friend in Manchester. You two sort it out.’

  Then Susan disappeared inside, slamming the door, and we were left alone.

  I was more frightened in that moment than when I’d been on the burning ship, with the stink of roasting flesh and Kira’s brawny arm around my throat. Have you ever understood what you do to me?

  You could flay me with a look.

  We circled each other, like two lions sussing each other out. Not knowing if the other would attack.

  At last you shrugged. ‘This is what it’s all been about? Advance? Why you..?’

  ‘I never wanted to--’

  ‘Shut your gob.’

  In the silence, I couldn’t meet your eye. Every decision and choice were no man’s responsibility but his own; sod it, I knew that. ‘I’m sorry.’

  You edged closer to me, step by careful step, reaching your fingers up, like you were going to trace down my chest. I was desperate for your touch; I could feel it ghost-like. Your hand, however, hovered inches away from me, as if I was infected. For the first time after the horrors I’d witnessed on Radio Komodo and Aralt’s vision of a Blood Life future, I felt as if I bloody well was.

  Your voice was soft and close to tears, but none spilled. ‘You promised you’d never leave me.’

  And there it was: the killing blow.

  I howled inside with rage at everything the Plantagenet siblings had stolen, broken and contaminated. At your pain, which I could never take back.

  You were right though. It was me alone, who’d made that promise. No one else.

  Yet now I’d endangered you again, and the only way to make you safe was to send you away. You’d once said, however, that hurt could be passed on. And I intended to pass it on with bloody credit.

  I couldn’t risk myself saying more than, ‘Please go with Susan.’

  You just shook your nut.

  ‘Christ in heaven…’ I booted the wall hard enough to jolt the throbbing hurt from my smashed toes right up my leg and then grabbed you by your shoulders, not caring that you tried to flinch away. ‘Please?’

  You stood there – frozen - like you were made of glass, only gazing at me with those large blue peepers, before you
asked, ‘Do you love me?’

  I was surprised to realise it was my mush, which was wet with tears. I dropped my hands from your shoulders, gripping your fingers tight between mine instead, as I’d done in those treasured, quiet moments. I couldn’t think about that. Not now. Not after everything. ‘I’ve always sodding loved you.’

  Then you kissed me gently on my bruised cheek. ‘You fair think I’d leave without you?’

  You’d reckon that on the way to the scaffold or the front line, some deep thoughts on life, the universe and everything would spark. Or maybe a moment of revelation or clarity, when the fragments slot into perfect place. Or else there’d be some bleeding peace at the end at least. But then life’s not neat like that. It’s mundane for the most part. Confused up to the final gasp. The interesting thing is that it’s no different the second time round.

  I waited for Aralt at the bottom of the wide staircase, by the doors out into the clear winter sunlight. He was barely keeping nocturnal hours anymore; like other Blood Life adaptations, our night-time living was to Aralt nothing but a weakness to be overcome. I was sure he had scientists somewhere working on that too.

  As I tested the handle – up, down, up, down – tapping my foot with nervous energy, I tried to think only of you: my Moon Girl fallen to earth as my girl. I conjured the purr of your voice. The brilliant sparkle of you up on that stage. And those long nights, when I’d obsessed over your photo. Then, however, how much better the reality of your touch had been than I’d ever dreamed, as I’d tossed off whispering your name.

  After all, I might as well make my last memories on this maddening earth blinding ones, right?

  Yet I found, like water, that I couldn’t hold onto them. Instead I kept blanking out, as my mind wandered to the buzzing of the flies, which were collecting in the ceiling’s corners, the sensation of the cold metal handle or the stink of noxious smoke, which was still sticky in my nostrils.

  I lit up one last fag, drawing in deeply: a condemned man’s final request.