Rose Bound: The Rose and King series Book 1

by J. J. Marshall

  The crystalline decanter he’d dropped was cleaned up. Watching the amber liquid slosh around the sides of the glass, the smokey smell welcomed him like that of an old friend. He lifted the brim to his lips, feeling the familiar burn trickle down his throat, swallowing the contents before pouring himself another. Glass in hand, he sank into an armchair before the fireplace and stared into the dark. Soon, footsteps echoed down the hall, ending at his open door. Gavin didn’t need to turn to see who it was. He already knew they’d both followed him, whispering as though he couldn’t hear them. Ollie stepped into the room, followed by the alluring Rose, his bride-to-be, who turned to shut the door.

  “Change your mind about the drink?” Gavin asked, setting his aside as he fished in his pants pocket for a cigarillo and his matchbook. Raising the smoke to his lips, he flicked the match to life, relishing the taste of cloves on his tongue.

  “Since when do you smoke those, mate?” Ollie asked, his voice low as he rounded the chair and sank onto the sofa.

  “Since you died. I’m going insane right now, aren’t I? You’re not really here.”

  “I’m as much here as that cigarillo you’re sucking on.” Gavin sucked a long drag before passing the smoke to his friend.

  “Why her, mate?”

  “Huh?”

  “Rose,” Gavin clarified. “Why’d you fuck her?”

  “I had to stake my claim on her. I had to try.”

  “Why, though?” Gavin gritted out, releasing tendrils of wispy smoke between his parted lips.

  “Perhaps, I should leave,” Rose replied from behind the two.

  “Perhaps, you should,” Gavin snarled.

  “No, love, please stay,” Ollie intervened, shooting his friend an irritated look.

  “I’d rather not be part of the ego bath that is about to unfurl.” Rose crossed her arms under her breasts that Gavin couldn’t help but to notice were peeking out from the top of her shirt.

  “Oh, it could be a party alright,” Gavin slurred, raking his gaze up and down her body, drinking in her every curve before turning his gaze back to Ollie. “Answer the fucking question, Dawson.”

  “I can’t, mate. I can’t explain it to you,” Ollie replied.

  “I’m still here, you pompous asses!” Gavin saw Rose’s fingers curl around the crystal ashtray sitting on his nightstand. She pulled her arm back and launched it toward Gavin’s head. Gavin effortlessly lifted his hand and let it spin around his index finger before setting it on the side table and dumped his ashes into it. “Thanks, dollface. I needed that.”

  “Listen here you self-righteous ass! If you hadn’t gambled and whored all your coin away, none of that shit back there would have happened!”

  Gavin sprang to his feet, rippling with anger. Ollie followed suit, stepping between Gavin and Rose. “Gav,” Ollie cautioned, pressing his palm to Gavin’s chest.

  “What?” he snapped, momentarily glancing down at his friend’s hand and back to his face. “What the fuck, Ollie. Like I haven’t thought of that! I don’t need Mistress Obvious over there to tell me I’m the reason my best fucking friend is dead!” Ollie looked taken aback. “I don’t need more people to tell me I messed up, no matter how goddessdamn sexy they are. I kick myself in the ass enough! I fight with this demon every single second of the day! I don’t need a reminder.” Heaving a sigh, Gavin fell back into his chair to hold his temples, cigarillo perched in his mouth. “You know, it’s really fucking frustrating to see your best friend die by your own hand while you smile about it, all the fucking while, all you can picture is a blonde head of hair and sappy blue eyes.” His voice was heavy, the whiskey and cloves taking hold.

  “But, Gavin, I’m not dead, mate.” Ollie’s brow was furrowed as Gavin studied his face.

  “I saw you die. I crushed your windpipe. And now, somehow, you’re here before me and you fucked my bride,” Gavin snarled, closing his eyes as the room around him went still.

  “But—”

  “Just leave me to my insanity.”

  Part II

  Light

  She felt the magic ripple, breaking its hold on them before cracking, spider-webbing all around them. Darkness streamed through the fissures and the bars of light that separated good from evil shattered.

