“Simulated skin.” Blake smiled at Plantagenet and it was the first genuine emotion that I’d seen in him. “I developed it for Plantagenet. There’s only so much blood in my own veins, yet I wanted him to feed as he would in his natural habitat, as if he was in the wild.”
“This isn’t a zoo,” I snorted.
Blake’s shrug was one of repressed rage. Ever heard of too many alphas in a room? “I have pigs’ blood as well, just in case. I’m sure that I can find a baby bottle for you...?”
I paled.
When I twisted to Sun, she had the good grace to look ashamed.
“Drink,” Plantagenet’s soft fingers played down my neck. “Please drink, well-beloved.”
And in my fury? Shame? Hunger?
I sank my fangs into that blood bag and…
Christ in heaven, it was glorious.
I was transported in dark wonder to the beauteous violation of skin: that moment when your fangs slice through, you hit the blood, and then the taste explodes. The drag, as you fight for each pull in the predator’s conquest. Then the savage climax.
When I dropped the empty packet on the coffee table and fell back amongst the toys — eek, eek, eek — still shaking, I saw both Sun and Hartford had experienced the same revelation.
Except, for Hartford the blow seemed more powerful. After all, he was a Long-lived who’d suffered a decade without feasting on live humans.
I experienced a sudden stab of worry. If Blake let Plantagenet feed from him and held these skin blood bags as doggy treats, then he hadn’t needed to break Plantagenet: rewards were as powerful as punishment.
Money? Status? Pride? Families, companies, and societies are all based on punishment and reward. Be a good little boy and Father Christmas will leave pressies under the tree, and if you’re not, then he’ll leave a lump of coal or a switch to beat you with. Keep in line if you want your bonus. Speak out about the fraud? Instead, you’re fired.
And you know what?
It’s all bollocks.
Conditioned cradle to the grave, however, First Lifers follow it like sheep. I’d never figured that Plantagenet would be a sheep.
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 food arranged on the coffee table: Victoria sponge cake, cucumber sandwiches, and scones.
So, Plantagenet was playing houseboy too?
“Cake?” Plantagenet offered.
Nonplussed, I studied the Magnificoe on his knees, who was offering me a buttercream slice for afternoon tea. Still, it was chocolate… “I’d bite your arm off.” I snatched the 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 crazy, but is there sperm on this plate?”
Sun spat out her cream puff. I sniggered and then flashed her the plate, which was decorated with a giant-sized sperm that was frantically swimming. Maybe it had places to be.
Sun reddened. “You…”
“Chowderhead?”
I glanced at the cake stand, which was giving me the two-finger salute. I raised an eyebrow. “I approve of your ceramics choice.”
Blake glowered. “That’s Plantagenet.”
The wallpaper? Yeah, Plantagenet. Maybe he was more like Donovan had described him. Could the decisions about Hartford have been more Blake them him?
I assessed 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,” I huffed.
Plantagenet laughed. “Even I am not the original. Freedom is in our bloodline. In trust, it’s 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. “Thou as well, if you so choose. We are all of us Renegades.”
“So, where are they? The others?” Blake asked.
“Lost you there, mate,” I hedged.
Blake leant forward on his throne. He knew…bollocks, bollocks, bollocks…the bastard knew. But if he did know that Ruby and Aralt were dead, 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 face...?
When had I become the villain?
I wet my dry lips. “Look, the thing you’ve got to understand is that this all happened way back in the ‘60s. Aralt was set on murdering the world. He’d already murdered his own elected, Alessandro. He was working with this scientist bloke, Silverman, to split our venom. We need to have a quiet word about that as well 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.
“You don’t understand, if the pure death gets into the water supply...?”
“I appreciate that you’re new here,” Plantagenet flinched at Blake’s stern tone, even though it was directed at me, “but when I say that something’s in hand, then there are no more questions.”
“And I appreciate that 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 cake stand, crashing my hip against the 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 head, and I was suddenly veiled and hidden from the rest of the world (alone with Plantagenet), behind his curls, his cat eyes 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 eyes, however, was deadly.
“I had no choice,” I whispered. “Aralt was going to destroy everything and everyone. You care about freedom? He’d have enslaved the world. I had to free myself.” A single tear rolled down Plantagenet’s cheek. He didn’t move, simply holding me still. “And Ruby? She was trying to kill me, and someone else saved me. 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.
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 — crunch — there went my 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.
Suddenly, there was a blur of cream on white, and Plantagenet was lifted off me in a wild flurry of limbs. Confused, I pushed myself onto my elbows, wiping 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 t
ime that this had played out my Author had watched, as if it was a free show. Ruby hadn’t protected me, yet Hartford was trying to.
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, smashing it 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.
