Blood Renegades (Rebel Vampires Book 3)

by Rosemary A Johns

  But it was a lie because it wasn’t all I wanted. I bloody knew it.

  Somehow the hunter seemed to know it too. She gave me an intent stare, before nodding. ‘I be Trinity, and this be my yard. Will? He be blessed with us.’

  I glanced towards the dark mouth underneath the bridge.

  Will’s new home: with Trinity, her shanks, gats and crew. I tried to suppress my scowl. ‘So if I skulk sometimes, you cool with that?’

  ‘Yeah, but you owe me another shank. Does Will know?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That he has a guardian angel.’

  I sighed, as I shook the water from first one boot and then the other, preparing for the long walk still left back to my home. I mustn’t forget the dawn: I didn’t reckon my welcome to Trinity’s crew extended as far as sleepovers. ‘Don’t go calling me that: it’ll give God a coronary. And no, he doesn’t.’

  ‘Yeah, he does.’

  Bloody hell…

  Will poked his curly sunshine nut out of the shadows. He was shaking from the cold; I’d have to nick him a wool coat next time. Then Will bounded towards me with a grin. ‘Safe, man, my own angel.’

  ‘For the last time, I am not an--’

  ‘So what are you?’ Will was beaming at me but then bemused, patted my arm. The leather stuck to my skin clammy. ‘Why are you wet?’

  ‘I felt like a swim. And let’s just say I’m something you kiddies shouldn’t know about.’

  ‘Who you calling kiddie? Shanked you, bruv.’ Trinity licked her lips.

  Will launched his slight form at Trinity. It would’ve been comical, if he hadn’t been in deadly earnest.

  Trinity held Will back with one hand and a bored expression, before finally snapping, ‘Enough, boi.’

  I scooped Will around the waist, spinning him to face me. His peepers were gleaming, like he was fighting to hold back tears. ‘None of that. There’s no harm done, except there’s a bloody big…’

  I shucked off my jacket…and found Will stroking over the hole with quick light fingers.

  ‘I can fix it and that if..?’

  ‘That’d be blinding, cheers.’

  I wondered if Will felt it too. This belonging. A need for family after a lifetime of rejection, loss and abandonment. I needed that more than anything; I reckoned maybe – just maybe – Will was the same.

  Fantasies.

  We live in dreams our whole lives.

  It’s why we can convince ourselves of anything.

  Trinity was considering me thoughtfully. ‘If you ain’t feeding, then you be in the market for blood. So come to my yard to see your boi, then we talk. Maybe we can come to an arrangement?’

  Redemption?

  Sometimes the choices we make for our family mean we sacrifice personal morals, even our chance of being saved.

  ‘Don’t bogart the blood, man.’ Donovan jittered on his seat like an excited toddler.

  I took a single lick, like a cat, at the red liquid, blinking rapidly, before passing the brimming disposable coffee cup over to Donovan.

  Donovan was quivering with need. Excitement. Vibrating with an addict’s first hit after years of forced abstention. He was already flying from the smell alone.

  We were huddled on the dusty oak floorboards of our tiny apartment. We’d stuck strips of cardboard to the windows: now we lived in a perpetual twilight. The stars were lost; we couldn’t see the bright open tapestry of the skies.

  You’ve no idea how much that booted me in the goolies. Because locked in the dark I’d dream of freedom, and it looked just like the crystal sharp night sky.

  The apartment’s walls were painted sky blue (as if to compensate). They were punched with random holes. Faint screams and creative strings of swear words floated up from the couple below us. Somewhere a baby wailed.

  The electricity was off again: three cheers for the slum landlords of London. We’d balanced candles in used teacups; the flames cast wild shadows. Sun had been narked we couldn’t afford scented candles, so I’d nicked a load the next time I’d been in the City. Except they’d been incense, so the apartment stank like a medieval cathedral.

  Sun hadn’t spoken to me for a week.

  We’d shoved the one sunken scarlet sofa back and were sitting in a Wiccan circle: the only time we felt safe.

  Hartford’s navy sleeping bag stuck out from behind the sofa because after a decade of imprisonment he could still only sleep in confined spaces. Donovan? He drank, smoked whacky backy, stripped and shagged more than the psychotic bastard ever had because that’s one escape.