  Her eyes widened, watching as he stepped forward, rubbing his hands together as a wicked grin spread across his face.

  “I told you, Sorceress. I have won.”

  17

  Gavin

  Ghosts haunted Gavin. Ghosts his Ripper had created. Ghosts that could laugh and drink and smoke and bed his girl. Ghosts that knew his secrets. He was losing his damn mind. No matter how many times Ollie had told him he wasn’t going crazy, Gavin knew otherwise. He’d watched the fear cross his friend’s face before crushing his windpipe. But the Ollie that sat with him, just moments before, insisted he was alive.

  Impossible.

  Gavin pinched the bridge of his nose, taking steadying breaths as he sorted out his thoughts. He sure as hell didn’t know what or who to believe.

  “Ay, mate. I did screw the lass.” Gavin opened his eyes as Ollie shot Rose an apologetic look. “But you have no claim on her.”

  “Actually, I do.”

  “Excuse me?” Rose asked, arching a brow as she rounded the sofa and took a seat next to the wolf, draping her legs over his. Gavin’s eyes lingered on the intimacy of their touch. The fact that they were even touching was driving him insane. Groaning, Gavin began to tell Rose all about the meeting that had happened earlier that day. How the covens had chosen her sister as his betrothed, but in wake of her absence, Rose was chosen. His eyes flicked to the feathering muscle in Rose’s jaw.

  “They can’t do that!” she snapped.

  “They can and they have. It was either you or Lorelei Bloodworth.”

  “And I was the better choice? Actually,” she huffed a breath, “I will take a drink right about now.”

  “Bloodwhore or alcohol?” Gavin asked.

  “Brandy.” Pushing from his seat, Gavin crossed the room to the bar and uncorked a bottle he had saved for the exceptionally rough days, pouring the contents into two small rock glasses. He settled the cork back into place and returned to his phantom company, handing the drink to his little minx.

  “Gavin?” Rose asked.

  “Hmm?” he replied, sinking back into his chair as he lifted the glass to his lips.

  “I know you think you’re going crazy and that we aren’t real, but I assure you, we are very real and we have some very important things to talk about.”

  “Well, by all means, talk.” Gavin took a swig of his drink wishing it were something more hearty. Wishing it were whiskey…

  Rose looked uncomfortable as she pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from the bag at her side. Ollie wrung his hands impatiently when Gavin took the outstretched note and read its 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 words sank in his stomach, twisting and taking root, sending shivers spider-walking down Gavin’s spine. His eyes snapped up from the note, searching for an explanation.

  “What the damn hell did I just read?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Rose replied. “It obviously is speaking about your parents in the first line.”

  “Stop,” Gavin seethed. “It’s speaking about me. They died because of me.”

  “They died because some asshats killed ‘em, mate. Not because of you,” Ollie interjected.

  Gavin stood and began pacing before the fireplace, reading the note over and over again. The sympathizers are dead. Okay, his parents had been murdered. For it is far time a new coven sits upon the throne. A threat. Someone wanted him and his family off the thr
one, and to take Tatum for themselves. Northpass is gone, Conquered by the night in the name of Chaos. He knew that much. His Ripper had torn through the village destroying it and as a result, he’d spent his first few days in Tatum trying to drown out the pain he’d caused with whores and booze. We take Tatum at dawn. We. Take. Tatum. At. Dawn.

  Who the fuck is the “we” the note referred to? That much he needed to figure out. If Gavin could nail that down, then he knew he could find out who led the rebellion and end it before it got much, much worse for his family.

  * * *

  Hours passed as the sun peeked above the horizon, streaking rays against the dark wooden floorboards as Gavin paced. The rock glass in his hand sloshed with what little bit of brandy he had left, swirling like the information in his brain. He’d spent the rest of the evening walking in circles only to be left empty-handed. Ollie and Rose had grown weary of him reciting the note over and over and retired to the guest wing of the castle, leaving him entirely alone with his thoughts. Gavin’s eyelids burned as he scanned the contents of the note once again, halting when a small knock sounded at his door.