Hartford and Plantagenet rampaged through the 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 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 that 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 the fight, she’d watched, just like Ruby in the ‘60s had watched Aralt beat me, 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 who Sun cradled, fussing over his bruises and stroking his long hair. Me and Hartford didn’t get a look-in.
Ghosted, I already felt Sun’s loss. There was no longer anything to hold onto but ashes. Had I gained a new family here with Plantagenet or was I losing my true family and even the woman that I loved?
8
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 if you were to hand over the true leader…?
This Plantagenet.
Then you could warm your hands on his burning instead.
You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
Of course I would. If the Council were to hear you testifying against Plantagenet at the trial, then you’d live. Haven’t you realized yet how hard I’m working here to save you? I’d even vouch for you…
That’s good of you. But here’s the thing: I know that I was betrayed. Yet I still won’t testify. What you do with this inquiry is all on you. I won’t become a Judas.
Do you not consider it odd that Captain would grace you with two weeks and a trial?
Captain is odd.
It’s your savant talent. His — our — hunch was that your remarkable memory would make for the perfect witness and it’s been justified.
I’m no science experiment, and since when have my darkest secrets become office gossip?
Since you were a slave. After all, slaves—
Have no secrets. Yeah, I got the memo, in fact the entire rulebook, on that one, sweetheart.
So, if I’m such a prize, then why didn’t Captain set the Jade Spider on me? He’s done just about everything else.
Wait, I don’t consider that I’ve been harsh on you…
You haven’t kept your word.
An e-cig and your jacket. They were delivered promptly.
You said that you’d keep me safe.
Do you truly reckon that I’d testify for Captain, after the fun and games he’s put me through? Graced me with two weeks? More like Captain fancied a new plaything to torture, before he threw his toy into the flames.
I don’t believe you. Captain swore to me that he wouldn’t—
Trust him, do you? Remember that first night, when I told you about Cannibal Tarantula?
Certainly.
After that…just before dawn, the two women in matching denim, who’d got touchy-feely on my strip search, shoved me down the council corridors. I glimpsed through the windows out to London: a jagged skyline above the slash of London Bridge. The cruel-bright stars were infinite above.
I could’ve lost myself right there.
The smirking Blood Lifers, 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.
I don’t understand the problem. Captain told me that sleeping arrangements had been made for you.
Did he now? Those sleeping arrangements are why I know that I’m going to burn in less than a week: trial or no trial.
Sometimes we need to open our eyes and see the true shadows of the world.
Blue: ceilings, walls, and floors. It was like I was flying in the heavens. The room stank of antiseptic in a chemical undertone that clawed at the back of my throat.
Captain wore dun cargoes and a powder blue shirt that was open at the neck, as if he was just back from the dullest swingers’ party ever. He was leaning in the center of the room with false ease against…
I blinked.
Bugger me.
A closed coffin was raised up on rough oak plinths. It shone black with silver handles and scrolling BLC initials in (what sodding else?), Gothic lettering. It was barely more than kid-sized, and its twin cozied 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 practiced 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 your relatives.”
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 woman would. 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 of you.”
Captain’s gaze was ice-cold. “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 surface of the coffin. “You joined the Renegades,” he hissed. “I gave you a direct order but you—”
“I’m 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 that I nearly did myself an injury, before kicking them in a flying arc. They hit Captain in the balls. 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 Liberty that I’ll 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 Captain in the eye. “Don’t you think that this is all bit of a cliché...? This isn’t Anne Rice.”
Captain bristled. “Are you trying to be cute?”
I reckon that Captain had been expecting bawling wet your knickers terror. The scene wasn’t playing out like he’d imagined — practiced — in his pathetic dreams.
It was blinding to disappoint.
Even if inside, however, I was that blubbering boy, wailing with my hands over my eyes in case not seeing the nasties of the world mea
nt that 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. For a Blood Lifer to fear the dark, when we can see in the black…? Don’t reckon that I wasn’t bloody ashamed.
Yet the sensory deprivation hood had buggered my senses, and now that 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 that here’s nothing left.
Until you lose yourself.
I am Light, Light, Light…
This cruel Hollywood vampiric parody of a punishment replayed my every nightmare: it was my hell.
And Captain knew it.
I attempted to shrug, even as my heart thundered. “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.
There was a sudden 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 back in Abona and 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. He was alive and in my arms at last. “It’s alright,” I murmured. “I’ve got you.”
“You came for me?” Donovan gasped.
“Don’t be a daft bugger.” I kissed his head, clutching him tighter. “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 naked too). It’s only insecure tossers who play power games like stripping the other bloke. Unnerved, Captain stepped back. “There are two coffins.”
“Congratulations,” I scoffed, “even Blood Life Councilors can count.”
Rebel Vampires: The Complete Series Page 70