Rose Bound: The Rose and King series Book 1

by J. J. Marshall

  “Ollie,” Rose said from his side, holding out her hand to stop him. “I smell blood. So much blood.” Her muscles stiffened.

  “I know, lass,” he whispered, halting in place. Rose turned, her eyes widening. Elongated fangs poked past her cherry lips, dripping with venom strong enough to kill him with a nick.

  “Ollie, that amount of blood… there’s so much… I don’t know that I can...” she trailed off, unable to finish her thoughts.

  “Aye, lassie, I know,” he repeated.

  “The amount of rage it would take to produce that—” Rose shook her head, her face twisting in pain. Lost in horror.

  “Gavin’s been here. They call him the Prince of Blood for a reason.” Ollie’s eyes flicked to Rose. He heard her heartbeat quicken, roaring in his ears.

  “His Ripper is almost as bad as Celeste’s,” Rose replied. “Or so I’ve been told.”

  “Aye, lass. That it is. And with Gavin’s emotions being his driving force, the demon within him easily latches hold of his pain, twisting and poisoning his mind. “He’s told me time and time again, and I’ve watched firsthand as it nearly consumed him.” What little color Rose had drained from her face as she turned to fully face Ollie.

  “I don’t think I can go up there, Dawson.” She swallowed hard.

  He knew how hard it was to fight against one’s own nature. How hard it would be to fight the fiend within her. Rippers were born of tragedy. Would so much destruction trigger one in Rose? Reaching for her hand, Ollie entwined Rose’s fingers within his own, giving them a reassuring squeeze. He swallowed back the fear creeping through him and met Rose’s gaze with confidence. He would ground her, tether her to him and be her strength. Rose’s pale blue irises begged for him to take the lead.

  “You’re not alone,” he whispered. “I’ll be right beside you, every step of the way, lassie.” And with that, he walked forward, trudging up the hill with Rosalie Coston in tow.

  Bodies. So many bodies lined the cobblestoned road of Northpass Village, running a river of crimson through the narrow crevices. Ollie’s stomach churned, twisting and knotting as his measly meal of squirrel threatened to reappear. Each human in a line of broken muscle and bone with their throats torn out. Bile lurched up the werewolf’s throat as he emptied the contents of his stomach. He knew it would be bad. Rose stood at his side, pulling back fallen strands of his hair as vomit catapulted out of him.

  The little town he’d fallen in love with, the place he wanted to make his home someday, lay in ruin. How many new ghosts would haunt his friend? How many demons would spawn from the life spilled?

  Gavin had taken the time to lay them out respectfully. He had folded their arms over their chests and closed their eyes. There was a start of a grave at the beginning of the row to Ollie’s left. He briefly wondered if Gavin had planned to bury all of these poor people.

  Though the body count was high, Ollie’s heart relaxed a fraction knowing Gavin had pulled himself out of his murderous reverie enough to show remorse and respect to these people.

  “Ollie,” Rose gritted out between clenched teeth. “We need to move. I need to move out of here. Please.” He should have known by the tone of her voice. He should have moved. Should have followed the vampire’s pleas to leave, but Ollie stood rooted in place.

  “Dawson,” Rose groaned. Ollie tore his attention away from his thoughts, turning to face the woman he had so much longing for. Her eyes shifted from lapis lazuli to dark purple as the bloodlust settled in. If they didn’t move, he would be her only living prey. If they didn’t move, Ollie would die.

  Grabbing Rose’s wrist, Ollie surged through the town. Lanterns flickered in the windows of homes as they passed. Flames that should have been snuffed, roared with life. The pair pushed onward, stopping when Ollie’s eyes fell suddenly on a little girl with her throat torn to shreds.

  Gavin, what have you done?

  “Daw-” Rose began, before the wolf cut her off with the flick of his wrist.

  “Go, Rose. Get out of this town and wait for me on the other side. I need to check something out.” Rose turned to look at Ollie, her gaze nearing the darkest shade of blue. Her eyes bore a craze to them that raised the hairs on the back of Ollie’s neck. Was he too late? Rose’s fangs oozed purple venom down her chin as they protruded from her lips, a feral look etched into her porcelain features.

