Rebel Vampires: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  I nodded, as he passed me the water. This time, I drank it. “What’s your name, mate?”

  He didn’t meet my eye as he took back the cup. “Cupid.”

  I spluttered with laughter, but when his shoulders slumped, I became suddenly serious. Yeah, wanker here. “Sorry, I… Your Blood Lifer name?”

  His eyes widened. “I-I can’t—”

  “Mine’s Light.” It was a whisper but it was still blinding to say it out loud.

  The Long-lived, however, slammed his palm over my lips, like I’d blasphemed. “No, it isn’t. I know this is bull, but you’ll adapt. I’ll help. We’ll all help.”

  I shoved his hand away, confused and angry. “Helpful bunch, aren’t you? Not like the Blood Lifers I know.”

  “Sure, not now we’re not.” For the first time, the Long-lived sounded truly despondent.

  “How about you tell me your real name?” I wheedled. “Then I promise, I’ll eat and drink like a good boy.”

  “Stop it,” he scowled, wagging his finger at me, “or I’ll cast a kitten.”

  I shrugged. “Your choice.”

  The Long-lived hesitated, before leaning close and murmuring so quietly that I nearly didn’t catch it, “Hartford.”

  Then Hartford jumped back, trembling, like he expected to be caught plotting treason. When nothing happened, Hartford brightened. He gave a delighted grin, with a clap of his hands; I understood his wave of joy at the reclaiming of his name after…

  How long had he been held here…?

  Hartford began singing, “I want Somebody to Cheer Me Up”, in a voice so full of jazz soul that it lifted me, until I was grinning as well.

  Hartford twirled. He tap-danced. He mimed playing the ukulele.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Three heavy knocks on the open door.

  It was like the needle had been lifted off the record — cut dead — as Hartford dropped puppet-like to his knees next to me.

  I could hear Hartford’s fast, panted breathing. I recognized the fear and understood why: if it was possible to knock with a combination of sarcasm and threat, Sir had managed it.

  I listened to the click of Sir’s shoes, until their black leather was in my eyeline, stopped in front of Hartford; I was shot with unexpected remorse at my relief for that. Then came the ominous tapping of Sir’s red-and-black hide riding crop against his leg.

  Why had I incited rebellion? I had a track record for encouraging other Blood Lifers to stand up to their oppressors.

  And it never ended well.

  The click again, as Sir strolled around Hartford. “Knee-chest.”

  Bugger it.

  Without hesitation, Hartford fluidly shifted onto all-fours, before lowering his head and chest to the concrete, so that his vulnerable arse was left sticking up in the air. He laced his fingers behind his neck.

  Swish — the stiff, spring steel rod slashed through the air, whacking Hartford’s arse and jarring him forward.

  I flinched on Hartford’s behalf because I’d messed up, yet the Long-lived was taking the beating. A bloke who’d blood shared with me. The connection wasn’t biological or chemical, but it was a bond.

  And now he was being punished…because of me.

  Swish, swish, swish — until Hartford was striped with red welts, weals, and purpling bruises.

  I’d have been bawling after the first few vicious strokes, which were much harder than Sir had yet laid on me. Hartford, however, hadn’t made a whimper.

  At last, Sir lowered the crop, click, click, clicking back round to the front. “Kneel.”

  Less fluidly, Hartford pulled up his thrashed body to kneel. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him wince, as his arse hit his heels. I felt even more of a bastard, when I saw the wetness down Hartford’s cheeks and realized that he’d been silently weeping.

  “Thank you, Sir,” Hartford rasped.

  Sir wrenched Hartford’s hair back by the roots and calm as you like, asked, “Did I give you permission to sing, whore?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Then why were you singing?” Sir shook Hartford by the hair, like a cat worries a rat.

  “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “You really must be one stupid leech.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “What are you?”

  “A stupid leech, Sir.”

  There was no hesitation. No flicker of defiance.

  Bloody hell, was this my future?

  When Sir stepped towards me, the riding crop flecked with blood swinging at his side, I shrank back against the wall.

  “My pretty leech,” Sir crooned, caressing my cheek with such unexpected tenderness that you’d never have guessed he’d just given another Blood Lifer a hiding, “did that bitch disturb you?”