  Me?

  I had the nightmares.

  You can free a slave, but if you don’t free his mind?

  He’ll always be in chains.

  Donovan was taking these quick, panting breaths, as his tongue lizard-licked his lips. ‘Human, right on. I never reckoned you’d…’ He glanced down at the thick crimson.

  ‘Ethically sourced. So no snacking. This is all there is for now.’

  With difficulty, Donovan nodded. Then he passed the coffee cup to Hartford, without even taking a sip. I couldn’t help noticing how hard his hand trembled.

  ‘Aw, that java for me, baby?’ Hartford took a deep swig.

  Then I had to dive for the cup.

  Donovan caught Hartford around the shaking shoulders. Hartford’s peepers rolled back, as he juddered like he was demon possessed.

  Alarmed, Donovan stared at me. ‘He’s wigging out--’

  ‘It happened to me,’ I couldn’t meet Sun’s eye, ‘when I was with Master. Human blood after so long. He’ll be hunk-dory by tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Donovan hissed, clutching Hartford to his chest. Hartford was convulsing with cramps.

  I shrugged. ‘Maybe. Get him to drink it all down; he needs this.’

  I stared across at Donovan’s stormy mush and Sun’s stony one. The incense was a choking entity between us. Frustrated, I shoved myself up, breaking the circle. ‘Why can’t you trust me? Hartford’s a Long-lived. He shouldn’t be tame. I promised to free you - all of you. And I will.’

  I swung the Triton towards London Bridge and the embankment, cutting across the tangle of traffic in a hail of furious honks. Parking up, I hopped off, unloading my precious bundle under my arm. I couldn’t help the grin.

  The others reckoned I was working another shift at Peter Pan’s. Instead, I was sneaking off to see my…mine. Let’s leave it at that.

  My snake betrayal coiled inside. Secrets – I was tangled in them.

  I knew that Emo kid was still in the shadows. Hunting. My new obsession, however, was wound too tightly around my heart to let go.

  I was weak as any junkie.

  Obsession has always been my heroin, and I was hooked.

  Sand skittered away in fine storms, as I scooted down the embankment. Before I could even holler, Trinity was in my face – all swagger and despot style – waving a brown paper bag of fresh blood like it was groceries.

  The stash.

  Trinity – our new dealer – snatched the crumpled bag back. Her smile was razor sharp. ‘What’s the drilly, cuz?’

  ‘Let’s just do this.’

  ‘Alright, blud.’ Trinity ran her hand down my chest, circling my nipples with her long finger. ‘Tell me, Mr Angel Man, how our Will taste?’

  ‘What?’

  Then I chucked up in my mouth… The needle pricking into Will’s too thin arm… The crimson drawn out… Life from him to us… My single lick…Then Hartford drinking…

  My predator roared retribution. Possession. Revenge.

  Except I did remember that one sublime taste: the bubbling universes meeting all at once and then exploding – end of days and dawn of new ages.

  I didn’t know if it made Will prey or bonded him closer than anyone before.

  Yet Hartford had tasted too, and once we’ve got your scent, we never forget the hunt.

  ‘You promised,’ I gritted out, ‘our deal was for my protection; I’d keep all of you saf
e. In return, no blood from Will.’

  ‘I lied.’

  I flung myself at Trinity, crushing her against the embankment. The paper bag crumpled between us. When I looked down, I saw the steel shiv pushing hard against my heart.

  I knew it was a mistake to teach her that.

  ‘This is mine, I believe,’ pulling together my tattered self-respect, I snatched the brown bag with an air of dignity, before backing away.

  ‘Don’t be vexed. The rest’s got no Will flavouring, you get me?’ Trinity crossed her arms. ‘That was bare jokes – you were shook.’

  ‘Dead funny: this is me splitting my sides.’

  I threw the two finger salute, before spinning on my heel and marching towards the bridge.

  The bint made me feel like we were siblings: ones who bloody hated each other.

  I peered into Trinity’s dark world underneath London Bridge. Smoke stung my peepers from fires, which were burning in overturned steel barrels, built-up from scrap wood. I coughed; thick smoke wound into my nostrils and lungs. Through a watery haze, I made out blurred ghosts, who were living on the banks of the salt-brine Thames.

