Blood Renegades (Rebel Vampires Book 3)

by Rosemary A Johns

  Yet I knew what slavery did to a bloke, and there was more than one type. Didn’t I sodding know that?

  Plantagenet was watching us, with a wide grin. He hadn’t drunk, and I blinked when I saw the array of sundries: Victoria sponge cake, cucumber sandwiches, and scones – arranged on the coffee table.

  So Plantagenet was playing houseboy too?

  ‘Cake?’

  Nonplussed, I had a gander at the Magnificoe on his knees in silk catsuit, who was offering me a buttercream slice for afternoon tea; still, it was chocolate… ‘I’d bite your arm off.’ I snatched the white plate, gulping the cake in two gooey bites; he might be into a touch of torture but at least Plantagenet knew how to cater. ‘I could be barmy, but is there sperm on this plate?’

  Sun spat out her cream puff. I sniggered.

  I flashed her the white plate: it was decorated with a giant-sized sperm, which was frantically swimming. Maybe it had places to be.

  ‘You…’

  ‘Chowderhead?’

  I took a butchers at the cake stand: it was giving me the two-finger salute. I raised an eyebrow. ‘Approve of your ceramics choice.’

  Blake glowered. ‘That’s Plantagenet.’

  The wallpaper? Yeah, Plantagenet.

  ‘Bit of a rebel, are you?’

  Plantagenet wiped his finger through the chocolate cake’s thick cream, before sucking it slowly. ‘Thou gained it some place.’

  ‘Oi, I’m the original.’

  Plantagenet laughed. ‘Even I am not the original. Freedom is in our bloodline. In trust, it is in our blood. If that makes us rebels, then every Blood Lifer here is a rebel. We are family now.’

  Hartford hunched in on himself. ‘Even me?’

  Plantagenet’s voice was tenderer than I’d expected. ‘Yet thou as well, if you so choose. We are all of us Renegades.’

  ‘So where are they? The others?’ Blake asked softly.

  ‘Lost you there, mate.’

  Blake leant forward on his throne. He knew…bollocks, bollocks, bollocks…the bastard knew. But if he did? Then how could he let Plantagenet discover it this way? ‘Ruby? Aralt? Are they slaves? Were they abducted too?’

  The silence in the room could’ve made my ears bleed, and that hopeful, desperate expression on Plantagenet’s mush..?

  When had I become the villain?

  ‘Look, the thing you’ve got to understand is this was way back in the ‘60s. Aralt was set on murdering the world. He’d already done in his own elected. He was working with this scientist bloke –Silverman – to split our venom. We need to have a quiet word about that because those scientist wankers back at the lab--’

  ‘It’s all in hand.’ I stared at Blake, who was twisting his matching silver ring, like we weren’t talking about genocide and global apocalypse.

  ‘If the pure death gets into the water supply..?’

  ‘I appreciate you’re new here,’ Plantagenet flinched at Blake’s stern tone, even though it was directed at me, ‘but when I say something’s in hand, there are no more questions.’

  ‘And I appreciate you’re a smug superior human playing at being master,’ I launched up, dragging my jacket closer around me, ‘but no one’s managed to stop me asking questions yet, and it sodding well isn’t going to be some baby Dom.’

  Plantagenet’s tackle knocked me over the skeleton-white cake stand, crashing my hip against the rough birch coffee table, as we tumbled to the carpet.

  Blindfolded by black curls, I breathed harshly through the pain, as Plantagenet’s hands pinned me like steel bands to the ground.

  I heard Blake’s smooth laugh. ‘Plantagenet truly doesn’t like people insulting me.’

  It wasn’t that, however, because when Plantagenet tossed his nut, and I was suddenly veiled and hidden from the rest of the world (alone with Plantagenet), behind his curls..? Those cat peepers of his were unnervingly close to mine, and I saw something in them. The question. Just as he read the answer in mine without needing to say a word.

  Plantagenet’s heartbreak felt like my own.

  The narrowing of his amber peepers, however, was deadly.

  ‘I had no choice,’ I whispered, ‘they were going to destroy everything. Everyone. I had to free myself.’ A single tear rolled down Plantagenet’s cheek; he didn’t move, simply holding me still. ‘And Ruby? I didn’t want--’

  Plantagenet let out a howl of grief, as if he was on the rack now, rather than Hartford.