  I could’ve laughed or rent the world in two.

  Hartford was still kneeling, unable to even wipe away the tear tracks. And I hadn’t yet thanked him for the communion of blood.

  Time to screw up my courage — and say sod off to my pride. “No, Sir, he didn’t. Your little leech appreciated Sir’s kind gift of water and…”

  “Yes?” There went the impatient tap of the riding crop’s leather tongue.

  “…for allowing me the company of another leech. But I missed you.”

  I held my breath.

  Sir settled himself next to me on the floor, drawing me onto his lap and petting my hair, as if I (rather than Hartford), was the one who needed comforting.

  “Sir misses his pretty little leech too but seeing as I’m awful busy, cupid and the other leeches will show you the ropes. It’ll soon be time for you to start earning your keep.” His grip tightened; I gritted my teeth. “Look you, don’t worry, I won’t overtax your stupid little brain with too much at once.” Sir patted my head, as if my reaction had been worry over Blood Lifer low IQ, rather than fear at what earning my keep would mean. “As you’re being a good boy, we’ll take it slowly: if you can show me that you can behave.”

  I nodded, dumbly.

  Sir gave my head a final pat, before sliding me off his lap. Then he grabbed Hartford by the chin, wrenching his face up to examine it. “Luckily for you, it looks like you can still work. Don’t be long.”

  When Sir click, clicked out of the cell, I glanced at Hartford, who was shakily hauling himself up. “Sorry,” I mumbled, “about…”

  Hartford waved away my apology. “Don’t be a sap; we’re cool. That was swell…what you said. Defending me to Sir. Screwy but swell. You know he could’ve—”

  “Given me a hiding? Like he’d already given you?”

  Hartford blushed. “Yeah. But I’m used to it.”

  I smirked. “Yeah. But I got you into it.”

  We grinned at each other for one daft moment like we really were mates…or brothers. Until a second Blood Lifer, nothing but a tumble of black hair, dark eyes ringed with kohl and lilac lipstick, stuck his head in through the open doorway.

  For a vomit inducing second, I reckoned yet again that I must be mad because here was the only Blood Lifer who could call himself family: Donovan.

  My cousin.

  The last time that I saw Donovan was in 1968. I melted his sadistic tyrant of a twin brother, Aralt, under the hot sun like a candle.

  Not the best time to find out if Donovan was one for grudges...

  “Hey, stop bugging the newbie,” Donovan called to Hartford. “Come on, baby.” Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. I clutched my arms over my face so that Donovan, who was swaggering into my cell, wouldn’t recognize my thin form. My thin, defenseless, chained form. “I want—”

  “I know what you want, baby.” Hartford smiled, winking. “But pipe down, you’re scaring the poor little bunny.”

  “Poor little…?” I could feel them both studying me. Hartford made to block Donovan, when he edged closer, but then Hartford stumbled. “What…?” Donovan gripped Hartford by the shoulders, twisting him around and inspecting every inch of his rainbow bruised arse and thighs, before checkin
g over the rest of him, as delicately as if he was a porcelain doll. Then Donovan slammed his fist into the wall. “This is…not cool. I’m going to rip out Sir’s—”

  “No, baby, you’re not.” Hartford calmly raised Donovan’s split knuckles to his lips, licking away the blood. It was so gentle that I didn’t need to hear any words to know that it was love. Even amongst the terror of discovery was a squirming gladness that at least Donovan had found love; Donovan might’ve been volatile and dangerous but he’d also been lonely. And it wasn’t like I didn’t get how he felt. “Anyway, when will you remember that I’m three times your age, mac? And I don’t need no one fighting my battles.”

  Donovan ran his fingers lightly over the weals on Hartford’s arse, and Hartford flinched. “Feels like it.” Donovan crouched next to me. I curled in further on myself. “Has he always been this bummed out?”

  “He was balled up but…” When I heard Hartford’s troubled tone, I regretted his concern. Then I wondered where this conscience for other Blood Lifers had come from. Strangers, I reminded myself. Even Donovan had been nothing to me for decades. “He’s swell, though: he protected me. I thought he was, you know, doing better…until you came in.”

