Blood Renegades (Rebel Vampires Book 3)

by Rosemary A Johns

  Plantagenet finally grinned, before taking Mother’s hand like he’d taken mine.

  They twirled each other round, as they danced out into the courtyard garden, like I’d once danced with Ruby in the carnage and the flames – a kid let loose in the world. No conscience or battle for redemption. Nothing forcing me to grow up and face an adult world beyond my own will, wants and delights.

  Together? A fanatical Magnificoe and his wicked witch?

  The First Lifers didn’t stand a chance.

  Frowning, I prowled after them.

  The courtyard was in front of a yew tree maze, which stretched labyrinthine into the dark behind the Jacobean mansion. Mr Minister – starkers, shivering and shackled – was on his knees, sacrificial in the centre of the courtyard. The stars above were blindfolded by cloud. The First Lifers in black with the guns were pressed against the red brick walls. Basil, mint and thyme from the raised beds washed me back to Abona and my servitude.

  The scent strengthened my prowl.

  When Mr Minister took a gander at us, the sobbing started. Then he pissed himself.

  Plantagenet’s mush was oddly blank again, as we stood ranked in front of the First Lifer. ‘You are accused of the most wicked deeds against Blood Lifers--’

  ‘I never hurt Mother. Never. Ask her. I’ve treated her like a princess.’

  I took a shufti at Mother; Mr Minister hadn’t used a slave name. I’d been reduced to shadow, yet he’d used her true name.

  I half-expected Mother to jump to his defence, but she only gripped tighter onto Plantagenet’s hand, as if for protection from some terrifying sultan.

  ‘As high heaven is my witness, you shall pay: in this life and I am certain in the next. I give you one chance to make peace with your maker. The sentence is death.’

  ‘Please, please, please…’

  Mother waved, giving that false smile of hers, ‘See ya.’

  And I saw it. The deep – genuine – agony in Mr Minister’s peepers: of a bloke who’d been played.

  Just like we were being.

  Suddenly I knew all this – the First Lifers with guns, the execution-style killing, Mother’s gloating mush – was wrong.

  Hartford, Donovan and me, we’d taken out the Blood Club crimson on the Isle of Man, but that’d been fangs and fists in the red-hot heat of battle. In the saving of our species from slavery all or nothing desperation.

  But this was more like…

  ‘Mother? Do you wish..?’

  ‘Wait,’ I held out my hand, knowing I couldn’t stop them but having to say something.

  It was too late.

  Mother gripped Mr Minister’s nut, screwed it round like the cap of a bottle, and then pulled – plop. When she tore it off, his lips were still wetly begging.

  Mother hurled his nut next to his twitching body, which toppled slowly forward.

  I heard one of the First Lifers hurl into the herb bed.

  ‘The devil rot him,’ Mother spat on Mr Minister’s wrinkled back.

  A burgundy pool puddled out of the headless neck. I was sickened at the urge to fall to my knees and lap every wasted – precious – drop.

  Breaking abstention? Drinking human blood? Simulated skin?

  Unleash a Blood Lifer and the predator will find a way to come out and play.

  Plantagenet knelt down, dipping his finger into the blood. Then he spelt out, as if it was paint, onto the courtyard floor: RENEGADES.

  Point made.

  Plantagenet slipped his arm around my shoulder. His smile was mischievous. Mother snuggled on his other side – and he let her. ‘Watch now.’

  I had a butchers back at the red-brick mansion, which was above the sweep of steps.

  Bang.

  Plantagenet laughed, as I startled.

  Whoosh.

  Red flames dragon-like flew up into the silence of the night. There was the shatter of windows imploding. The smash of centuries-old walls falling in on themselves. The roar of panelled walls and that posh staircase turned to crackling, as ash billowed into the stormy sky.

  I’d seen it before on Mann. I’d been the cause.

  I’ve never been frightened of the flames. Yet this time..?

  The slavers hadn’t a scooby what they’d unleashed from the shadows – in all of us.

  Now I knew what this was more like – what we were – and it wasn’t freedom fighters.

  It was terrorists.

  NIGHT 9

  What would you do if you knew the true identity of a terrorist leader? If you’d also been ordered to do him in? Yet your newly discovered family loved him hearts and cupid, and the woman you loved was caught in his web?

