Home.
Gavin missed this so much. He’d missed so much. If he’d have been there, would this have happened? Would his parents have met their untimely end? Gavin swallowed, a lump forming in his throat as his mind continued hurricaning questions. He wondered how Aurora would be when he saw her. Would her little eyes be filled with anger? Or would they be delighted to see her eldest brother? Would she even know him? He remembered her springy brown curls, her dark hazel eyes that reminded him so much of his own, the way her chubby toddler legs tottered as she tried to walk, and he remembered the look of confusion on her face when he left. He remembered that day like no other, as it was his last day in the castle before his inner demons drove him astray.
* * *
“Gavin!” his mother yelled across the mile-long dining table. “This insolent behavior has to stop!” His mother rarely lost her temper, oh, but when she did, hell seemed a better alternative. Amara Sinclair was a force to be reckoned with. There was no doubt she won the crown and the hearts of her people in one swoop during the weeks leading up to their Rose Bound ceremony. Gavin snorted in response, doubting any answer he would give her would be enough to rectify what she had caught him doing.
“Mother, it was just a game of cards.”
“Cards do not result in the loss of so much family coin!” she hissed. Gavin’s father piped in from his shadowed chair in the corner. “Yes, Gavin, so where did the money really go?” But Gavin remained silent. His father, Valerio, was a mysterious, quiet ruler. One that most used to fear, yet not since Aurora was born. He had taken a back seat to the violence that ran deep within his veins and subdued his unrighteous dealings, especially those concerning women. The coven was not accommodating with their ruler’s new stance.
“It’s not like I squandered away the entire fortune,” Gavin said loosely, twiddling his thumbs in front of him. Gambling had become a nightly routine for the young princeling. It was a way for him to vanish into the shadows. He detested being in the spotlight and being a royal vampire put him there more often than he liked.
Amara growled deep within her throat, a sound Gavin had only heard on rare occasions and never directed at him. “Gavin Jagger Sinclair, gambling is not a way a prince should spend his time or his coin!” She slammed her hands down on the table, scattering papers into the air. “I did not raise a heathen child!”
Gavin rolled his eyes, such a shitty thing to do for a teenager, but he was just that. A teenager. No one could tell him otherwise. He wanted to live. To play on the wild side of the law, of his father. He wanted to gamble and drink and fuck. He wanted nothing more than to melt away into nothingness. Gavin stood from his chair, the screech of wood against stone breaking the heavy silence that loomed in the air. “I’m leaving,” he slurred out. “Now, Mother.” And with that, he stumbled on drunken legs out of the dining hall. The hum of alcohol still buzzing in his head.
* * *
Regret stabbed his chest. Six years. He’d be gone six whole years. If only he could hear her ranting once more, he would apologize and beg her for forgiveness. Had he been a better son, his parents may not have been murdered. Had he been home with them, things would have turned out very differently, and Gavin knew it.
No.
Tears welled in his eyes, spilling silent streams down alabaster cheeks. He tried to swallow again, choking on the memory. He couldn’t let the past haunt him, despite the all too real, pain. The memories flooded him, pushing against his waking thoughts like tidal waves to a dinghy, feeding the Ripper that stole away in his body, waiting until he let his guard down. Gavin wiped his cheeks with the back of his hands, balling them into fists. The Prince of Blood was vulnerable, weak, despicable, and his enemies, whomever they were, were always watching. Movement to his left brought Gavin’s instincts to high alert, as shadows caught his eye. Gavin spun in the grass slick beneath his boots, tearing roots from the earth.
Nothing.
Dread crept up his throat. His fangs pricked his bottom lip as they emerged at the sense of danger.
“M-mister!” a child’s voice rang out. Gavin’s face whipped from side to side, searching for the phantom that visited him.
No one.
“M-m-mister,” it chimed again, pulling on his hand. Gavin looked down; his eyes widened as he peered into a pair of strikingly familiar hazel eyes.
Aurora?
