Free Blood Dragons (Rebel Vampires Book 1) by Rosemary A Johns Page B

shuddering intensity.
    He liked to play with his food , this one .
    I could see now where the Mod had necked her, just under her daisy clip-ons and the stiffness of her limbs, as the paralysis set in. His fingers played up and down her bob, through her thick fringe, like she was a bloody guitar. Then he hurled her back into the lounge chair, before straddling her. Her little feet twitched, when he tore at her in overexcited mouthfuls.
    All right then, so remember I said sometimes we come back wrong? But there’s no wrong, only different?
    This berk? He was off his bloody nut .
    Just take it from me that you learn quickly the ones whose Souls got butchered in the cross-over.
    Or who choose to slash and burn them after.
    I have lines right, ones I don’t cross?
    I didn’t reckon this one’s lines were blurred: he wouldn’t have had them to start with.
    Then over his nut, I saw Ruby.
    And when I did, I wished I’d stayed upstairs sulking.
    Ruby swivelled round, enwombed in the scarlet folds of a chair, which was like a space vehicle opening. She was half-submerged under the naked body of a First Lifer.
    Why did he have to be such a bleeding hunk ?
    Were First Lifers bred differently now, or after the end of rations and this sudden rash of peacock preening, had the muscles evolved like that?
    Ruby was writhing. Touching. Snogging… Like she did with me. Only me, I’d thought. She was feasting too; the poor sod was nothing but a paralysed puppet to her desire. He couldn’t have got a stiffy if he’d tried. It didn’t matter; I was still alight with jealousy.
    A century of love and loyalty and it’d only taken one night in this place for Ruby to cuckold me?
    That’s the thing with passion - it curdles when you lose control. Yet I was beginning to realise I’d never had any control to start with.
    The twin threw himself off the skirt. Blood stained his mouth like lipstick - just one more touch to his costume - as he boogied to the far corner.
    I slouched back against the door frame. Into the shadows. I’d lost my appetite. I still watched, however, when the Mod dragged up this young bloke, who was all polo shirt and tight jeans and had been trying to make himself as small as possible in a quaking ball, as if somehow he’d be forgotten about that way: you’re never forgotten in the heat of a hunt. Once we’ve got your scent – bam – you’re in our blood, gut and Soul: we couldn’t forget you if we tried. It’s an obsession. A bloody addiction.
    Ruby once told me not to feel guilt about feeding because we’re designed like this. In the same way every animal has its adaptations.
    It took you to help me see we have something animals don’t – a conscience.
    Remember that? I’m still not sure I get what it means; I try and grasp it, but it slides through my fingers.
    How long will you be with me to make sure I remember?
    The Mod caught the bloke around the neck, pulling him into the dance. He wasn’t bitten yet; he was still alive and squirming. He was swung out onto the virulent orange rug - back and forth. The twin’s fangs pressed the skin at his neck. But didn’t quite break it.
    So the prat was a prick tease too .
    I wasn’t into those types of games: that was Ruby’s thing.
    The Mod was laughing; the boy was crying. The twin’s fingers caressed the tears…
    Then the twin plunged in his teeth, drinking hard. He was tripping on the music. Blood. Freedom. The drums were beating out a frantic rhythm. A clash of nothing but raucous noise.
    When Ruby coiled round the now motionless body of the First Lifer, with an ecstatic, satiated expression (which I hadn’t seen for decades), agonising hurt and resentment ripped through me.
    Why wasn’t Ruby like that with me anymore? What had changed? Me ? Yeah, bloody well blame the man.
    What was so special about this Advance ..?
    The Mod twisted back to the totty, who was limp now in the chair, yanking her up in his arms. Her nut lolled back, like the bones in