  Blake.

  You’re insinuating that Blake is the real leader of the Renegades?

  Are you expecting me to believe a First Lifer capable of taking on Captain?

  A toddler could take on Captain.

  Greatest mistake you can ever make is underestimating your enemy; humans aren’t only prey.

  They’re vibrant, bright and deadly.

  Blake? He could kill – or save – us all.

  You’d say – anything – to exonerate your well-beloved Plantagenet.

  He’s a puppet; we all are to Blake. Good little boys to be trained.

  You don’t need starvation or torture to condition; you can lose your freedom without ever being chained.

  Captain won’t want to hear this. He has you – a Blood Lifer. The narrative is too strong. He can present his case to the Council neat and have a blaze on Easter Day as offering, cementing his standing.

  Without Blake? There’s no case.

  ‘Just ask him. Then I’ll have a shufti around and--’

  ‘Why?’ Sun contorted her legs underneath herself. She was practicing some Pilates bollocks in the gym; her hair cloaked her mug. ‘It’s fried the way you’re so into Blake’s business, when you didn’t frickin’ care before.’

  I dropped onto the sweaty mat next to Sun. ‘Don’t get the hump; I’m asking now.’

  No answer, just another unnatural twist of her legs.

  The mat sucked – squelch – on my arse, as I shifted.

  The gym stank of rubber, leather and that scent of new equipment never used. The machines gleamed out of every corner: shiny, electronic and expensive.

  Pointless wankery.

  Bang…bang…bang…muffled thuds from the room next door.

  Someone was getting duffed up – please don’t let it be Plantagenet.

  I stroked back the ash blonde strands, which were over Sun’s mush: not a single bead of sweat.

  To my surprise, Sun was also smiling.

  When I leaned in to snog her; she tasted of salt and…oranges.

  I pulled back sharply, but Sun was still smiling. ‘So you wanna know where I work now on account of I’m so wicked frickin’ awesome, huh?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Ya huh! You’re a big boy. Ask Blake yourself.’

  Bang…bang…bang…

  Troubled, I glanced at the steel door.

  ‘It’s not the same thing. Blokes like Blake? You ask them for something, it means they have you by the goolies.’

  ‘You zoo’n’ on me? Blake loves RE,’ Sun rolled out of her pose, tumbling us both into a tangle of limbs. She pressed her orange tainted lips once more onto mine. ‘He’s like an automaton that won’t shutoff on account of his business is his life.’ Sun latched her arms around my neck, as she whispered in a singsong, ‘Let’s evolve this!’ Then she burst into laughter.

  Bang…bang…bang…

  Now we were both staring at that steel door.

  ‘Blake?’ Sun was serious again, her arms clutching me close, ‘He’s a killer leader, but he’s the man in charge. You need to step up if you want to lead too. So, do you?’

  Cautiously, I pushed open that steel door.

  Bang…bang…bang…

  Louder now, it was like someone being clouted.

  I stalked inside.
>
  To be faced with a boxing ring: brand new in gleaming red, with pristine white ropes. And Blake: starkers apart from shiny emerald shorts and boxing gloves. His tanned torso glistened with more muscles than I knew existed. If I’d reckoned him tall before..?

  Now I bloody did feel like fairy folk.

  And the bang…bang…bang..?

  Blake was beating a punchbag, which was hanging from a hook; punchbags were suspended around the ring like alien pods about to birth. The look of determination on Blake’s mug..? No way he wasn’t imagining someone.

  I’ll give you two guesses who.

  I leant against the boxing ring’s ropes, before giving a cough.

  Those bloated shoulder muscles bunched. Then Blake clocked back his fist and whacked the punchbag so hard it flew off the hook and thumped against the far wall; a gnat mist of sand flew up like they’d burst early from the womb.

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Better now?’

  Blake turned to me. ‘Security are--’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I’m not here to dismember you, or paralyse you before I…’ Blake had stilled. That muscle tic again. I smiled. ‘Not here for that. I just want a friendly word.’

  ‘You box?’

  I eyed those huge hands encased in crimson. ‘I used to.’