  “Yes?” he called out, watching the door crack open and a sleepy Aurora poked her head in. Her hair was a mess of knots as she rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Dried drool stained her chin and the hem of her baby pink nightgown skimmed the floor. Gavin set his glass down on the nearest table and strode to his baby sister, pulling the door open as he kneeled down and scooped her into his arms; a sliver of peace to ease his heart.

  “What are you doing up so late, little one?” he asked, pecking a kiss to Aurora’s cheek.

  “The shadow men are back. They woke me up, like they did when Momma and Papa joined the stars.” A chill ran down Gavin’s spine. His baby sister’s words woke something sinister within him. Shadow men?

  “Tell me about these shadow men,” Gavin said gently, kicking the door shut before walking the both of them over to the couch. He set Aurora down and began tending to the hearth, watching as flames roared to life around the logs. Reds and oranges and hints of angry blues licked at the charred wood, emanating heat.

  “They only come when the castle is asleep.”

  “And what do they do?” Gavin asked, his brows knitting together.

  “They search.”

  “Aurora, does Declan know about this? Does anyone else know about this?”

  “No.” Aurora shook her head, yawning. “Declan doesn’t like to listen to me.”

  Gavin’s heart ached again for his sister. “What do they search for?” Gavin pushed.

  “They told me it was a secret. “

  “Then why are you telling me?” he mused, taking a seat next to his youngest sibling. Aurora lifted her eyes to meet his.

  “Because I don’t want you to become a star too,” her little voice replied. Gavin’s lips perked up, betraying the ice that filled his veins. His expression softened.

  “Come here, my sweet girl,” he said, pulling her into his lap as he wrapped her in a warm embrace. Aurora’s head rested against his chest. “You don’t have to ever worry about that. No one is going to take me away from you. Not Declan, not the covens, and definitely not some shadow men.” Gavin closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet smell of his baby sister’s hair as the two of them sat there in the quiet, relishing one another’s company until the sun was high in the sky.

  18

  Zachary Coston

  “I told you! I wanted the girl dead!” Coston hissed into the hearth, pacing his guest chambers. The entire plan was becoming an outright mess and if it grew any nastier, he’d have to get his own impeccably clean hands, dirty.

  “I-I’m sorry, sir,” the voice on the other end sputtered. Coston sucked in a breath, feeling his anger grow within him. His jaw tensed as he licked at his fang. Fire roared with life before him with the high sun, heating the room to an uncomfortable degree. Sweat beaded his brow, dripping salty liquid into his eyes. Zachary grabbed at the handkerchief in the breast pocket of his blazer and dabbed his face. He’d spent the entire night howling into the flames, sorting out business, and soon, he would need to leave his chamber and attend meetings. Despite it being the ‘middle of the night’ for his kind, Zachary knew that humans operated during the day. His absence would bring unwanted attention to his unsavory plans and he couldn’t allow that.

  “Get your ghouls on the same page. If there are any more mishaps, I will steal a Bloodworth Pegasus, fly back to the Pits and gut you myself.” Silence rang through on the other end.

  “Understoo—”

  “Oh, Daddy,” a female voice rang through, cutting off the ghoul kingpin’s words from Zachary’s ears. “Must you always be so vivid with your threats?”

  “Dahlia,” he huffed, exasperated. “I placed you in charge of all of this.”

  “Yes, but you also sold away my throne to Rose.” Dahlia’s wispy form pouted, crossing her arms over her chest within the fire.

  “I did it to teach you a lesson. If the Sinclairs had been killed properly, all of them, then there would’ve been no reason for me to give away your rightful place.”

  “But, you did,” Dahlia sneered from the other end. Coston dabbed at his face once more. He walked to his window and cracked it ajar, allowing a midday’s breeze to chill his skin before he returned to the fire.

  “I saved you from a loveless marriage. I thought that was what you wanted, so that you and—”

  “Do not say his name,” Dahlia warned.