  The wind blasted from one end to the other; battling against both smoke and wind, I staggered between sprawled meth heads, who were huddled over sweet smelling foil chasing the dragon (and who could blame them for seeking an escape from this reality?), a bloke who was ranting at an invisible adversary and a gang of kids.

  A heap of curls and tiny body: my Will.

  He smelled…like mine.

  Will was scrunched against the wall under a nest of cardboard, like a mouse. He was as far from the others as possible. Mutt was by his side, a wag of black and white fluff. Will was fidgeting ritualistically at that neon friendship bracelet again.

  I sighed, before lobbing my gift at him.

  Will jumped out of his bloody skin. Mutt didn’t even wake up.

  I laughed. ‘Easy to hunt, you are.’

  Will tried to pout but then broke into a broad smile. ‘Only ‘cos you ain’t hunting me, innit?’

  ‘Touché.’

  Will nudged my gift with his foot, before glancing up at me hopefully. ‘That for..?’

  ‘It’s a tent. Pop-up. There’s a sleeping bag too; I reckoned with it being cold at night...’

  I hadn’t expected the armful of First Lifer. I stiffened. Then I heard sniffling.

  Buggering hell.

  I patted Will’s back. ‘Alright?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Will disentangled himself, before hunkering down to investigate the tent.

  Good luck with that: I didn’t have a scooby.

  ‘Here,’ I chucked a luxury bar of chocolate at Will.

  I’d been carrying it around since last night, when Hartford had given it to me as a peace offering or a cheers for the unleashing. Maybe it was a breaking abstention pressie.

  Donovan still looked ready to rip off my goolies.

  Hartford, however, was buzzed. All singing and dancing. A Long-lived in the world once more.

  Regrets..? Helping Hartford back from the dark wasn’t one of them.

  Will caught the chocolate with one hand – good reflexes – whooping like it was bleeding Christmas. When he ripped open the golden wrapper, however, the blanket shifted.

  ‘What’s this then?’ I plonked down the blood, snatching up the long handle of a gangster-sized shank. I waved it like it was confiscated contraband in front of a naughty schoolkid. ‘Little man..?’

  ‘Protection.’

  I tucked the blade into the back of my jeans (and that’s one place you don’t want it to slip). I thumped my chest. ‘Here’s all the protection you need.’

  Will was picking at his chocolate, his nut twisted away from me. ‘You ain’t always here.’

  ‘What does that..?’

  ‘Just put it back, yeah?’ It was hardly more than a whisper.

  Reluctantly, I drew out the shiv. Kid like Will shouldn’t even have touched a shank: no kid should. Real rebel, right? All these shoulds.

  There’s no such thing as should, yet we still pretend.

  Kids like these don’t exist. Hidden under bridges, down alleys or in squats. They’re invisible as we stroll by and every day we choose our own reality, escaping into coke, meth or acid. Puff on joints or shoot up. Medicate on alcohol or prescription pills. Hide away from the real world in TV boxsets or the Internet.

  Because who asks for help in there? Who needs you to be strong?

  Will took the shank from me with trembling hands, before burying it under his blankets. Then he drew something back out with a flourish.

  My jacket: mended.

  I twisted it round first one way and then the other. You could barely make out the rent.

  Will was blushing, staring down at the syringe littered floor.

  I tipped his nut back with one finger. ‘I won’t forget this. I promise.’

  ‘Filthy whore.’

  A hyena burst of laughter.

  I hadn’t missed it. Even over the birds yapping into their iPhones, the rumble of traffic and hip-hop blasting in bass thrumming beat out of the bar on the corner.

  It’d come from the bench outside the comic shop.

  Where my Will sat.

  I raced towards the over-excited cluster of bladdered suits. A pinstripe platter of red mushes hawing to themselves, as they booted and grappled with the whimpering figure at their feet. Swollen with power and coke, they stamped their place in the world by stamping on someone else.

  And the crowds thronging either side, whilst these business men got their jollies with a homeless boy?

  Didn’t do a sodding thing.

  ‘Oi, you!’ The blokes glanced up at my holler, which was when Mutt launched her attack.