  ‘MMA champion, I believe?’ Now it was Blake’s turn to smile. ‘I know more about my guests, than they even know about themselves.’

  ‘No one likes a bighead. That mean you’re into all this my body is a temple bollocks?’

  ‘Why? Is your body a slum?’

  Blake slipped off a – smaller – pair of boxing gloves from the wall, before passing them to me. Then he hopped up into the ring, as if its height was nothing.

  I clambered up after him, the gloves slung by their laces over my shoulder. Then I pulled them on one after the other. Grudgingly, I held out my trapped hands to Blake; with a smirk, Blake wrenched off his gloves, before tightening my gloves’ laces, as if I was a boy asking for help with his mittens.

  No way was I admitting he’d pulled them too tight.

  ‘All set, sugarplum?’

  I pushed up onto my tiptoes, as I punched my fists together like a gorilla declaring war. ‘You’ve no idea.’

  Blake was big; a slugger, I’d wager. All he’d need to do was connect with those powerful paws.

  ‘In some animal societies the status of a male is assigned by its size. Smaller – lesser - males play tricks to look bigger,’ Blake circled, ‘they arch their backs, puff themselves up…or stand on tiptoe.’ Self-conscious, I rocked back on my heels. ‘They flutter feathers, faking dominance with their coats. Where’s that leather jacket of yours..?’

  ‘Same place as your suit.’

  ‘This is my pack; I don’t need to fake anything.’

  One moment I was standing there. Next? I was staring up at flashing lights.

  And my jaw? Sod it if it wasn’t broken.

  Blake grabbed my bicep, hauling me up.

  The world was bleeding into itself – a dizzy merry-go-round.

  Blake’s gaze was steady. ‘Now we’re even.’

  ‘Not yet.’ I raised my wobbly fists again.

  ‘Don’t challenge me; this is ended. Although, if you insist…’

  Then Blake was sending a second staggering upper cut my way.

  But this time? I wouldn’t be distracted by his yakking.

  I ducked.

  A snort of frustration and another upper cut from Blake. I bobbed and weaved, slipping underneath or to the sides of the punches. Being the smaller bloke has its advantages.

  Blake drove me back against the ropes. We were both sweating under the lights, but I knew his pattern now. I was a swarmer who’d been fighting for over a century before Blake was even a twinkle in his papa’s eye.

  I didn’t need any tricks – I was the real deal.

  There was just this moment when our gazes met: and Blake knew. A boxer’s instinct, which screamed that our roles had switched – predator to prey.

  I grinned, as I closed in on Blake, launching my attack: a flurry of hooks and upper cuts, which made his look like a warm-up.

  Shocked, Blake fell back, covering up his mush with his gloved hands.

  So I went for his gut instead – bam – bam – bam.

  Blake shoved me back, until I was in the center of the boxing ring.

  Conqueror of his world.

  Whilst Blake was against the ropes: his peeper swollen, gut reddening and lip split.

  Maybe I should’ve remembered he was a First Lifer? Then again I’d promised not to kill him, and he was still alive, wasn’t he?

  When he stalked towards me, however, wrenching off his boxing gloves with his teeth and holding out his hand, I tensed.

  Then I had a gander down at his hand – he was holding it out to be shaken.

  Wanker.

  Blake sighed, when I waved my gloves at him, but began to unlace them. ‘This animosity? You believe I abused my power and position to buy another person: Plantagenet. That’s why you’re behaving like such a brat.’

  ‘Got it in one.’

  Blake tossed down my gloves. ‘You’re right. I had no time or inclination to find a human partner, so I cherry-picked Plantagenet; he’s perfect for me. But you know what? Get over it.’

  ‘I reckon your motivational speaking could do with some work.’

  Blake grabbed me by the back of the neck, shaking me as if he expected me to go limp.

  No such luck, tosser.

  ‘This isn’t some sweet romance novel, in which everyone adores each other and is good; people aren’t. That’s not the real world. We still have to work together, however, because we have a job to do. A mission. I’m not a nice man. You can’t fight genetics or evolution.’

  ‘I’m living proof you can. You’re what you do, not what you are. And your mission? It’s not the same as mine. You can’t just assimilate my family into yours.’

