Blood Dragons (Rebel Vampires Book 1) by Rosemary A Johns Page B
Authors: Rosemary A Johns
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dark fairy-tale: it was hard science. Ruby had warned me, hadn’t she?
Pissing evolution .
There are some amongst us, who claim there’s no difference between magic and science.
But I’ve seen the numbers streaming in my head. I’ve witnessed words whispering from across the globe and tiny bastards trapped in TVs for our entertainment.
And in the 1960s? I even heard First Lifers boast, like a declaration of war, that they’d walk on the moon and at its tail end, I saw them take the very first step. You can’t experience wonders like that and not reckon them beyond magic.
We’re all creatures of the earth; it’s simply nature. And we all want to survive - even you.
That’s why you should fear us.
Gammon, pork pies, cheese straws, scotch eggs, sausage rolls and crisps: ready salted, cheese and onion, smoky bacon and roast chicken. Like an alien hedgehog, a halved grapefruit in foil, stuck with pineapple on cocktail sticks, acted as a centrepiece on the plastic table. To the side were stacked crates of brown ale and tall bottles of wine.
See here’s how it stacks up: one pint of your blood (which is what we generally speaking drain), that’s only 500 calories. You reckon we could subsist on that, even if we killed once every twenty-four hours?
Man would die of bloody hunger.
We’d need to guzzle four First Lifers a night, if we didn’t eat up our meat and five a day.
Still, there are some Blood Lifers who rise to the challenge. It burns them out quickly, however, so they don’t tend to last long.
Since our senses are enhanced, I think about food almost as much as I obsess about blood and sex because we still dig the flavours, the same way as you crave chocolate or that third cocktail. It’s about indulgence, revelling in the moment because who knows, tomorrow you may die, right?
They’d pulled out all the stops for Ruby’s welcome home party in the cavernous dining hall, which I reckoned, with the sticky party food, banners and glitter was Donovan’s, rather than Aralt’s, do. Of course, like a piece of battered luggage, I didn’t figure.
Yet when I’d tried to skulk up to our room rather than play nice, Ruby had grabbed my wrist and dragged me down after her with a smile that melted, as much as her nails sliced.
Ruby was stronger now than she’d ever been. It was because she was flooded with so much blood.
She was also lost in it too, or from me anyway. Whatever she did at night knackered her. Yet after the last time I’d gone searching for her - finding her tripping and blood sharing with Aralt - I wasn’t going investigating again.
Instead, I got used to being on my own.
Ruby was worn out, when I woke in the day and lay next to her, stroking the soft hair from her cheek. They were the only moments of quiet we had together, but she always slept through them now; her peepers didn’t flicker open for a moment.
I wondered whether Ruby saw me, even when she looked at me.
“All or Nothing” by The Small Faces - the Mod band to end all Mod bands - buzzed from the hi-fi, as Donovan strutted his stuff by himself, where the chairs had been pushed back to create a dance floor. He used a weird combination of those dances with animal names, swinging his arms round in joyful communion with his Mod god.
A bird, who I hadn’t yet met, was watching Donovan, like she was his bodyguard. Her brunette hair was scraped back dead tight and she was wearing - over a pair of pressed jeans - this blinding pilot’s jacket; I reckoned it was Second World War. But it wasn’t British… Nazi maybe? She didn’t look German, but then I’ve come to know there’s no look about it. Not for any of us.
Aralt and Ruby were pressed close together by the drinks, yakking away. I couldn’t hear a single word over the music, although I was straining to. Of course the fact I knew I wasn’t meant to hear, was even more infuriating.
I could see it played out, however, like a silent movie: Aralt’s fingers massaging
Pissing evolution .
There are some amongst us, who claim there’s no difference between magic and science.
But I’ve seen the numbers streaming in my head. I’ve witnessed words whispering from across the globe and tiny bastards trapped in TVs for our entertainment.
And in the 1960s? I even heard First Lifers boast, like a declaration of war, that they’d walk on the moon and at its tail end, I saw them take the very first step. You can’t experience wonders like that and not reckon them beyond magic.
We’re all creatures of the earth; it’s simply nature. And we all want to survive - even you.
That’s why you should fear us.
Gammon, pork pies, cheese straws, scotch eggs, sausage rolls and crisps: ready salted, cheese and onion, smoky bacon and roast chicken. Like an alien hedgehog, a halved grapefruit in foil, stuck with pineapple on cocktail sticks, acted as a centrepiece on the plastic table. To the side were stacked crates of brown ale and tall bottles of wine.
See here’s how it stacks up: one pint of your blood (which is what we generally speaking drain), that’s only 500 calories. You reckon we could subsist on that, even if we killed once every twenty-four hours?
Man would die of bloody hunger.
We’d need to guzzle four First Lifers a night, if we didn’t eat up our meat and five a day.
Still, there are some Blood Lifers who rise to the challenge. It burns them out quickly, however, so they don’t tend to last long.
Since our senses are enhanced, I think about food almost as much as I obsess about blood and sex because we still dig the flavours, the same way as you crave chocolate or that third cocktail. It’s about indulgence, revelling in the moment because who knows, tomorrow you may die, right?
They’d pulled out all the stops for Ruby’s welcome home party in the cavernous dining hall, which I reckoned, with the sticky party food, banners and glitter was Donovan’s, rather than Aralt’s, do. Of course, like a piece of battered luggage, I didn’t figure.
Yet when I’d tried to skulk up to our room rather than play nice, Ruby had grabbed my wrist and dragged me down after her with a smile that melted, as much as her nails sliced.
Ruby was stronger now than she’d ever been. It was because she was flooded with so much blood.
She was also lost in it too, or from me anyway. Whatever she did at night knackered her. Yet after the last time I’d gone searching for her - finding her tripping and blood sharing with Aralt - I wasn’t going investigating again.
Instead, I got used to being on my own.
Ruby was worn out, when I woke in the day and lay next to her, stroking the soft hair from her cheek. They were the only moments of quiet we had together, but she always slept through them now; her peepers didn’t flicker open for a moment.
I wondered whether Ruby saw me, even when she looked at me.
“All or Nothing” by The Small Faces - the Mod band to end all Mod bands - buzzed from the hi-fi, as Donovan strutted his stuff by himself, where the chairs had been pushed back to create a dance floor. He used a weird combination of those dances with animal names, swinging his arms round in joyful communion with his Mod god.
A bird, who I hadn’t yet met, was watching Donovan, like she was his bodyguard. Her brunette hair was scraped back dead tight and she was wearing - over a pair of pressed jeans - this blinding pilot’s jacket; I reckoned it was Second World War. But it wasn’t British… Nazi maybe? She didn’t look German, but then I’ve come to know there’s no look about it. Not for any of us.
Aralt and Ruby were pressed close together by the drinks, yakking away. I couldn’t hear a single word over the music, although I was straining to. Of course the fact I knew I wasn’t meant to hear, was even more infuriating.
I could see it played out, however, like a silent movie: Aralt’s fingers massaging
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