  Crack – he slapped me across the cheek. I gasped, as my lip split. My peeper swelled and bruised.

  I knew what this was: I’d endured it before. It was the head of my dysfunctional family giving me a thrashing; it wasn’t like I didn’t deserve it. Yet this time it was a Magnificoe, and I didn’t know if I’d survive.

  Plantagenet backhanded me and – snap – there went my nose. I spluttered: I’ll never get used to the warm gush of my own blood and the deep migraine ache spider-shooting out of my neb: because it’s always a bloke’s sodding nose.

  Yet what I didn’t understand? Plantagenet was holding back – even now. This was punishing the kid, not true revenge.

  So I lay there, waiting to take my punishment.

  A blur of cream on white – and Plantagenet was lifted off me in a wild flurry of limbs.

  Confused, I agonisingly pushed myself onto my elbows, as I wiped a stream of blood from my nose.

  Hartford had Plantagenet by the curls and was swinging him – dash – into the Victorian wallpaper: a lot of pent-up rage there.

  Bloody blinding.

  Finally, Plantagenet scrabbled away with an audible tearing of hair. Then it was like the dance of two powerful stags.

  Long-liveds unleashed.

  I wanted to stop it but…Hartford was battling for me.

  The last time this had played out my Author had watched, as if it was a free show; Ruby hadn’t protected me.

  The two Long-liveds circled each other. Plantagenet wasn’t holding back anymore: he bleeding couldn’t. He grabbed Hartford around the neck, lobbing him across the timber chair – smash – and transforming it into real timber. Hartford dived back at Plantagenet – jab, jab, jab – and now Plantagenet knew what a broken nose felt like.

  Plantagenet was getting the better of it – just - but only because Hartford was clutching at his ribs.

  They rampaged through the cavernous lounge, rolling across the floor and smashing through furniture, whilst Blake leaned casually against the wall, flicking through his iPhone.

  Blake only called time when Plantagenet tossed Hartford dangerously close to the grand Steinway. ‘Plantagenet, stop.’

  And just like that? He did.

  It was eerie. I half-expected Plantagenet to drop into slave position. My gaze met Hartford’s; I knew he was thinking it too.

  ‘We all have choices,’ Plantagenet wiped the blood from his nose, just as I had.

  He was right, and I have to live with mine every day. I couldn’t figure out, however, if Sun had made her choice. Because throughout everything..? She’d watched, just like Ruby in the ‘60s had watched Aralt duff me up, like a cold jewel between two gangs.

  She hadn’t even said a word.

  When Plantagenet and Hartford warily limped back to us?

  It was Plantagenet Sun cradled, fussing over his bruises and stroking his long hair.

  Me and Hartford?

  We didn’t get a look-in.

  Ghosted, I already felt Sun’s loss; there was no longer anything to hold onto but ashes.

  NIGHT 8

  Mr Blickle, you do appreciate that if what you told me yesterday is true, then you’ve just saved yourself from burning.

  Simply not being the Renegades’ leader was not sufficient. Yet were you to hand over the true leader..?

  Plantagenet.

  You may warm your hands on his burning instead.

  Like that, wouldn’t you?

  If the Council were to hear you testifying against Plantagenet at the trial, you�
��d live. I’d vouch for you--

  That’s right good of you. But here’s the thing: I know I was betrayed. Yet I still won’t testify.

  What you do with this inquiry..? That’s all on you.

  Do you not consider it odd that Captain would grace you with two weeks and a trial?

  I simply reckon Captain odd.

  Your savant talent: there’s no better witness. His – our – hunch has been justified.

  I’m no science experiment, and since when have my darkest secrets become office gossip?

  Since you were a slave. Slaves--

  Have no secrets. Yeah, I got the memo, in fact the logoed rulebook, on that one, sweetheart.

  If I’m such a prize, then why didn’t Captain set the Jade Spider on me? He’s done just about everything else.

  I don’t consider I’ve been so--

  You don’t keep your word.

  An e-cig and your jacket. Delivered promptly.

  You said you’d keep me safe.

