Ollie’s stomach fluttered at the mere thought of Rose. She was troublesome, and his gut told him to run for the hills, but his legs refused to move.
He couldn’t leave without her.
Oliver stood there as Rose retreated back into the crumbling tunnels. Why… why… why? His head was finally clear from the effects of the bane and the last thing he remembered was drawing Gavin’s blood with one well-planted blow to the face. He remembered savoring the moment, giving Gavin a good wallop to his smug, little face. But Gavin didn’t deserve to think he’d killed his best friend. He remembered the Prince of Blood gripping his throat, the fuzziness in his brain. He remembered the gasping, the dark circles encroaching on his vision, right before he plunged into the dirt and the world before him turned black. But, Rose, the beautiful deviant, had saved him. Though he didn’t understand how, he knew that whatever she’d placed in the bane had spared his life.
Sweat beaded on the werewolf’s brow as he looked at the tunnel, the sun dipping below the horizon, his breath still thick in the air. He was eternally grateful. She had not only saved him, but Oliver was sure that she had saved his best friend from a lifetime of pain and regret.
The trickstress now left him out here, assuming he would just leave her behind. Oliver may have been a lot of things in this life, but being a decent man was something he’d still held onto. Leaving a young woman alone, with Palmer, was anything but decent, no matter how capable the woman was of taking care of herself.
Taking in a deep, steadying breath, Ollie stepped back into the darkness after his golden-haired savior.
Gavin
Gavin sighed as his pace slowed. The fight’s adrenaline began to wane, leaving him more than a little weary. It had been years since he’d returned home to Tatum. Truth be told, he wished he would never have to set foot in the kingdom again. He’d hoped that his younger brother, Declan, would have taken the throne with his parents’ blessing, leaving Gavin alone with his gambling, fights, and booze. But Gavin knew that if his parents were truly dead, there would be no blessing ceremony for Declan and the throne would pass to the eldest living Sinclair heir.
Him.
Gavin sucked in another deep breath. His pulse thrummed in his veins. He reached to pinch the bridge of his nose, slowly exhaling. A Rose Bound ceremony would commence after the death of the ruling King and Queen when one full moon passed. Gavin had no idea how much time had elapsed since his parent’s death. Murder was the only viable explanation for a royal blood vampires death, especially a bound pair. If one of his parents perished, both would. The Rose Bound ceremony ensured that, having tethered the two life forces together, binding their souls.
Gavin knew his choices were—radical—that he had cast his family into the light by buying humans and saving their lives. But he had never thought anyone would retaliate like this. Nothing in a way so… dirty. If someone had a problem with Gavin, then they needed to come face him. Gavin set his jaw, biting back the Ripper that begged to be released again, fighting against the wave of anger that threatened to consume him. He would let his Ripper out to play when he found the creature responsible for his pain. And then, he would punish them.
He clenched his eyes shut and focused on his breathing, pushing the negative thoughts from his mind. His fingers curled, nails digging into his stinging thumb. Skin broken, blood oozing, Gavin held onto one thought.
If that monster touched my siblings, the streets of Tatum would run red.
7
Ollie
Ollie’s vision adjusted instantly, his wolf instincts kicking in. The smell of decay, the moisture in the air, everything was amplified. Ollie pushed himself into the transformation, yearning for his most dangerous form. Fire consumed his body, his bones cracked, and his spine curved. He bit his tongue, swallowing his screams. Tears sprang from his amber eyes, running silently down his olive cheeks. He couldn’t howl, not if he wanted to find Rose alive. Fur sprang from his skin where clothes had once been. His nails grew into claws and Ollie hunched over onto all four legs. Piercing screams echoed off the tunnel walls, ringing in his werewolf ears, leading him to push his legs to move faster than they’d ever moved before.
Rose.
Ollie’s breaths quickened at the sound of another bloodcurdling scream ripping through the air. His wolf wanted revenge. His wolf wanted to make someone pay. Those screams told him she was being handled in an unruly way. A lass, whether royal or common, never deserved a man’s unwanted touch. Gavin had taught him that. Ollie prayed that he would reach her in time and that his wolf would cause her no harm, but nothing was guaranteed in this form.
