Then I remembered Sun’s shrug.
She’d known.
Up there blood sharing on those silk sheets, amongst the wool butterflies and steel trees, Sun had known Hartford was down here on the rack.
Hartford’s peepers were closed; his nut was turned away. He was whispering something, over and over, ‘Let my people go, let my people…’
At once I was tearing off the padlocks around the freezing chains, choking on the dust, as they snaked to the concrete floor in angry coils. First one hand and then the other.
Hartford groaned, before his peepers snapped open.
‘Little bunny,’ to my shock, Hartford smiled, even though I saw the pain it caused him, ‘you sure are swell; I knew you’d come for me.’
‘Let’s save the love-in and get you free.’ I winced at Hartford’s whimper, when I eased the chains off his ankles. I knew the level of agony he could take in silence: I’d witnessed it. So when he screamed as I lowered his arms?
Someone was going to pay.
I scooped Hartford off that wankering rack; his legs were knackered. No way was he strolling out. He was giving these small gasps of pain like he was trying to hide them.
I wasn’t bleeding having that.
I cradled Hartford down to the floor. I knew starvation, and if they’d been feeding Hartford, I’d be a Dutchman.
I pressed Hartford’s lips to my neck in invitation. He glanced up – just once – questioningly. Then his fangs sank in deep, and those stars Sun had seen? I saw in singing technicolour, backed by Les Pauls carrying me away on electric waves, as spiders danced. Blinding, pure communion. I vibrated with it, died and lived in the moment…
There was a hand pressing into mine. Hartford had stopped feeding and was resting our foreheads together.
‘I’m going to bloody kill them, you know.’
Hartford pulled back, his expression serious. ‘Don’t get in a lather; they found you and Sun, didn’t they? We can use them again: this time to free Donovan.’
I shifted, unable to meet his eye.
‘What is it, mac?’
‘We’ll talk later. Let’s get you--’
‘Just don’t take any wooden nickels. Promise me? They’re not family, not like we are.’
I read the desperate question in Hartford’s gaze. It broke my bleeding heart.
I clutched his fingers hard between mine. He flinched but for once, some things were more important. ‘Family.’
The bath was like hollowed out soap, in glowing green porcelain. A swirling stainless steel mirror hung frameless above a double basin, which hovered ghost-like. The radiators were concrete scrolling flames.
Hartford sprawled luxurious amongst the green, soaking up the warmth into his torn muscles on the outside, as my blood healed him on the inside.
Blinding bit of evolution that.
I circled my fingers into the steaming water. Resting on my knees beside the bath, I’d washed the grime and blood out of Hartford’s golden hair. I’d had to change the water twice already.
Sod it; Blake could afford the water bill.
Sun hovered in the doorway, biting at her nails; Hartford hadn’t spoken to her since I’d carried him up. ‘Plantagenet’s put out a wicked cream wool suit for you.’
I didn’t miss how Hartford’s shoulder’s tensed, when Sun said Plantagenet’s name.
‘Some poncey threads make up for it all?’
Sun booted the doorframe. ‘You need to understand how frickin’ difficult the decision was on account of they didn’t know Hartford; he was a stranger and a Long-lived. Why should they trust him?’
‘And don’t you, Sun? Trust me?’ Hartford didn’t look round at her or raise his voice, but yet his words filled that small space until we were suffocating.
‘Whoa, you don’t put this one on me. I didn’t choose any of this.’
I ducked my nut.
Sun was right. But wanker here?
How I sodding wish she had.
I snatched up a peach blossom scented bottle of some bubbly bollocks, dashing a dollop into Hartford’s bath.
Atishoo…
When we both sneezed at the same time, we laughed. Then Hartford clutched at his ribs. Finally, he sobered. ‘I’ll level with you: I never expected…Plantagenet,’ that flinch again at the name, ‘to be…Donovan never let on he’d be...’
‘Always idolise your Author. I should know.’
‘Do you?’ Sun’s steely stare was dissecting me in a way, which made me feel like I was back on that examining table.
‘Not as an Author, mac. As a lover.’ Hartford had murmured the words, but I’d still caught them.
What was the bloke protocol here? Thump Hartford on the back in commiseration or swear blood pack revenge on Plantagenet?
I settled for growling, ‘Wanker.’
The thing was, however, Plantagenet might’ve been a wanker. Scrub that, I knew he was in his own special way: hurting Hartford and blood sharing with my elected.
Yet the secret? The one I’d never tell?
Plantagenet was also Ruby’s Author, who I’d heard stories, whispers and myths about for decades, and yeah, when did I believe in bollocks myths? But now the myth was flesh and bone in front of me? The pull was…excruciatingly beautiful…like rainbow numbers cascading in orgiastic waterfalls, and I wanted it.
Not him.
It.
The blood. Connection. Family.
If Donovan had experienced even a small part of that? He hadn’t stood a chance.
Poor Hartford.
Still, I couldn’t help remembering the aching loneliness, which I’d sensed in Donovan back in his wacky backy psychotic ‘60s days, as if there’d been a cog missing in his mechanical heart.
