Vampire Devil

by Rosemary A Johns

  ‘I’m the king here, I have rights. Wings will find himself another Blood Lover. And your sister, well, she’ll be fiery—’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ I ripped my gaze away with a snap of light. I’d broken the spell, but Lucifer had broken me. I touched the pouch at my neck. ‘I’ll find a way to kill the leader of the Pure.’

  Lucifer dragged Mischief round into a rough hug. Was that relief? ‘The Bone Princess and long may she reign! Oh, wait, one more teeny detail: you have just one night.’

  I caught Ash’s gaze. I understood now why he’d betrayed me to save his sisters.

  I’d risked freeing the beast inside to save mine.

  I had one night to return to the haunt of the vampire fanatics, let out the monster, and then kill the worst vampire in England.

  Or else she’d kill me.

  16

  There was an edge of smug swag to the way Mischief shoved me to my knees.

  I hissed at the burn, like my skin had been set alight by matches, as I hit the rug. I kept my head down, however, even if I couldn’t help easing my hands in the angel proof cuffs that shackled them behind my back.

  Yeah, lap it up, Fallen Potter. I wasn’t the one who had an eternity on my knees ahead of me.

  Yet that thought didn’t induce the counter smugness I’d expected. Instead, grief flooded me: at the loss of Mischief to my dad, his forced Blood Bond, at anyone being unwilling on their knees.

  I edged closer, suddenly needing to feel Mischief: the heat of his thigh through his leather trousers. He flinched, before his long fingers settled on my head…just for a moment.

  Then he stepped back, and it was a loss.

  I was alone, on my knees in Conference Room D, Perfection Hotel.

  The Pure’s Headquarters.

  We’d already paraded through hundreds of Pure soldiers, who’d been ranked in the halls, until we’d been hurled into the heart of their camp.

  Mischief called out, ‘I have a monstrous gift for whoever has the power to welcome in the Falling and save me from Lucifer’s Light, as well as his wandering hands. Your thugs dragged us here, and it appears I’m to see both the organ grinder and her monkey.’

  Only acting…this was our play… Hell, did he mean it…?

  I struggled to control my whirling thoughts.

  Mischief had plotted our operation in the rushed minutes before we’d soared through London to the hotel. He would be the unknown betrayer; I’d be bait.

  Except, how had that turned out for Ash…?

  I peeked from underneath my eyelashes; the conference room was an elegant Victorian confection in blue and white. A breeze through the French doors that looked out over the courtyard garden, blew the cloying scent of lilies from the bowl on the oak table across my cheeks.

  Stephanie — the organ grinder — lounged against the table in a charcoal business suit and blouse, as tendrils of hair hung out of her blonde ponytail. She’d hiked up her skirt, like a sexy secretary, to rest her kitten heel on the quaking inner thigh of the monkey: Anarchy.

  Anarchy was stretched, bent back over the table, in only a pair of tattered jeans. His chest was mottled with bruises, just like when we’d first been trapped together in this hotel. I’d escaped, but he’d been stuck here for months. And it didn’t look like Stephanie took care of her pets.

  Anarchy turned his head, his jet curls falling over his elfin face. Then his gaze caught mine, and he stiffened. He tremored with such desperate despair at my recapture that I craved to let him know the truth: to trust him. But I had one night to assassinate Stephanie or I lost all my fam.

  So, on with the show…

  ‘Princess,’ Anarchy breathed, before glaring at Mischief and baring his fangs. ‘You’re dead, wanker. I’ll—’

  Thwack — Stephanie kicked Anarchy’s balls with the pointed toe of her shoe.

  Anarchy squealed, doubling over, but Stephanie hauled him back over the table, holding him by the throat. ‘Be quiet, sweetie. Do you want to give me a migraine?’

  Anarchy shook his head. He breathed raggedly through his nose, whilst clamping shut his mouth.

  Stephanie rewarded him with a lick, slow and sensuous, across the seam of his lips. ‘My good little pet.’ Then her gaze hardened, as she swept it over first me, then Mischief. ‘Yet here is such a bad doggy and her owner.’ Her assessing gaze appraised Mischief in a knowing way that made me shudder….because she wasn’t buying it. ‘Or is it just two bad bitches?’