There was something special about Rose, something he couldn’t place his claws on, something which made him protective over her. He hadn’t bonded with her, at least not yet, but Ollie wondered briefly if this instinctive protective role was what it felt like to imprint. As he rounded a bend in the cell block, he spotted four ghouls, each in different stages of decay, carrying Rose as she kicked and fought against them.
“Let me go, you ruddy stinking bastards!” she snarled, thrashing in their arms. Her eyes locked onto Ollie’s and Rose stilled.
“Finally,” one of the four croaked. “The bonnie lass has run out of steam, eh?”
Rose remained silent, her eyes wide as she took in the silent wolf. Ollie’s teeth curled back from his maw and a growl tore from his throat. The ghouls stopped, dropping Rose to the floor below as they craned to look at him.
“Who let the fuckin’ dog out?” the one closest to Ollie asked.
“Not I,” the other three answered in unison.
“‘Tis a jolly shame then, eh?” the leader replied before unhinging his rotting jaw, snarling black teeth at the wolf. The three others followed suit. Jaws hung open, exposing rotted teeth.
Rose skittered backward, muttering under her breath as she disappeared behind a wall of shadows. Ollie stared in her direction for a split second before his gaze flickered back to the four. He let out a snarl and then, he lunged.
Darkness, blacker than black, shielded the young woman from his view. He didn’t know what happened in that moment as his wolf form took over, blocking out his memory. Teeth tore into dead flesh and black painted the walls. It was only moments of horror. Moments of pure blackout before the beast ceased its killing, and Ollie shifted back. Body parts littered the floor, and the stench of death consumed the air. Ollie’s eyes widened.
He had done this.
His wolf had done this.
Vomit crept up his throat, emptying the contents of his stomach into the blackened mess that was the floor. His vision swam, tunneling along the edges as his head grew light. He should have been used to the gore. He was a goddessdamned champion in the Underground. Ollie reached out, holding himself upright against the stone wall. He leaned his head against the cool grey stone, trying to steady his breathing. Sweat peppered his brow, gore coated his flesh. He smelled worse than he ever had. Ollie’s nose wrinkled as another bout of bile rose up his throat, painting the wall before him.
“Fuckin’ aye,” he hissed. He needed a moment to gather himself before finding Rose. If she were smart, she would have vacated after seeing the demon wolf he could be.
But Rose was not easily frightened. The layer of darkness dissipated, revealing the heiress where she sat. She moved to his side in a flash.
“Did you have to puke and add to the stank down here? As if it weren’t unbearable enough,” she chided, tossing a golden lock over her shoulder. Oliver snorted at her in response. This game between them was the last thing on his mind.
“Where’s Palmer’s prick ass?” Oliver asked, as he pushed himself away from the vomit-covered stone. He wiped the corners of his full lips.
“Well…” Rose trailed off.
“You don’t know, do you?” Rose shook her head.
“No,” she admitted and Oliver couldn’t help but notice the red blush on her cheeks. Shit, she was beautiful.
“We have to get outta
‘ere, lass.” There was no discussion about it. No snarky comment on Rose’s lips as she nodded.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Oh, but the party has just begun.” Palmer’s rancid voice cut from behind Rose. Shadows moved in the corner of Ollie’s eye. More ghouls, he realized. The air around them chilled. The hair on Ollie’s arms stood on end as the undead crept in around Rose. His eyes flickered back to Palmer, a grin etched across the kingpin’s decaying face. Sounds of a fight perked in the background. Ollie knew Rose was in battle. Flames erupted to his left, nearly singing his skin, biting back the eerie cool that descended around the shadow creatures. Ollie remained statuesque. He wouldn’t give Palmer the opportunity to strike. Not when he already played dirty.
“What’s the matter, Dawson?” Palmer crooned. “Don’t you wanna help the bonnie lass?” Palmer was trying to goad him.