Gavin’s eyes grew frantic with realization. She couldn’t be here. The castle was still miles off. Declan would never allow her to wander. Gavin shook his head and the illusion dissipated, leaving a little girl with bright red hair and blue eyes, her image a far stretch from that of his baby sister’s. The girl’s face was dirty and frightened. His heart roared in his ears, each thump like a clap of thunder. At his changed expression, the girl turned and ran away, just as Aurora would have. Anger reared its ugly head deep within his core. Had he allowed himself to fall so far from grace that he was ashamed of who he would be in his sister’s eyes? Contrary to popular lore, vampires were ruled by their emotions. A vampire with a loose handle on his was a dangerous thing, making him one of the most dangerous.
Blood trickled from his lip where his fangs pierced his skin. The taste of it awakening a carnal need for more. Eyes blazing red, Gavin shot after the little girl who had reminded him of his shame. Reminded him of his broken heart.
He had struck down his best friend. The only man to fully stand by him no matter who he decided to become. Tears stung his eyes at the thought. He would never see his golden-headed friend again. He would never hear his witty comebacks and failed attempts at flirting his way into a woman’s bed.
Gavin’s vision blurred as his Ripper took hold, catching the girl in his clutches. Her screams were distant but bloodcurdling enough to keep him in the present. Lurching forward, Gavin plunged his fangs deep within the little girl’s throat. A hint of a whimper played in his ears as he tore into her, relishing her delectable blood as it poured down his throat. He could feel her growing limp; her body slackening as she leaned into his torso. Her life force was divine and Gavin drank until he could taste no life left within. His Ripper tossed the lifeless body aside as a hunger for death lingered in the air. He needed more.
Gavin was accustomed to his Ripper’s needs. He hated losing control, hated being a monster, but his Ripper, he loved the horror. Loved the bloodshed and chaos. His lips perked at the thought of death, at what he did. Moving faster than Gavin had ever had, Gavin’s Ripper tore through the town, unleashing a bloodbath in his wake.
9
Gavin
Blood oozed down Gavin’s chin, cooling, coagulating, as he released his last victim. Life force coursed through his veins and oh goddess, was it wonderful. He loved the high of a massacre, the fear that permeated the air as he took an innocent and drained them. They didn’t call him the Prince of Blood without reason. Unclenching his fist, he dropped the dead to the street like a sack of potatoes and closed his eyes. His tongue flicked out in a serpentine manner, licking his lips as he relished the tangy taste.
Gavin peeled open an eyelid and raised his arm to his mouth, smearing away the remnants of his meal and looked to the horizon. He’d spent the entire day murdering and now, the sun had retired for the evening and his insatiable hunger was quenched. He huffed out a breath, feeling his skin burn under the last of Dia’s rays, delighted in the fact that her warmth would retreat for the night, back into her prison with Limos in a never-ending battle. Despite his discomfort, The Prince of Blood felt invincible.
Go away! Gavin’s thoughts screamed at the Ripper, but the demon curled his lips upwards.
“You can’t take me away that easily,” he whispered.
Yes, I can.
Ah, the fight has returned. Where was it when these people needed their prince?
Gavin slammed his eyes shut, willing the beast to his cage. He had wrought enough destruction for one day, and Gavin had unlocked the door, his unraveling emotions opening the floor for bloodshed and mayhem.
Back in your cage! Gavin thought. Leave me to my misery.
I’ll go, for now, but I am never far, princeling, the Ripper replied, leaving Gavin alone to stand in the bloody aftermath. Relief swept over the prince as he felt the beast slither back into the depths of his mind. Regret soon followed, filling him until there was nothing left.
Dusk turned into darkness, chilling the air, curling tendrils of visible breath around Gavin. Tears pricked at the prince’s eyes as he blinked, taking in the wreckage. He ran a blood-crusted hand through his hair and turned in place.
“Fuckin’ aye,” he whispered. “What the fuck have I done?”
Gavin’s heart shuddered at the sight around him. What had he allowed his demon to do? A whole town decimated because he couldn’t keep a lid on his emotions. These people had lives, and he had snuffed them out in one fell swoop. He couldn’t leave these people here like this. They deserved so much better. They deserved better than him.