  Growling like a bitch possessed, Mutt didn’t know which bastard to bite first. So she circled the whole pack, snapping at their ankles. Until one tosser kicked backwards, and I heard a crunch.

  Then Will’s only defender was lying still.

  ‘Mutt!’ A muffled wail from the pile of blood and bruises trapped beneath the suits.

  Not Will’s only defender because then I was there.

  The boss turned to me with a smile, like he recognized another predator. His thinning hair was sweaty, and his grey tie askew: beating on kids is a good workout. He knelt next to Will, flipping him onto his stomach with what could only be practiced ease and ripped down his jeans. The other wankers cheered like they were at a gallery opening.

  Will began to sob.

  Then the boss leered up at me. ‘Want to join in the fun?’

  He had no idea.

  I smiled too. The blokes cheered again: another damned soul for their club. Before – dead slowly – l let my fangs descend. ‘How did you guess?’

  There was this long moment: not one of them moved. Then they screamed - I’d say like little girls, except that’s an insult to women - they screamed like coked-up drunken rapists, who’d just had their illusory power crumbled to ash. They legged it, stumbling, falling and grabbing onto each other: predator to prey on the turn of a coin.

  The boss, however, I had by the neck. He scrabbled at me, scratching and gouging at my mush. He stripped piercing shards of pain down my cheeks. I didn’t loosen my hold. I could hear the beat of his galloping heart and feel his sticky sweat.

  One bite.

  My lips were on his madly fluttering artery…

  ‘Don’t.’

  That was all it took.

  Will. His humanity - my humanity - I no longer understood the divide or why it mattered. Only that Will did.

  Will had pulled himself up onto his knees; he’d dragged his jeans back on and was hugging his stomach (broken ribs, I reckoned). He was watching me through swollen peepers.

  I shoved the bastard away from me; he probably would’ve given me heartburn anyway.

  The boss crawled away but before he could scarper, I said, ‘Apologise.’ The bloke’s nut snapped round. I could tell by the lemon sour of his mu
sh that he was struggling to get out the words to a homeless kid. ‘Or I could just eat you.’

  ‘Sorry, OK?’

  ‘Alright, toddle off then.’

  Managing somehow to look affronted, the suit dusted off his muddy knees, straightened his tie and shakily wove away towards London Bridge and the City.

  I turned my attention to Will. He was a mess. ‘Bloody work of art you are.’

  He tried to shrug but stopped with a gasp. Yeah, broken ribs.

  ‘I ain’t had no shank. If--’

  ‘Not gonna happen.’

  I suddenly realised my fangs were still out.

  I don’t know why I was ashamed of them. After what happened at Abona? With Master? I shouldn’t have any shame left.

  Except I did.

  When I ducked my nut, Will’s fingers shot out, touching a fang.

  I wrenched back.

  Will cringed. ‘I ain’t mean nothing…’

  ‘They’re toxic.’

  Yet it was more than that - a violation.

  Humans had taken my fangs once, and no one was touching what was mine again. I guess Will had felt the same with the suits. The only thing was?

  I was no longer powerless.

  ‘You said you ain’t an angel?’

  ‘Want to know what I am?’

  Will studied me gravely but then his smile was back. ‘Nah, man. You’re still my Angel of Light. You’re safe, all that matters, innit?’ I blinked rapidly to hide my shock. ‘He got you good and that.’ Will pointed at the crimson beaded tears streaked down my mush. Guess I wasn’t exactly in tiptop condition either. ‘You alright?’

  Something caught at me. A whispered memory of a bird called Susan. She’d asked me if I’d been alright, helping me believe someone could care if I hurt. So maybe I should too. All it took was that hint of tenderness. To be treated like it mattered if I hurt, broke and bled.

  Will was looking at me like I was…human. No: like it didn’t matter that I wasn’t.

  No way was I letting him see me bawl like a nancy. ‘Where’s your teenage rebellion? Your Marlon Brando--’

  ’Who?’

  ‘The world hates you,’ I couldn’t help it. The words were spewing out; I couldn’t hold them back. ‘Look at it: what it does to you. What it’s done. Where’s your rebel fire?’