  “Rosalie,” he snarled, watching her eyes flick to his. “Go!” Rose was gone in a flash, moving in a blur as she left Ollie alone in a town full of ghosts.

  It was the right thing to do though. Without worrying if Rose would snap, Ollie could search for clues in the wake of Gavin’s destruction. He’d known the Ripper would surface from Gavin’s pain, but he never imagined this. Ollie looked up at the sky as if it would speak to him, feeling small pricks of rain as they fell to his face. The sky wept for the fallen, mixing with his own anguish. Oh goddess.

  Taking a shuddering breath, Ollie kneeled beside the murdered child. The scent of copper and decay stuck in his nose. Ollie bowed his head and reached out to smooth her hair.

  “Rest easy, little one,” he whispered. “May you fly higher than the clouds. May your soul soar with the ancestors and Artemis’s embrace. May the pain of this life leave you and treat you better in the next.”

  Ollie fought against the tears that pricked in his eyes. He pushed to his feet and turned away. His chest heaved, ragged breaths tearing through his body. Tears fell down his olive cheeks in streams, dripping from his nose and face. Ollie wiped them away with his fingers and turned to face the vacant home before him and opened the door.

  It was nothing spectacular, though nicer than his living quarters back in the Underground. Ollie stood in the living room, sparsely furnished with natural wooden chairs and a kitchen table. The wolf’s brows furrowed, finding it peculiar to have kitchen furniture in the living room.

  Giving his head a quick shake, he closed the door. Natural light was scarce in the home, lighting only through the one window that sat next to the front door. The pitter-patter of rain fell harder in the streets, washing away the gore that befell Northpass.

  Ollie scanned the home, noting a bed big enough for a family, a wood stove, and brick flooring that stepped up to the living room and kitchen. His eyes fell back on the kitchen table, on the letters that appeared strewn about and the ink pen that sat dry upon the page. Walking to the table, Ollie withdrew the letter scanning the contents.

  The sympathizers are dead.

  For it is far time a new coven sits upon the throne.

  Northpass is gone.

  Conquered by the night in the name of Chaos.

  We take Tatum at dawn.

  The rebellion has begun.

  The rebellion has begun? What in the—what? Ollie pinched the bridge of his nose trying to make sense of the words. Were the covens rebelling against Gavin? Were the humans rebelling against the vampires? Nothing made sense. Crushing the note, Ollie thrust it into his trouser pocket and opened the door. Water splashed from the cobblestones onto his pant legs. His hair clung to his face, drenched. Ollie’s tunic was soaked in seconds as the rain poured from the heavens. His skin pebbled against the cool air, but Ollie didn’t seem to notice. His mind whirled over the note and its contents.

  Whatever evil lay ahead was coming for Tatum and he sure as hell wasn’t going to have Rose be a part of it. Tilting his head up, Ollie sniffed the air, catching Rose’s scent and ran.

  16

  Gavin

  Rose.

  He had chosen Rose? Why hadn’t he fought to hold the ceremony off until Dahlia was found? Sure, it left the kingdom without a technical ruler, but Gavin knew that between him and Declan, they could handle the day-to-day decisions.

  Rose. That sly little minx had lost him his coin, guaranteeing his fight in the Underground that led to Ollie’s death. Gavin gnashed his teeth together, flexing his jaw. He didn’t know if he could ever face her. There was so much history between them. So much that he�
�d buried in the past, now trudging up. He knew he’d hurt her when he’d chosen Lorelei. Would Rose forgive him or condemn him? She knew what he’d done, after all. Would she be able to chain the Prince of Blood? Raking his hands through his hair, Gavin stood in the Council room long after the meeting ended.

  He supposed the council meeting could have been worse. The covens could have demanded that he marry Lorelei. Hell, they’d tried that, and thankfully, Lord Bloodworth had been shot down. But now his past was staring him straight in the face. Every kiss, every whispered word, every tear shed, haunting him like the Ripper’s victims. A shudder ran down his spine. Fuck.

  Gavin closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, sucking in a breath. He needed a goddessdamned cigarillo. Racing through his mind was a golden halo bobbing through the Underground crowds. Rose had been cunning enough to survive the Pits, running bets in the Underground, and dealing with the likes of ghouls. But would she be enchanting enough to win the hearts in Tatum?