  You reckon I’d testify for that tosser Captain, after the fun and games he’s put me through?

  Graced me with two weeks?

  I reckon Captain fancied a new plaything, before he threw his toy into the flames.

  Captain swore he wouldn’t--

  Trust him, do you? Remember the first night? Cannibal Tarantula?

  Certainly.

  After that…just before dawn the two birds, who’d got touchy-feely on my strip search, shoved me down the bland beige corridors; I glimpsed through the vast windows out to London: a black jagged skyline above the slash of London Bridge. The cruel-bright stars were infinite above.

  I could’ve lost myself right there.

  The smirking bints in matching denim, however, grabbed my arms and hauled me to a door at the bottom. One more shove to the base of my back, and I was stumbling inside.

  Captain told me sleeping arrangements had been made for you.

  Did he now? Those sleeping arrangements are why I know I’m going to be all toastie in less than a week: trial or no trial.

  Sometimes we need to open our peepers and see the true shadows of the world.

  Blue: ceilings, walls and floors. It was like you were flying in the heavens, or had just snuffed it and were looking down from a cloud. It stank of antiseptic – that powerful chemical undertone, which claws at the back of the throat.

  Captain wore dun cargoes, pale blue shirt, which was open at the neck, as if he was just back from the dullest swingers party ever; he was leaning in the centre with faux ease against…

  I blinked.

  Bugger me.

  A closed coffin was raised up on rough oak plinths. It was shining black with silver handles and scrolling BLC initials in (what sodding else?), Gothic lettering. It was barely more than kid-sized. Its twin cosied up next to it.

  It could’ve been a set in a play.

  I wondered how long Captain had been waiting for me and whether he’d practised different poses.

  He was the type.

  I nodded at the coffins. ‘My condolences. I’d ask if they’re family, but you’ve already noshed your way through them.’

  Captain gave a lazy smile. ‘Not my family.’

  I tensed. ‘Come again?’

  When Captain flipped open the lid, I jumped at the bang.

  Empty – thank Christ.

  Then Captain studied his fingernails, holding his hand away from him like a bird. The tosser. ‘I’ll see you at the trial, of course. Until then I’m awfully busy but I’m going to make time in my hectic schedule for you.’

  ‘Dead kind.’

  ‘I’m that sort of chap. One thing I’d like to know: were you not clear on my owning your fangs?’

  ‘Crystal.’

  Captain’s baby-face reddened. He lost his hold on the shiny surface of the coffin. ‘You joined the Renegades. I gave you a direct order to--’

  ‘Not one for orders.’

  Captain puffed up; he looked like a balloon with a perky Tintin tuft of hair. Then he let out a breath, as he deflated. ‘Then how about this one? Strip.’

  Bloody hell…

  Reluctantly, I shucked off my jacket, pulling up my t-shirt and pooling it at my feet. I hesitated at the button flies on my jeans.

  Captain raised his eyebrow. ‘How precious: he’s shy.’ I yanked down my jeans so fast I nearly did myself an injury, before kicking them in a flying arc. They hit Captain in the goolies. Then went my socks to either side of the room. Boxers… Captain shuddered when they caught his forehead.

  I grinned. Tell me to tidy them up - bleeding try it.

  Instead, however, Captain’s gaze flickered to the shallow coffin. ‘I’ve promised to hold your hand and treat you like a guest this fortnight. Indeed, I shall. Do you like your bed?’

  I stared at the coffin. If I’d reckoned Master’s cages claustrophobic, they had nothing on the kiddie coffin.

  I looked the bastard in the eye. ‘A bit of a cliché..? This ain’t Anne Rice.’

  Captain bristled. ‘Are you trying to be cute?’

  I reckon the wanker had been expecting bawling wet your knickers terror. The scene wasn’t playing out like he’d imagined – practised – in his pathetic dreams.

  It was blinding to disappoint.

  Even if inside, however, I was that blubbering boy, wailing with my hands over my peepers in case not seeing the nasties of the world meant they couldn’t see me.

  Because I knew what it’d feel like to be trapped in that box.

  I’d been transported before in pine crates. Once to Grayse and once to Master.

  Dark.

  For a Blood Lifer to fear it? When we can see in the black?