  ‘Assimilate? Are you a secret nerd? Just think about this: isn’t your real fear that your family are abandoning you? As you’ve always been abandoned?’ I wrestled away from Blake’s forceful grip, as I glared at him. I didn’t give two sods that he was right. I’d lost too much – in First and Blood Life – to lose my newly created family as well to this bastard and to Plantagenet. ‘Or,’ Blake whispered conspiratorially, ‘is the real fear: you should never have had a family? Now you’ve found your true home for the first time, and everyone fits here except you.’

  I turned on my heel in silence, marching away before I could risk falling. The alien punchbags batted at me, as I passed.

  ‘I told you I knew my guests better than they knew themselves,’ Blake called after me, ‘and by the way? Yes, you can have a tour of Revolution Evolutionary. I don’t know why you didn’t just ask. Anyone would think you were scared of me.’

  A monkey.

  Mr Darwin was projected across all four walls of RE Headquarters on his knuckles. As I watched, he stood erect, transforming into a purple suited Blake. The Ascent of Man: evolution’s purest propaganda.

  Kallis giggled. ‘Mr Blake’s idea: neat, huh?’

  Blake dropped to all fours, and the cycle started again – Christ help me.

  Kallis had collected me from the steel lifts, in her slip-on bright green shoes, which had honeycomb soles that tap tapped along the hard floors.

  ‘Kallis,’ she’d purred (although it’d come out more as a rattle of phlegm). She’d rapped a finger heavy with paint and wooden rings, which were like cavemen sweets, down my chest in jerky spasms, ‘it means beauty in ancient Greek.’

  ‘Good on your mum, luv, brave woman,’ I’d caught her fingers, giving them a squeeze, before pushing them away from tracing patterns down my t-shirt.

  Now Kallis was leading me into the central department of RE Headquarters, which was on the bottom floor of Blake’s whale-like building. It was as if we were adventuring into an indoor town. There were no cubicles, offices or meeting rooms. />
  It turns out? I’m a fuddy-duddy.

  Blake? More with the whacky unconventional.

  There was a tearoom and patisserie with damask upholstered chairs, which were slap-bang next to mismatched stools, a humungous trestle desk that was big enough for each worker to be private but still part of the RE community, with clip-on lamps and plastic shelves; moon lights, which were like alien ships, hovered overhead.

  Green, green, green…

  Everything was in shades of green, including the neon hologram RE, which was projected up from the center.

  And me? I was the risen Messiah.

  I froze – cat caught doing the unmentionable – when the workers stopped and stared. Except for those who whispered and pointed.

  Or the bloke who dropped to his knees.

  He was my favourite.

  ‘What’s all this then?’ I mouthed.

  Kallis raised a radio device, and instantly her voice was booming through the open-plan office. ‘Back to work people.’ Just like that the clockwork drones in black slogan t-shirts were reset. ‘How often do you see a myth? Your hero? The heart of what you’ve dedicated your life’s work to?’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘Take me,’ Kallis wrapped her long fingers around my wrist, ‘I dropped my Stanford degree, family…hell, I dropped everything. We all did to join RE. Blake headhunted us from forums, closed groups or our Internet histories because of what we believe, as much as what we can do. We wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s a genius, and this is our home.’

  ‘You’re the Renegades.’ I yanked my hand free. ‘The whole company?’

  ‘Now wouldn’t that be awesome? Just headquarters, of course, silly,’ Kallis seized me forcefully by the arm, before leading me further into the futuristic town, her rings clicking. ‘Now having one of the Blood Three visit--’

  ‘Look, one of us is off their trolleys here,’ as we passed, the Renegades would sneak glances, hidden behind piles of files, coffee mugs or their laptops. It was giving me the willies. ‘I don’t know what you’re yakking about.’

  ‘Hartford, Donovan – and you. You saved the Blood Lifers. You’re the Originals: the Blood Three,’ Kallis’ peepers were burning feverishly. ‘The website on Tor? That’s how most of us discovered about Blood Lifers. Before that it was only whispers across the globe. Until Blake. There was always one name though: Our Light.’ Suddenly Kallis’ lips were touching mine. ‘Our Light…’