  Time to put on a real show, Violet-Mutt, unless you want the wizard’s ass fried alongside your own.

  If I take this offscript, how’d I know he’ll play along?

  His Highness of Mischief has improv down. Outside of Under World, he’s not the prisoner, he’s the bloke you’re trusting at your side.

  And should I? Trust him?

  If you don’t, you won’t pass this test. Then it’s hello, wedding night and Mrs Wild.

  But should you trust him? That’s a whole different question.

  Why hasn’t he flown back to the angels?

  You think he’d be welcomed home with a glittery party? His nickname’s traitor for a reason, and having been whore to Lucifer would lower him to the rank of toy.

  The Fae Mage knows he’s still watched by the vampires. This isn’t freedom, only the illusion.

  I sighed. Then growled, lunging for Stephanie. When my blunt teeth sank into her ankle, she squealed.

  Whoosh — Stephanie’s blood gurgled through me like rancid milk.

  I gagged, letting go of her leg. ‘I bite but I don’t bark.’

  ‘It can, however, be arranged on request.’ Mischief slipped his hand over my mouth, prising open my lips.

  Silver sparks prickled like tiny electric eels down my throat. I jolted, staring up at Mischief; his gaze was flat and unreadable.

  I was the bitch who’d taken this into Improv Land. The plan had been for me to keep silent, whilst Mischief did the Big Sell.

  Stephanie clutched her ankle, as if I’d slit her Achilles tendon, rather than taken a nibble.

  I flinched, when Mischief patted me on the head. ‘Good doggy. Speak.’

  He wanted me to speak? Then I’d tell the disrespecting brat just where I’d bite him on his…

  Yap, yap, yap.

  I scrambled against the wall, breathing hard. I cleared my throat.

  Yap, yap, yap.

  Stephanie hooted with delighted laughter, and it twisted my heart the way Mischief joined in. ‘That’s the most divine thing I’ve heard in decades, darling.’

  I flushed.

  If Mischief had decided to make me bark like a dog, why couldn’t it at least have been like a badass guard dog, rather than some yapping lapdog?

  Humiliation, got it.

  I tilted my chin: lapdog does death threat.

  Yap, yap, yap?

  Mischief blanched. Maybe he could understand my words through the spell?

  I bastard hoped he could.

  ‘Where are my manners, bringing in a dog without a collar and leash?’ Mischief raised his eyebrow at me.

  Were we caught in a freaky game of Chicken, where neither of us dared blink?

  Either trust him or don’t.

  You’re the only two in this whole hotel, however, who haven’t yet been purified.

  If you don’t convince Stephanie that Mischief’s an asshole who’s selling you out to save his own skin, then you’ll both be reduced to the ranks of the Pure too before the end of the night.

  No risk there, J, even I think Mischief’s a prick.

  I shrank back, but metallic light swirled from the tips of Mischief’s fingers, spinning in discs, before lashing out.

  I gave a high-pitched yap, pushing my back against the wall.

  The strand of silver settled as softly as gossamer, however, around my neck, even though it looked as hard as steel. Mischief wound his end around his wrist.

  Safe.

  The word thrummed through the leash; I shivered with it.


  Mischief’s intense gaze met mine, before flicking away to Stephanie’s. But I’d understood, just as I felt it, curling in my gut.

  It wasn’t a collar: it was a connection.

  A bond.

  Even though Mischief was playing the bastard, he was caressing me through his magic — sensual and safe.

  Trust: Rebel had told me I could fly on it.

  I took a deep breath. I guess it was time to test that.

  Whining, I bowed my head: monster beaten.

  I fought not to snap at Stephanie’s fingers, as they carded through my hair. ‘Impressive training techniques,’ she simpered. Then she caressed a hand beneath Mischief’s tunic, tweaking his nipples, before slipping her fingers lower. His smile became tighter. ‘Oh, you have potential. I shall enjoy purifying you.’

  ‘I only live to please.’