  Gavin opened his eyes and fished in his pocket for his matchbook and smokes. Pulling them free, he lifted a clove cigarillo to his lips, lit the end, and took a deep drag. He closed his eyes, relishing the taste in his mouth, the burn in his lungs as he released a puff of grey smoke from his parted lips. He peeled his eyelids open and walked from the Council room, up the staircase toward his room.

  Gavin felt the guilt of Ollie’s ghost closing in on him as his legs moved faster toward his chamber. He couldn’t let anyone see him vulnerable, most of all, Lorelei. His door was in sight as pain shot through his chest, making it hard to breathe.

  Ollie…

  Gavin’s legs moved faster, halting in front of his chamber door. His fingers curled around the cool knob, twisting as he hurled the door open and flew inside.

  He had gladly and unforgivingly destroyed his best friend; the memory of it seared in his brain.

  He reached out, his fingers curling around Ollie’s neck, forcing the air from his windpipe. The vampire pushed to his feet, lifting the beast with him, his arm screamed beneath the wolf’s weight. The Ripper within Gavin didn’t seem to mind the strain as Ollie’s yellow eyes widened. Fear gripped his features as he feverishly dug at Gavin’s unyielding hand.

  “I’m sorry, brother, I win.”

  He won. He won… nothing! He’d won a lifetime of guilt and damnation. Oh goddess, what had he done? What had he become? Gavin clutched at the tightness in his chest, feeling dread course through his veins. His breath hitched; his eyes widened. He needed his vices; needed to drown out the pain, numb it with everything and anything he had. His eyes flickered to the whiskey decanter on his nightstand. He quickly moved; the nightstand was before him in the blink of an eye. Gavin reached for the decanter. Pulling the stopper free, he lifted it to his lips and took a swig. The whiskey burned in his mouth as he sloshed it around before swallowing. The smokey taste singed his throat and did little to soothe the ache in his chest.

  Ollie was his voice of reason in the storm. The lighthouse in the dark. Without his best friend, his lifeline to humanity, who would he become? What other monstrosities would his Ripper cause without a ground? Surely, Rose couldn’t quail his inner demon. Such a woman would probably balk at the idea of blood and murder. Assumptions tended to doom him as of late though.

  Before his thoughts could take him to very dark places, the wooden doors to his chamber flew open with a bang and a very wet, very irritable sentry walked in.

  “What?” Gavin snapped, twirling the crystal decanter in his fingers.

  “S-sorry, my lord.” Water dripped from the sentry onto the dark wooden floors. Gavin grimaced, flicking his eyes to the drops staining the precious wood.

  “Were-w-wolf,” the sentry stuttered. Gavin’s eyes shot up toward the door. Looking past the sentry, he dropped the whiskey from his fingers, hearing it smash as he bolted for the grand foyer. Air couldn’t come fast enough as he lunged down the winding staircases.

  It couldn’t be.

  Two steps at a time, he bounded down until he was in the stone and marble hall that led to the grand entrance. Gavin paused, trying to even his haggard breaths. His chest heaved and his lungs burned. He took a tentative step forward and could hear the steady hum of Declan’s voice from around the corner.

  “What are you doing here, mutt? Don’t you know where you stand?” A hushed male voice answered him back, too low for even Gavin’s ears to interpret. Whatever was said, however, had steel releasing from sheaths. Squaring his shoulders, Gavin strode around the corner.

  “What is the meaning of this, Declan?” he asked as cordially as possible. He could feel Declan’s animosity from where he stood across the room.

  “This street dog wants to barge in here and—” Gavin held up a hand, cutting the words from Declan’s tongue.

  “Dog?” he asked. Declan nodded, stepping aside as Rosalie Coston emerged from the rainy doorway with Ollie in tow. Her blonde hair clung in wavy strands to her face. Rose brushed the strands away and stepped in front of the wolf, using her small frame as a shield.

  Silence fell.