  Donovan stroked my back, reaching to pull me up and sooth me, as you would a wounded animal. I tried to scramble backwards, but it was too late: Donovan had caught a glimpse of my face.

  Donovan transformed in the moment from compassion to raging fury.

  Told you about the volatile and dangerous, yeah?

  Donovan grabbed me by the throat, wrenching me up so far that I reckoned my ankle would snap, as it cut against the chain. Then he slammed me against the wall — oomph — and all I could do was gasp for air.

  It was through the fog of oxygen deprivation that I was aware of Hartford hollering at Donovan and then hauling him off me, although only enough for me to gasp in a couple of delicious lungful’s.

  Donovan, however, had waved away Hartford, and he’d retreated.

  “This,” Donovan’s nails dug deeper into my neck, “is the blood kin who murdered my twin, as well as killing the only Blood Lifer who I’ve ever authored.”

  I heard Hartford’s shocked intake of breath.

  Well, I admit, put like that…

  “Come on, be fair, I only killed your brother after the wanker murdered Alessandro,” I snarled. “Remember him? The kid who Aralt authored? He was your family too. Oh yeah, and there’s the fact that Aralt tried to destroy the world behind your back. Not to mention the beatings and the… I did everyone a favor, mate. And Kira…she was…unfortunate…but she betrayed you for your brother, remember?”

  Donovan’s grip tightened. Then to my surprise, his gaze blanked and he shrugged. “It’s cool. You’re right about Kira, and Aralt wasn’t my blood brother by the end; he chose not to be. I remember that too...and you were right to avenge Alessandro; it’s no less than I’d have done.” Then he added quietly, “I miss Alessandro.’”

  Donovan let me down; his fingers caressed over the crimson crescents that they’d bitten into my neck as if in regret.

  Yet before I even had time to collapse, Hartford had me crushed against the wall. His slight form was like a sodding rhino. I wondered if Sir had any idea the danger he was in, if this deadly power was ever directed at him.

  And then why it wasn’t.

  Hartford didn’t need his venom to take out a First Lifer; every inch of him was a weapon.

  I squirmed but I was pinned like a butterfly. “Bloody hell…”

  “Let me level with you: whatever happened between you and Donovan is in the past. But if you hurt him now, I’ll torture you in ways that were banned centuries before you were born. Are we clear, little bunny?” Hartford cocked his head.

  I met his gaze. “Crystal.”

  Hartford dropped me, and I crumpled to the concrete. When he draped his arm around Donovan, I had to turn away. My loneliness ate at me.

  Yet hearing Hartford’s voice, gentle now, I couldn’t suppress a smile, “I need to get to work but I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

  I nodded. “Alright, toddle off then, helmethead.”

  Hartford gave a delighted laugh.

  I glimpsed Donovan’s outraged expression, as he was bundled out of the cell and mollified by his bloke.

  Love, family, and snark: no matter how the First Lifers tried to break us, we still thrived. And that was bloody blinding.

  Just as long as I wasn’t alone again.

  It was impossible to tell the passing of time in that bricked up, permanently light cell, except by sensation — hunger, thirst, or pain — but the Blood Lifers did come back.

  Both of them.

  They brought another beaker of water, which I guzzled gratefully, whilst they leaned against the wall snogging. I guessed that they didn’t get many chances, so feeding the sad sod in solitary was like sneaking off behind the bike sheds.

  Finally, Donovan settled cross-legged opposite and scrutinized me.

  I eyed him back suspiciously. “Alright?”

  “What a crazy scene, huh?” He rubbed my knee, as if assessing the thinness of my bone beneath, even as he talked like we were still just at a wild party.

  “Yeah,” I titled my head. “So, they caught you too?”

  Donovan threw his hands up with a dramatic sigh. “Man, I was having a blast, running this music company in New York. Not like Advance; I made sure that it was managed properly this time. Then these punks—”

  “Snap. They trashed my bike too.” Can’t think about that… I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Then Donovan leant forwards, snatching my arm and circling my bird-like wrist with his fingers and thumb. Our gazes met, before he glanced once at Hartford, over my shoulder. I didn’t understand the seriousness of his expression, before he suddenly bit down on his own wrist once, twice, three times. Bleeding hell, he was offering…? “No,” I spluttered, even as the blood was already trickling down Donovan’s forearm.