  When she ran her hand over his wing, playing with the violet feathers that peeked between the grey, Mischief tensed. Stephanie examined them, entranced. ‘Oh, you shall. Such pretty feathers. I’ve never purified the wings of one not yet Fallen.’ You mean chopped them off — stolen them — psycho vampire. Stephanie rubbed her thumb along Mischief’s wingtip, and he gasped. ‘I shall wear them in an evening shawl. I’ll be an envy of the Pure.’

  When I snarled, Mischief yanked on the leash, pulling me onto my face.

  Anarchy leapt off the table, his battered body quivering. One dark curl fell over his eye. ‘She’s a princess…brave, loyal, and better than any of us, mate. If you want someone to crawl for you, I’ll crawl. But not—’

  Crack — Stephanie backhanded Anarchy, knocking him against the table.

  Anarchy’s hip hit the table’s corner with a sickening thump. He gasped, but struggled to stand, bracing himself.

  I swallowed, clenching my sweaty hands behind me in their cuffs.

  Trust? It was time to jump from the nest.

  When I raised my head, my face covered by my hair, Anarchy gave me a determined nod, but in turn I winked.

  Anarchy startled, then fell to his knees.

  He was another actor now in our play. The only one left out of the gag was Stephanie. Also, the one who could kill us all.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Anarchy whispered, ‘please…help me remember the light. Cleanse me.’ He bent down, kissing Stephanie’s foot.

  Stephanie preened, leaning over to tangle her hand in Anarchy’s curls. ‘How adorable, of course I’ll cleanse and guide you to the light. Don’t I always? This one was a rebel, so hard to break and remake that he sometimes, even now, forgets himself. Although, he’s a good enough boy to be my second-in-command. Would you like to play awhile?’ She nipped at Mischief’s lip, drawing blood.

  Mischief gasped but nodded.

  My vampiric and angelic sides both boiled and raged that she’d tasted him, taking what was mine.

  Mine?

  Lucifer would kick my arse if his spies caught on to my bonding thoughts. But why was I…or my ancient powers…even having them?

  Stephanie grasped Anarchy by the hair and Mischief by the wrist, tugging them over the conference table. I was forced to follow, yanked after them on my leash. My knees burned on the rug.

  When Mischief shoved Anarchy facedown over the table, however, I almost stood up, plan or no plan.

  There’s method acting, then there’s so deep undercover that you forget you’re the good guy and not the villain.

  I’ll read you into a kennel and take your doggy ass to obedience training school. Whoever said you were the good guy?

  What…?

  You’re you, Violet, and the leader you choose to become.

  Right now?

  You’re the dog, and your lickable magic owner is in charge. Isn’t that the true problem? The loss of control?

  Get out of my head, bitch.

  Hit a nerve, did I?

  What he’ll do to Anarchy… How can I let it happen to my fam?

  Don’t you see? Mischief is doing it for the mission, and Anarchy is letting it happen…for you.

  How’s it feel to be the fire the world dances around?

  Like I’m being burned alive.

  Anarchy whimpered, as Mischief brushed his fingers reverentially over the cauterised stumps on his back, where his wings had once been. I realised he might never have seen a Pure’s back up close before.

  And I’d been there when Stephanie had swung the axe…

  ‘They’re still sensitive,’ Stephanie whispered into Mischief’s ear, ‘as yours will be.’ Mischief shuddered, as she ran her hand through his feathers, no doubt imagining her shawl. ‘Perhaps I’ll keep you both as my personal pets. Would you enjoy that?’ She nudged Anarchy, but he only pulled his arms over his face to hide it. ‘When I was busy, you could play with each other. The two of you together make the most delectable picture.’

  Mischief mouthed over the stumps of Anarchy’s wings, sucking deep bruises; Mischief arched over the table, held in place by Stephanie’s elbow on the base of his back. At the same time, Mischief shot bursts of silver in electric shocks stinging across his shoulders, which were painted in the yellow and green of faded bruises.

  Mischief wailed, caught between the pain of the shocks and the passion of the love bites.

  Pain and pleasure: Mischief had either been taught the methods in Angel World, or watched them inflicted on someone else.

  Why did I ache that a Glory might’ve done this to him? Why did I tremble that he desired to do this to me?