I’d figured it’d been love, when I’d seen him with Hartford at Abona, but now I reckoned it was loss. The loss of his Author – Plantagenet.
Donovan was going to have one hell of a choice if we got him back.
When…when we got him back.
I realised there’d been an uncomfortably long silence. I massaged Hartford’s shoulders, pushing my thumbs deep into the torn muscles. He let out a sigh halfway between heaven and hell.
‘What about Ruby?’ Sun had wandered further into the bathroom and was leaning against the sink.
I stiffened. ‘Don’t bloody know, do I?’
But I did…because a kiss doesn’t lie.
‘Donovan’s twin..?’
‘Was too busy shagging Ruby; I saw the highlights.’
I shuffled uneasily on my knees, as Hartford eased his hands to cover his goolies.
Sun has that effect on you.
Then Hartford’s hands clasped hard onto the edges of the mutant porcelain. ‘Jeepers creepers, mac, Plantagenet and his sugar daddy didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms, and I’m only the sheik of Plantagenet’s ex-lover. But you, poor little bunny? Bumped off two of his elected. What do you reckon he’ll do to you?’
I was so buggered.
When Hartford’s slender fingers massaged my shoulders, I also felt the steel of his grip. He grinned around his bruises. ‘Only reason I’m all balled up?’ When he pressed his swollen cheek, it was me who cringed, not him. ‘For crying out loud, don’t you know me by now? I chose to take it. I was over a decade suffering every torture a twisted First Lifer’s mind could conceive: to hurt and heal for more. And I took it. I survived. To start with it was for myself. It’s no line that it became…more. For every Blood Lifer trapped there; of course then there was Donovan. Say, mac, after all that you reckon I’m no stronger than a pampered high-hat?’ Hartford pulled himself up in the water, shaking the droplets in wild sprays across the luminous tiles from his blond hair. ‘I’ll do anything to get my lover back, and they’re screwy if they reckon I’ll let them harm my family.’ Hartford brushed my cheek lightly. ‘You’re my family, just so Mr Low Self-esteem is clear.’
I let out a shaky breath.
‘Why the frig aren’t we like that?’ Sun
blinked, as if surfacing from considering a deep problem. ‘Plantagenet, his Author, Ruby, Donovan and Aralt: they all loved each other. Why isn’t our family like that?’
I pushed myself up. ‘We do love each other.’
‘Naw,’ Sun drawled, as if explaining to the dim kid in class, ‘lovers.’
Hartford and I exchanged a glance.
I took a cautious step towards Sun. ‘I don’t… I love you. Only you. I want--’
‘I want, I want, I want… Who elected you boss anyway?’
Stunned, I gawped at the fuming bird.
‘Give Light a break. All families are different, and folks change. A fella don’t stay the same, does he? Donovan’s my sheik now. He’s with me and--’
‘You hope,’ Sun’s peepers were frosty, yet so fragile, ‘but what the frig do either of you really know?’
Then Sun swept out the bathroom, leaving us two blokes silenced.
We perched awkwardly on the edge of a vast sofa of moulded soft toys, which squeaked – eek – each time I shifted my arse.
It was like the maddest Hatter’s tea-party ever.
Well, maybe not ever…
Blake’s lounge looked as if a creative mind had exploded its raw emotion across a billionaire’s unrestrained canvas. Chairs of timber offcuts or rubber: the poor exploited for the rich. The coffee table was untreated birch logs, held together by a steel band, like it was about to be hauled away by a lorry. The room was scented with – sniff – eau de blood: interesting choice.
Blake had certainly gone all out on his Blood Lifer adaptations.
A black rug puddled like tar; it reminded me of the rug in Grayse’s Primrose Hill apartment. I tensed when I thought how easily Sun fitted in here, as she sprawled on the toy sofa. Hartford was balanced like me on the edge, holding himself still; it hurt me to see how hard he was working to hide his pain.
When we’d first prowled into the lounge at Blake’s bidding, I’d noticed the wallpaper. There were still no windows, so the rich Victorian steeples, spires and cupolas had spun me back like I was truly there – home. For one disorientating moment, I’d been in another time and place, smelling the smog of London, the mists of London Bridge and tasting humanity. Then I’d shaken myself and snorted. I’d started to turn away when…
‘Bugger me.’
The man under the tree? He had his todger out and was pissing against a grand old English oak. The bloke kipping in the leafy park? He was bloody bladdered.
I’d had a shufti at Blake, who’d been holding court on a chair made of hosepipe.
Plantagenet had been kneeling at his feet.
Yet this wallpaper subversion was genius.
Maybe there was more to Blake then the type of tosser who couldn’t date a real bloke and instead bought a Magnificoe toy.
Unless Plantagenet had chosen the wallpaper...?
Suddenly Hartford had given a yell of delight and a clap of his hands. He hadn’t been quite up for dancing but he’d rushed – and I’d hated the awkward way he’d held himself, gasping on each step – to a gleaming white grand Steinway, which huddled in the corner like a captive unicorn.
With a smile, Hartford had caressed the keys. He’d scrubbed up well in the glad rags Plantagenet had sneaked onto the bed as a peace offering: prisoner to guest. ‘Do you play?’