“Fuck you,” he hissed between clenched teeth. His fingers furled and unfurled at his naked sides. He wanted to move, wanted to help the heiress, but moving meant giving the slime boss before him an opening. What to do? Fuck! What to fucking do…
More grunts, bone crunching against bone as punches flew. The shadows crept closer. Rose was being overpowered, and he, he was doing nothing…
Ollie’s jaw gnashed harder, his muscles feathering. His wolf was surfacing. Shit. Ollie sucked in a breath and waited for the inevitable, soul-crushing pain to come back. He’d transitioned once today without the moon, a thing only alphas were capable of. But was he strong enough to do it again?
Ollie closed his eyes for no more than a blink, no more than a split second, opening them as Rose flew through the air, crashing into an empty body cart on the other side of him. Her body slumped, chin to chest, unmoving. Ollie felt the prickle of the beast within. His vision flashed red, then blurred and he felt what was coming. Transition, the wolf whispered within, urging him to lose control. Ollie’s breath hitched in his chest.
“You bastard!” he seethed, feeling the pull of the wolf. The transition had begun. Ollie’s face began to contort, taking on the wolf’s snout, and thick globs of saliva seeped from his jaws. The grey-skinned ghoul beside Palmer smiled wickedly and turned to his boss.
“Erving has arrived, my lord,” he croaked. A new set of footsteps echoed along the stone walls of the tunnel and Ollie’s ears perked as they approached. His eyes flickered over to where the sounds came from and took in a smaller being. Erving was dark and young, no more than twenty years of age, with skin that clung to his bones, accentuating his skeletal figure. He stepped between the kingpin and his lackey before nodding to the unconscious Rose on the cart.
“She smells ripe for the taking, Boss.” His voice was weak, nasally. Oliver had never seen this man before. Palmer’s goons usually consisted of the undead, but this man was very much alive and lusting after what Oliver wanted.
“Touch her, you fucking cockroach, and you won’t have a prick left to plow a billy goat.” Oliver spat the last word, his voice not his own in this form.
Erving’s smile grew across his skinny, horse-like face as he said, “Fucking try me, bitch,” and took a step toward Rose.
Ollie saw red and released a guttural roar from his core and let go.
Blood.
Screams.
Chaos.
Ollie heard them all but registered them in the back of his mind. His wolf had taken over and with it came a massacre. Both lackeys lay dead and torn apart at his feet and yet, somehow, during the ordeal, Palmer’s slimy ass had slipped through the cracks and disappeared.
No matter, Ollie thought. He would get the skeezeball and reunite him with his pals soon enough. A moan sounded from the corner as Ollie whirled back, a snarl erupting from his throat as his hair stood on end.
Rose clutched at her head, blinking several times before looking around the chamber, confused. There would be time later to explain the bloodshed, but first, he had to get her to safety. He couldn’t understand what had made her turn back. They’d been free and yet, she put herself right back into danger’s clutches. Ollie willed himself to turn back. He fought against his primal instincts, pushing the wolf down to take control. He could feel his fingers burn as his claws pulled back into nails. His skeleton snapped and a howl erupted from his maw. Bones broke before resetting themselves as Ollie shifted. Sweat poured from him, running in streams down his face, dripping into his amber eyes and down his nose. Tears welled as he fought the sting of his emotions. It would be done soon, he reminded himself. It would all be over soon.
Rose’s beautiful eyes swept over the blood-soaked room. They widened a fraction when they rested on Oliver, yet, fear was not what Oliver detected in their depths. In an instant, she sprang forward, throwing her arms around his gore-coated neck. Oliver stumbled backward into the vomit-covered wall, his feet struggling for traction before stone pressed into the brute’s back, cool and hard. Ollie wrapped his arms around the lassie’s petite waist, taking in the sweet aroma of her hair. Rose pulled back and studied his face, which was plastered in ink-black ghouls blood. Her forehead creased as she studied him for a few moments more and then relaxed.
“Thank you,” she breathed, wrapping her arms back around his neck.
“No thanks necessary, love.” Rose pulled away from Ollie and gave his arm a light shove as she inspected her dress.