  “My baby isn’t given enough blood to share.” Donovan pressed his wrist to my lips. “But I am. Go on. We’re tight, man.”

  Tight?

  In the 1960’s, I’d killed both the Blood Lifer that he’d authored and his twin brother, yet here Donovan was offering up his blood? Yet I was starved, and he was family; I latched on, sucking for all that I was worth. Rich. Warm. Blood Lifer. I was singing, soaring, safe in the blood. I never wanted to leave its embrace.

  I reckon that I must’ve passed out from the overload because when I came to, Donovan and Hartford were sitting either side of me, chatting. I experienced the first moment of surreal normality since I’d been kidnapped.

  “Here he is.” Hartford grinned. “Sleeping Beauty awakes.”

  Donovan ran his fingers through his hair, preening. “Right on, see I’ve got righteous blood.”

  Hartford barked with laughter. “You’re a goof. He’s just so starved, poor—”

  “Don’t say poor little bunny.”

  “Why? Jealous, baby?”

  “Just don’t call me sodding shadow and I’ll be sorted.” I licked my lips, settling myself against the wall. “Cheers, that was—”

  “What Hartford did for me.” I glanced at Donovan, but his kohl smudged eyes were carefully lowered.

  “How long...?” I caught Hartford’s eye and I knew that he understood.

  “How’s a fella to know? There are no newspapers, radios, calendars…no outside world at all here in Abona. On the level, we don’t exist, except as slaves. The sooner you accept that—”

  “I’m not a slave,” I bit out.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I’ll never be a slave.” Strange, I meant it, when I said it.

  Bloody stupid git.

  “Sure, so says the naked man,” Hartford pointed out, “who’s locked up, beaten, starved, and at the mercy of his Masters.”

  Frustrated, I pushed myself onto my knees. “That’s not what makes you a sodding slave: this does.” I tapped my forehea
d.

  Hartford hastily turned away. But I’d still seen it: the devastation.

  I was an ungrateful prat.

  Donovan shoved past me, getting in a good elbow. He plonked himself next to Hartford, wrapping his arms around him.

  Hartford smiled. “You sure are a cuddler, baby.” Then, however, he became grave. “It comes later, the…’ He tapped his forehead. “I’ve been in this joint… I was the first to be brought here. Master caught and bagged me like I was a hunting trophy. And since then? This is my life. It’s no line that at the beginning I was just like you.” He shuddered, as if at a horrific memory. Donovan’s arms tightened. Bugger it, I wished that I had Kathy to hold me, or even Ruby. Except, I didn’t, because I’d never inflict this hell on them. I suddenly understood just how terrible it must be to watch the one you love suffer and be unable to save them. “The First Lifers taught me not to be like you. And now…?” I hated the hopelessness on Hartford’s face. “I’d have to be screwy to go seeking more pain, when things’ll never change. They’ll teach you too little bunny. The Cains always do.”

  Would I become taught like Hartford? A true slave?

  After that, both Donovan and Hartford continued visiting me.

  I nurtured the tiny, flickering flame of hope that I’d escape my cell and chains. At least I was filling out and growing stronger, fed by the nourishing Blood Lifer blood.

  In between Sir’s training and the boredom, Donovan and Hartford’s faces popping around the oak door were enough to have me bouncing with something, which I hadn’t felt for so long I barely recognized it.

  The joy of companionship.

  I’d only ever had one mate before: Alessandro. And he’d been murdered to punish me for rebelling.

  Now, however, I was truly alone, and Donovan and Hartford were all that anchored me.

  Sometimes they’d bring water, food (thin gruel and dry bread — these humans had been reading too much Dickens), and depending on Sir’s capricious mood, honest to goodness blood. At least I got a flask to hold in my own two hands: all grown up now, see daddy?

  I grew used to us being naked. Hartford had been right: a bloke could be taught a lot.