  “Dahlia, kill the Sinclairs at all cost or I will punish you and Palmer, myself. Am I clear?” Reaching for the poker, Coston snuffed the fire, ending the conversation. His blood boiled beneath his skin. How dare Dahlia question him after everything he’d done for her? After even allowing her to hole up with that ‘pet’ of hers.

  Walking to the wardrobe, Coston pulled out fresh clothing. He stripped, discarding his used ones and dressed. He was late. The covens ran meetings at all times, something that would change once the Costons took the throne and freed Limos from his prison. Everything would change then. Reaching for the door handle, he yanked it open before entering the hall, not bothering to close it behind him.

  If his daughter failed him… things in Tatum would get bloody.

  Dahlia

  Dahlia rapped her fingers along the smooth wooden chair of her office, listening to the crackle of the fire. The hearth near her desk roared with life, glowing as the magic dust burned away the remnants of her conversation. Shelves of alchemy books lined the dark interior, keeping her office quiet and otherwise, dark. Echoing thuds outside her door piqued Dahlia’s interest as she crooked a brow but remained seated. Palmer’s office was located directly across from hers in the dungeon and she suspected he had gotten rough with some of his men after the tongue-lashing she and her father had given him.

  Her blood-red lips curled into a sneer as she stared at the wolfsbane strewn along her desk. Every color and variety the realm had to offer, twisted with magic, sat glittering in the low light before her. She had always been fond of purple bane, known in Elirion as the Kiss of Death for its potency. The Wolfsbane trade was her and her father’s exclusive work, a network of illegal substances that rendered the werewolves useless but gave them an incredible high. Purple was of her own making, a concoction so vile that it rendered the wolf, nearly dead. Not many tried it, but those that did, were instantly hooked. Dahlia had networked her way into the grimiest corners of the realm and acquired some nasty enemies with other races including the Hunters. But she never feared them. Once her wolves were hooked, they protected her; ate right out of the palm of her hand. Wolves such as the lustrous Conan. Her Conan.

  Dahlia sighed, relishing in her lovely memories. She hadn’t expected to fall for a wolf, hadn’t expected to employ one either, but Conan had mated with her, an imprint bond that deemed her untouchable within the Wolven communities. She was his, and his alone. And though Dahlia had over time grown to love their bond, she knew that upon her arrival in
the Underground, Conan could be nothing more to her than a fighter. It was the way things had to be… for now. At least until she took the throne.

  Dahlia’s father had been adamant about killing the Sinclairs, which of course she had. She’d sent Palmer’s ghouls in to take out the king, but to leave the children alone. Premeditated murder, she could handle, but cold-blooded child slaying, was another. She wasn’t going to harm children, regardless of their social standing, but she also knew that the death of the king and his soul-tethered wife would bring the Prince of Blood home. And then her real plans could commence.

  Dahlia knew she would be no match for the prince. She didn’t care enough about fighting to get strong. She had magic, thanks to Dia. All she’d had to give up was that which she loved most. Dahlia knew that if she waited and played her cards right, she could have both, and Gavin would fall right into her hands.

  Staring down at the purple petals, Dahlia’s black nails pinched the stem of one and brought it to her face. She inhaled a deep breath, allowing the fragrance to calm her energy. The bane wouldn’t hurt her, couldn’t touch her due to magic. The price she paid for potential... Her lips curled into a wicked grin as she inspected the petals.

  Such money could be found in but a small flower. Money and power. She cared more about the substance business that rendered wolves to her beck and call. To hell with her father’s agenda, if she could get the Pits and Tatum’s wolves hooked on the stuff, then she could take Gavin’s throne by force, with a werewolf army.

  “Gavin Sinclair,” she purred, twisting the stem between her thumb and forefinger. “Wait until I get my claws in you. Perhaps, I ought to poison you with a bit of Monkshood. Maybe a Kiss of Death? Perhaps, you’re immune?” She took a pause, to contemplate. “But, the puppy at your side has a weakness to exploit, and I know just how to do it,” she sneered. Pushing from her chair, Dahlia strode to the door and yanked it open.