‘Don’t touch; I don’t want you breaking it.’
At Blake’s sharp command, Hartford had withdrawn his pale fingers with a shudder, as if from blood.
I’d seen it, however, the flash of humiliation.
Now we sat on this sofa, self-consciously playing at afternoon tea, as if torture, secrets and murder didn’t lie between us.
That’s the English for you.
Sod this silly buggers.
‘You’re these Renegades then?’
Hartford slipped so far forward on the sofa in surprise, his arse practically tumbled off the edge. ‘I’m sure one goof; I should’ve been the one asking the questions when I was on the rack, huh?’
‘My dear child,’ Plantagenet leant towards Hartford, his waterfall curls sweeping the deep carpet, ‘you must understand how heartfelt my regret for the needfulness--’
‘Hooey. And I ain’t no child, fella.’
Plantagenet knelt back. ‘I am aware. In trust, however, we must now work together.’
‘You want us to,’…eek…sodding soft toys… ‘Join you?’
Plantagenet’s smile was infectious; I had to battle it. Hearing how hard Hartford was still struggling to breath around his fractured ribs helped. ‘Imagine the glory; you are a miracle!’ I jumped. Plantagenet didn’t mean..? ‘Sun has made intimation of your wondrous memory and play with numbers.’
Private, private, private… I was flayed bloody. Sun had stripped me bare for these…I didn’t even know what they were yet. I couldn’t look at her and that bleeding hurt.
‘Sun’s already working on our financial side,’ Blake chuckled. ‘She’s making millions, whilst we sit here. Now that’s what I call a miracle. I’m sure Hartford will be useful for something.’
I didn’t miss Plantagenet’s remorseful glance at Hartford, who was as still as a statue, which for Hartford was simply wrong.
‘May I?’ Plantagenet’s fluid rise (just as Hartford had mastered as a slave), a nod from Blake, and Plantagenet was diving behind the sofa. He reappeared with a bag like you’d get from one of those poncey City department stores. Grinning, he swooped to sit on the coffee table, as if about to hand out pressies at a kid’s birthday. He sinuously slid out a purple box, which was strung with so many ribbons, I could’ve hung myself with them. Then he pushed the box onto my lap. His hands were trembling: I hadn’t expected that. ‘I’ve been a saddle-goose.’ That quick shufti at Hartford again. ‘I wish us to be one. Sun made suggestions this would be of worth to you.’
I yanked off the lid.
Bottle of gin? E-cig? Fernando’s nut served on a silver platter?
My leather jacket.
I wrenched it out of the tissue paper, wrestling my arms into the cool leather.
I was me again.
I lobbed that poncey box back at Plantagenet. I didn’t want his – Blake’s – bollocks touching me.
I remembered how Will had mended my jacket, passing it back to me in his grubby hands, in the needle-junked shadowed world underneath London Bridge. Even though he hadn’t had a coat himself on the freeze of the streets.
I knew which gesture meant more to me.
Plantagenet was fiddling with the ribbons. ‘Did I not get it right?’
‘Cheers,’ I said quietly, ‘but what would be of most worth to me? Donovan.’
A flash of pain across Plantagenet’s mush, which was hurriedly smothered. ‘I as well, yet I spoke to you of sacrifices? They are mine too, alas. Jamie has a business empire, and we have a war to wage. Donovan will be saved: by this hand, I swear it. But for now--’
‘Donovan ain’t no sacrifice: he’s the fella I love. Just so you’re clear on that, mac.’
Plantagenet glared at Hartford.
They both radiated power; ancient, dark and dangerous.
‘I am indeed clear. As long as you are clear that Donovan was the Blood Lifer I loved – and bedded – so very long before you.’
I gripped onto Hartford’s knee to try (what would’ve been bleeding ineffectually), to stop his lunge forward, at the very moment Blake called out grimly, ‘Blood time, Plantagenet. Where are your manners?’
I saw Plantagenet’s shoulders tense at the rebuke.
I smirked. ‘Earned a spanking, has he?’
‘Why?’ Blake clasped his big hands together: I noticed for the first time that he was also wearing a silver ring on his left hand. ‘Want to watch?’
I flushed.
Why the buggering hell was Blake wearing a slave ring too?
Then all thoughts, however, were driven out of my blood craving brain.
Plantagenet was passing out packets of human blood from his ex
pensive pressie bag: they looked like haggis. That explained the eau de blood.
When Plantagenet pressed a packet into my hand, I almost dropped it.
‘Simulated skin,’ Blake smiled at Plantagenet and it was the first – genuine – emotion 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.’
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 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 – deep, deeper – you hit the blood, and then the taste explodes. The drag, as you fight for each pull: the predator’s conquest.
Then the savage climax: the purity of Blood Life.
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? 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. Don’t? 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 there’s the boot.
And you know what?
It’s all bollocks.
Conditioned cradle to the grave, however, First Lifers follow it like sheep. I’d never figured Plantagenet for sheep.
Blood Renegades (Rebel Vampires Book 3) Page 15