  A cry from Anarchy, sizzle of sparks from Mischief, and clap of hands from Stephanie.

  Mischief had promised Ash, before we’d started this charade, that we wouldn’t harm Anarchy.

  If we survived…? Ash would kill Mischief.

  I gritted my teeth, as Anarchy panted, humping the table’s edge. I craved to cut off Stephanie’s hands for the way she soothed the hollow of his back, like she was edging him towards giving birth rather than humiliation.

  Mischief kissed each stump, even as he shocked it.

  I tensed to surge up, breaking our cover because I couldn’t be the bitch who let this happen and not in my name, when I noticed Mischief’s wince.

  Although it was Anarchy who writhed beneath him, it was Mischief who held onto the lip of the table, white knuckled.

  I was a wallad.

  Mischief had been sucking out the pain, stealing it to suffer in silence, just as he’d left behind the pleasure for Anarchy. And Anarchy had played along, acting up the agony.

  ‘Sweet as the two of you are together…’ Stephanie gripped Mischief’s chin, forcing his lips away from Anarchy and pressing them to her mouth instead. ‘There’s one thing that makes me even hornier than watching pets in training.’

  ‘Do tell.’

  ‘Putting down monstrous bitches.’

  I almost rolled my eyes, but this psycho wasn’t joking for dramatic effect.

  I shrank back as far as I could on my leash.

  Hiss.

  Stephanie swung a staff from her belt in a single arc; it exploded into a blazing axe.

  This time?

  Anarchy’s whimpers were real.

  ‘Over the table. Next to pet.’ Stephanie swished the axe, which burned with black flames. ‘No need to make a display of the freak, like last time. Those that don’t walk in the light of the Pure, will walk in the dark of my axe.’

  Yap, yap, yap.

  Where was the big speech? The intricate plans for my decapitation? The moment we’d know to spring the assassination?

  What was this wham, bam, thank you monster?

  Yap, yap, yap.

  Mischief yanked me by the leash, yapping wildly, to bend over the table next to Anarchy.

  Oomph — the hard edge knocked the wind out of me.

  Like the last time we’d both been bent over the executioner’s block, Anarchy’s fingers crept into mine.

  ‘Your blokes don’t give up; I’ve never forgotten,’ Anarchy murmured.

  His fierce ga
ze met mine under the harsh light of the conference room. He’d changed: hardened, become stronger, and a second-in-command, even if he was also a pet.

  He’d suffered in the world of the Pure for months but he’d survived and he’d never forgotten that he was one of my blokes.

  My fingers tightened around his.

  Yap, yap, yap.

  Tears tumbled down my cheeks because I couldn’t even say a single word of that to him.

  Bastard Mischief. Bastard magic.

  Anarchy smiled, however, as if he’d understood at least the attitude behind my woofing and nodded.

  Then he jolted at the same time as I did. My skin blistered, and I hissed. The air wavered with heat.

  Stephanie’s axe kissed against the back of both our necks, as if deciding who to snog first.

  I was no assassin. This had been Mischief’s plan. He’d been the moment bloke.

  Had we missed it? Because as my skin seared under the axe, and I didn’t dare move for the risk of Anarchy losing his head as well, I was pretty sure we had.

  ‘Nothing to say?’ Stephanie scoffed. Every bastard’s a comedian. In defiance, I closed my eyes. ‘No famous last words? How about: I was born a monster,’ she shifted the axe to press against my neck alone. ‘I die a monster.’

  My skin blackened under the flames.

  17

  A roar of pain rushed through my head, branching down the nerves of my spine: scorching, white-hot, and blinding.

  I juddered, as my ears buzzed, choking on my own body turned barbecue.

  Was this death?

  Had my head been lopped off, and only my heart still beat, whilst my body flopped on the table in Conference Room D in Perfection Hotel — heart of the Pure vampire fanatics — like a beheaded chicken running around the farmyard?

  Two words, Violet-pup: nerves and spine. If your fabulousness is still attached to them, then you’re not headless.

  Plus, I’m still working my thing and I’d bet your sweet ass that I’m not welcome inside the Pearly Gates.