“You’ve made my clothes all bloody,” Rose huffed, looking down at the inked splotches on her blouse. She made a disapproving sound, but she was alive. Ollie would take her wrath any day of the week because she was alive. Ollie’s lips curled into a smirk.
“I think it’s an improvement,” Ollie replied, flashing a toothy smile. There was a light in her eyes that he had not noticed before. “What do ya say we get outta here now, lass?” Ollie asked as he dragged a hand over his matted hair. He was utterly confused by her lack of concern about the bodies that littered the floor.
“I think that’s a wonderful plan, Moonchild. You need a bath.” Rose pinched her nose. “You stink.”
“Ah, love, is that an invitation?”
“In your dreams, mutt!” she scoffed. Ollie chuckled. The vampiress would certainly keep him on his toes and their little game of cat and mouse amused him. Rose turned from the wolf and started trekking through the bodies toward the exit. Ollie laughed again as he watched her stumble before she hurried forward. “Coming, wolf boy?” she asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Wherever ‘tis you go, I shall follow,” Ollie replied.
What scared him the most, is that he really felt like he meant it.
8
Gavin
Gavin had traveled night and day, despite the discomfort he was in when the sun was high in the sky. His legs burned and begged for him to stop, but he pushed forward. Rolling green hills and powder blue skies flooded his vision ahead, a narrow loam trail and the smells of a town, leading the way. Birds chirped from the forest trees behind him, the sounds of twitter patter in the air as spring approached. If only they knew the forest’s secrets. Gavin shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. It was silly to think birds would know the secrets of the lands any more than the trees would. It had been ages since Gavin had seen spring, spending most of his time in a brothel with bloodwhores or gambling his coin away on fights in the Underground.
His grumbling stomach ripped his thoughts back to the present and his current predicament. He would need to eat. Soon. Gavin struggled to divert his hunger pangs, breathing deep. He wanted blood and a good romp in the sack. If he didn’t find a bloodwhore soon, the Ripper would rampage and kill the entire town.
Gavin closed his eyes and took a moment to gather himself, focusing on the things that didn’t make him want to kill everything in sight. The feel of his body in the sunlight, the bogged down heaviness it left his immortal form. The crisp morning air, gently nipping at his skin, raising small pebbles, the thundering of his heart. He drew in a breath, slowly exhaling, grounding himself before opening his eyes. He was not his Ripper. He w
as not his Ripper. Ever so slowly, Gavin peeled open his eyes and set his track into the village. Tatum was another few days’ travel, and he needed to find a place to sleep for the evening and rest his weary feet. He shuffled along the dirt road, kicking dust into the air as he came to a small worn sign made of wood, held together by rusted nails, it read, Northpass. Gavin assumed the town had sprung up after his departure from Tatum. He had never been to such a place, never ventured through such a town but shrugged his shoulders and moved onward.
Northpass, a little shit stain of a town, a blip on the map that sat on the lands ruled in Tatum, Elirion, came into Gavin’s view as he trekked up the loam-covered trail. Townspeople flooded the streets, speaking a tongue that the young prince could barely understand. Music filled his ears, dancing out of open tavern doors as drunkards and bloodwhores wobbled onto the cobblestone streets, laughing and clinging to one another. Gavin’s lip curled in disgust. As much as he supported the humans having rights, he despised the pigheaded decisions the lowly made. It reminded him of the Pits.
Oh three goddesses, the Pits… He’d killed Ollie. Pain lanced in Gavin’s stomach, his eyes narrowing into a wince as his hands clasped at his belly through tattered cloth. Gavin clenched his jaw, closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to Celeste for guidance. Guidance for his soul. Guidance for his departed friend into the realm beyond.
A crash sounded in the tavern to Gavin’s right, some yelling rose over the music, pulling Gavin from his self-loathing. His eyes flew open despite the aching pangs in his stomach as the young prince’s gaze flitted around him. He took in cloaked figures dressed in darker fabrics, bobbing in and out of street shops. Vendors that lined either side of the cobbled road sold everything from meats to clothing to flowers. Behind the shops were small stone buildings, each likely a home to some poor family just trying to make ends meet.
Rose Bound: The Rose and King series Book 1 Page 6