Blood Renegades (Rebel Vampires Book 3) by Rosemary A Johns

Author:Rosemary A Johns [Johns, Rosemary A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fantasy Rebel Limited
Published: 2017-06-12T16:00:00+00:00

The first clue? Plantagenet hadn’t come into the room with me. The second? It was a bleeding BDSM dungeon: chains, paddles, and spanking benches. All present and correct. Unlike Master’s training room, however, it had the pristine feel of folks who played at this bollocks: rather than the cold hard cruelty of a slave trafficker who knew how to break a man.

‘I reckoned Blake fancied himself a Christian Grey,’ I muttered, as I edged passed a rack of red ball gags under the ambient lighting: I bet he had handpicked soundtracks to go with his sessions too.

But then..?

In the dark shadows at the back, I discovered the only honest – true – item in that dungeon, which was devised to break a man - or Blood Lifer.

A medieval rack.

Hartford was chained, stretched by hands and feet across it, pulled so impossibly tight his ribs stood out sharply; his pale belly was hollowed to a cavern. His limbs were strained and dislocated. His skin gleamed with sweat.

Shocked, I couldn’t make myself move any closer: this was because of me.

Hartford had come to this sodding place to get help but instead…he’d taken it for me, as he always did.

What could I ever say? Do?

Then I swallowed my bloody pride, kicked my arse and rushed to him: my family. I was here now and I’d never allow Hartford to sacrifice himself for me again.

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.

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