  Don’t reckon I wasn’t bloody ashamed.

  Yet the sensory deprivation hood had buggered my senses and now they’d returned, they were amplified to pain.

  When you’re bound, helpless and constricted, the dark expands. It fills your mind until you fall into it, so deep there’s nothing left.

  Until you lose yourself.

  I am Light, Light, Light…

  This cruel Hollywood vampiric parody of a punishment replayed my every nightmare in the blackest night.

  It was my hell.

  And Captain knew it.

  I attempted to shrug. ‘Get on with it, pillock; I’m freezing my bollocks off here.’

  Captain scowled at me, before stomping to the second coffin. ‘Not for long.’ He snatched off the lid with a snarl.

  A burst of frantic breathing…

  Donovan.

  ‘Let me out… Let me out… Let…’ Donovan scrambled upright, sobbing. His fingernails were bloody from where they’d scrabbled at the wood.

  All I saw was a steel box, strapped and padlocked shut.

  All I heard were the screams.

  I dashed to Donovan, dragging him close, as I stroked his wildly trembling back to calm him. My hand was sticky with his slicked sweat. ‘It’s alright, I’ve got you.’

  ‘You came for me?’ Donovan gasped.

  ‘Don’t be a daft bugger: we’re family.’

  ‘When your bromance is quite finished,’ Captain tapped his foot: the impatient torturer with PA and Blackberry. I glared round at him, never letting go of Donovan (who was starkers too). It’s only insecure tossers who play power games. Unnerved, Captain stepped back. ‘There are two coffins.’

  ‘Congratulations, even Blood Life Councillors can count.’

  Captain rapped the second coffin and then tried to hide the wince. ‘Room for two.’

  ‘Not bleeding likely.’

  Captain’s sneer was victorious. ‘See your great leader? A coward after all.’

  I gentled my fingers down Donovan’s neck. His gaze was troubled. ‘You have me now; you can get your jollies torturing me, but not Donovan.’

  Donovan shook his nut, trying to pull back but he was too weak. ‘Not cool, man. Don’t come in here playing this crazy scene like the hero.’

  I started…and I was b
ack there again. Donovan in the steel chrysalis... Let me out… Let me out…

  I was no hero. That was my secret, and Donovan didn’t have a scooby: in fact I had more to redeem than I reckoned possible. Maybe this would count in the balance, however, if I believed the good could cancel out the bad – and I didn’t.

  Desperation though breeds self-delusion, and fantasies are prettier than reality will ever be.

  ‘Adorable. You truly still believe you hold the power?’

  I swung Donovan out of the coffin. He swayed, steadying himself on me, but didn’t fall. ‘I don’t think, you wanker, I know. You want me to keep spilling my guts? Then you play this my way.’

  Captain feigned boredom, affecting the pose with his nails again. ‘Surely you wish to save your own life at your trial? I could ensure we have adequate…prison arrangements, instead of a bonfire. Don’t believe you can threaten me.’

  ‘Give it a rest,’ I sauntered closer to Captain, which was difficult to do with a Donovan-limpet clutching round my middle like he figured the moment he stopped touching me I’d vanish – puff – into thin air. ‘We both know this is your chance to prove yourself to the rest of the bastards in the Blood Life Council, and you don’t get two of those. You want to risk that because of a game of box your enemy?’

  Captain considered me – then Donovan. ‘You have a deal.’ He sidled towards us. ‘I could do with two pets anyway. It’s such a bore how easily that First Lifer boy tires.’ I tightened my arm around Donovan. ‘Into the coffin then. Chop-chop, I haven’t got all day. Take your medicine like a man.’

  ‘Light, I’m freaking out; I can’t let you do this. You don’t know--’

  ‘I do.’ I eased Donovan away gently; he was still shaking, but I knew it was for me now - for what I had to do.

  There was no way I was letting Captain see me hesitate, however, so I hauled myself up into the coffin.

  The coffin was so small I had to hunch to fit. I choked: it stank of antiseptic, like it’d been dowsed in the stuff. Just one more twist of the thumbscrews. Panic clawed at my shocking helplessness. I couldn’t move. Every involuntary twitch of my already cramping muscles knocked me against the cold ebony. My nose would be touching the lid when it shut.