  Gavin’s heart stopped as he placed his hand over it. Pain stabbed through Gavin’s knees as he fell to the floor. His vision blurred before bright red lips, piercing lapis lazuli eyes, and that ungodly golden halo of hair met him all over again.

  “My lord!” the sentry yelled, rushing to his side, pulling Gavin to his feet. Gavin’s eyes locked with Rose’s. Heat radiated through his cold body as Gavin took a step forward.

  “H-hello, Heiress. Welcome home.” Gavin’s voice was rough as he bit back the emotion that threatened to poke through and Rose’s eyes fluttered to the side.

  “This,” she gestured around the castle foyer, “is not my home. And I am none too happy about being left in the rain while being berated by a princeling with his ass on his shoulders.” Her voice took on a matter-of-fact tone that Gavin hardly had the gusto to challenge. It had been a long day. A trying day. A gust of stormy wind caught Rose’s hair, wafting her scent his way as Gavin sucked in a deep breath. His eyes widened, his brows arched. And then Gavin, the Prince of Blood, saw nothing but red.

  His gaze flicked past Rose to the wolf behind her. All the hatred, self-loathing and sadness were replaced with a possessive anger he’d never known.

  “Gavin… Now, please… Listen to reason, mate,” Ollie said, raising his hands out before him in submission. Gavin’s fingers curled into a fist. Red flashed in his vision, tunneling as he pushed past Declan and Rose, facing Oliver Dawson. Gavin raised his fist and with blinding speed collided it with the wolf’s face, sending blood spurting across the floor.

  “Ah fer fuck’s sake, aye!” Ollie cursed, his hands flying to his bleeding nose.

  Rose’s face became hard steel. “What in the actual hell is wrong with you?” Gavin simply stalked off, bloody knuckles and all, leaving the rest of them to sort it out. Bristling with energy, Gavin stopped short of the stairs leading back to his chamber hall.

  “Gavin, look at me.” An all too familiar voice drew his gaze ever so slowly. Gavin thundered down the hall and slammed his fist into the man’s gut and then his nose again. Gavin’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Tears filled his eyes as he looked down at the man hunched over before him.

  Kill him!

  “O-Ollie?” he stammered out.

  “Yea-yeah, mate.” He grunted out in pain as his palm cupped his nose, oozing with blood.

  Kill him, you fool!

  A sob erupted from Gavin’s throat as Ollie straightened, tossing sandy-colored hair over his shoulder, blood leaking from his nose. “Did ya have to hit the schnoz? That’s the moneymaker, ya know?”

  Gavin sucked in a ragged breath, pushing the Ripper down. His eyes crossed, his vision blurring as the reddened tunnel disappeared. Gavin rubbed his eyes with the base of his palms before gazing upon his dead friend, alive, in front of him. His first reaction was pure rage. Smelling another male’s scent on Rose thre
w him off-kilter. Then, he recognized the scent, flooding him with relief and shame. Staring at him now, Gavin couldn’t bring himself to be angry. That would come later, much later.

  “Um, what the actual fuck, you guys?” Rose’s voice cut through his thoughts. The Prince of Blood ebbed in his vision again, beckoning Gavin to set him free.

  Kill him! Make them pay!

  Gavin gritted his teeth and kicked out, side swiping Ollie’s legs from under him. The hulking form of his friend crashed to the floor.

  “What was that fer?” Ollie spouted.

  “You know damn well what! You fucking prick,” Gavin sneered. “I need a damn drink. You?” He nodded to Rose. She shook her head.

  “Well I need whiskey,” Gavin muttered. Pushing past Rose for yet the second time, Gavin left, trudging up the staircase.

  “What was that all about?” he heard Rose ask Ollie.

  “Nothing I didn’t deserve, lassie.”

  Gavin smiled despite himself. He could feel the heat of her blue eyes on his back as he retreated up the stairs. Blood had stained his cuffs, and he wanted nothing more than to strip it off and drink himself into a stupor. He paid no mind to the sound of footsteps behind him. Ollie’s presence worked its magic on his mind, lulling the beast to sleep for a bit longer. Reaching his chamber, Gavin unbuttoned his linen shirt and tossed it to the floor. He crossed his chamber to the small private bar he’d had installed to entertain his female guests and poured himself a drink.