He would bury them. Each and every soul he had taken would have a resting place to call their own. If Gavin had to stay here all night, he would make sure of it. With a heavy heart, Gavin walked over to the closest body to him. A man, slight and covered in soot, probably a smithy. His chest ached as he lifted the lifeless man with ease and carried him to the town’s edge that faced the mountain side.
With each and every body, he did the same, trying to piece together who might have been closest to who. Gavin laid them out ceremoniously before the mountain. Dirt and blood be damned, Gavin began to dig the first grave.
“Goddess, I beg of you. Guide these people to a brighter, happier place. Restore the peace that I so shamelessly stole from them. Celeste, I ask this from the bottom of my blackened heart for I had sworn to lock the monster away and I have failed. Twice now.” A hiccup caught in the prince’s throat. He hoped beyond reason that the goddess would comfort them. With each handful of dirt, his vampiric muscles throbbed.
Filth coated his skin and clung in his hair, and yet Gavin so usually clean and proper, did not mind. His nails tore with the effort but soon he had one grave completed. He took his time, refusing to use the speed with which he had used to kill these innocents.
Hopping up to the surface, Gavin heard howls echo through the night, a sound that told the prince a pack of werewolves were near. The creatures had never been fond of vampires, except Ollie, and a large enough pack would spell trouble for the rogue princeling. Gavin looked down at the man at his feet, the one he had first carried here to rest. “Goddess forgive me.” He drew in a breath and marched toward the only place he knew he’d be safe for the evening knowing he hadn’t enough time to bury them now.
Daimis.
The crescent moon hung high in the sky by the time Gavin approached the Sanctuary of Daimis, where all of his freed humans lived. The small village sat in the hills just south of Tatum, alongside Dead Run River, a place Gavin knew would keep them safe from surrounding vampiric cities. It was true, vampires couldn’t cross running bodies of water, but neither could undead beings, which was why Gavin had covertly purchased the lot. These humans had had a hard-enough life, and Gavin knew they needed peace—every single one of them. The villagers fished for sustenance and lived off the land, keeping away from Tatum, the Pits, and those that would re-enslave them.
Paper lanterns hung from posts outside yurts, illuminating a small, worn path for Gavin to follow. The tiny flames burst with light, splaying it throughout Gavin’s vision, an effect Dia had on darkness. Ever since his Ripper had awakened, light always played with him. His ears picked up sleeping breaths and the rush of the water to his left. The prince knew this area well and there was one person in particular that Gavin was anxious to see.
Rocks crunched beneath his dirty boots as he followed the path from between the tents up to the largest hill where a single home sat, overlooking the town’s gardens and the stone quarry beyond. Gavin had designed this layout himself and warded it to the sanctuary’s elder and leader, Imogen. Gavin’s heart thumped a little faster in his chest as he picked up his pace. Auntie Mo was the closest he’d had to a grandmother—an actual grandparent that cared for him—one that was alive and never judged or brought darkness upon him. The elder held a special place in his decrepit heart.
Gavin’s lips split into a grin as he spied the brightest lantern burning outside on the post. Flames danced with the evening air, lighting up the small circular hut and it’s lean-to add-ons as Gavin approached. Dew glistened on the tanned canvas, soaking the outside, running in tiny streams down the curtains. Gavin knew that the inside would be untouched as he pulled back the canvas and ducked under the doorway. He stood in the entrance, allowing his eyes to adjust before finding his voice.
“Imogen!” he called into the empty room. Imogen tottered from a connecting room with a lantern in hand. Its flames licked at the glass, stretching for Gavin, and cast an orange glow throughout the room. The old woman’s features illuminated, showing her long white hair that was expertly braided down her back, caramel skin that was rough with age and blank white eyes. Gavin smiled. Nothing had changed since he’d last visited. The yurt still smelled of cinnamon and vanilla, and small cushions formed a circle around a fire that poured smoke up to the opening in the roof.
“Aye, my boy,” the withered woman bid. “Is that my Gavin?”
“Yes, Auntie,” Gavin replied, walking toward the elder. He took the lantern from her feeble fingers and set it on the ground before scooping her up into a hug. His face nestled in the crook of her neck as he closed his eyes. Goddess, did he miss her. Waves of comfort crept over the prince, cradling him in its embrace. Gavin placed a kiss on Mo’s worn cheek and then, he set her down.
“Such a surprise!” the elder cooed, smoothing her dress.
“I’ve done something terrible,” Gavin admitted as guilt gnawed at his insides, building a cool, hard knot in the pit of his belly.
“Oh posh,” Mo replied, wobbling toward the firepit. Despite her milky eyes, the woman knew her home inside and out. She lowered down onto a cushion, crossing her old legs beneath her. “Come, sit by my hearth and tell Auntie Mo and the spirits about your indiscretion.”
“You know how I feel about all your spirits,” Gavin grumbled, following the elder. He picked up a long stick and stoked the fire before sinking onto a cushion next to the woman.
“You ought to believe, my boy. They see all.”
“Can they see that I’ve killed, Mo? That I’ve committed heinous acts and that I’ve enjoyed them?” Gavin’s voice cracked.
“Oh my sweet, Gavin. You did not kill. The Ripper inside of you did.”
“I am the Ripper.”
“Nay, you’re but a vessel it travels within. Gavin, you’re a child of the night. It is in your nature to destroy. And you will, you have, and will continue to do so. But you’re allowed to make mistakes.”
“I-” Gavin started, choking on the words, on the lump forming in his throat. He coughed, attempting to clear his anguish away. “I slaughtered an entire village.”
“Nay. The Prince of Blood did, who is apart from Gavin. You, you’re a good boy. Why just look around, look at what you’ve created, what you’ve given us. Gavin you saved us all. You gave us a place to call our own.” A tear slid from Gavin’s eye, silently making its way down his cheek.
“Daimis,” he croaked, clearing the phlegm from his throat, “cannot wash the blood from my hands, Imogen.” Imogen reached out, placing a withered hand atop his. Her warm, wrinkled fingers curled around his blood-crusted ones, giving them a squeeze.
“Aye, but Gavin, if you never fell, you wouldn’t know when to rise. We all make mistakes, my sweet, but it’s what you learn from them that defines you.”
“And what if I never learn? What if I can’t control this demon?”
“You will,” Imogen replied as she squeezed his hand again, before her blank eyes flicked to something Gavin couldn’t see.
Spirits.
“Is all well, here?” Gavin asked, c
hanging the subject. A chill crept down his spine, pebbling his skin as he watched the elder. Silence loomed between them before Mo’s shoulders slumped, and she released a sigh.
“There have been some attacks in the village.”
“Attacks?”
“Aye. Wolves taking people, biting them, trying to grow their numbers. The men have started fighting back,” Imogen replied, unfurling her legs as she pushed to stand up.
“Imogen.”
“Stay the night, sweet boy, and never forget that when you think all is lost, there is someone there to help you find your way back to grace,” Mo said. “We can talk more about the attacks on the morrow. This old woman is tired as of now.”
“I want to talk about them now,” Gavin said coolly, his words coming out harsher than intended. The elderly woman flinched before waving off his words. Gavin knew the discussion was done. If Mo didn’t want to talk, then he’d have to wait. He watched as she tottered off to bed and flicked his gaze back to the roaring blaze in the hearth. He was far from grace, far indeed.
As soon as Imogen’s breaths became easy and sleep took her, Gavin rose from his cushion and snuffed out the embers, leaving the yurt in darkness. He yawned, thinking about how he should take up Mo’s offer. Diamis needed his help. Hell, Elirion needed his help. Gavin closed his tired eyes and rubbed at his temples. What to do? Goddess, help him, and he let out a ragged breath before opening his eyes. Tatum was still a day’s journey, at best, and that was only if he traveled at top speed. Pushing the canvas curtain aside, Gavin stepped into the night.
Rose Bound: The Rose and King series Book 1 Page 7