Rose Bound: The Rose and King series Book 1 Read online

  “You’ve wrinkled my sleeve.” Gavin glowered, reaching to smooth away the imperfections. Oliver let out a hearty laugh.

  “And if the fangbangers knew who their prince really was, I’m sure they would be miffed to find him hanging around bloodwhores, ghouls and werewolf mutts,” Gavin replied. Oliver fawned offense at his friend’s hateful words. Reaching his hand into the pocket of his sports coat, Gavin fished around for something to take the edge off. Cigarillos. His fingers fumbled with the small pouch he stashed them in. Unzipping the dainty bag, he pulled out his guilty pleasures. Raising the cigarillo to his lips, Gavin flicked a match to life and lit the end. He never used to smoke, but Gavin found that amongst the turmoil both within himself and the Underground, the sweet taste of the tobacco was the only thing that helped calm his nerves.

  Gavin’s body tensed and he slowly removed the cigarillo, watching as the ragtag wolf dodged an attack from the bigger werewolf. “You’ve killed them, you know,” Gavin said coolly, his voice low enough that no one around would be able to overhear them. A stream of white filtered out from the vampire’s parted lips. Ollie turned to face his friend, the grin that splayed on his lips moments before, now gone.

  “It’s not your job to save them, mate.”

  “If I don’t, then who will? You know damn well that Palmer and his ghouls will eat them. The vamps will only suck and fuck them, and the wolves act as though they don’t exist. Someone has to help them.”

  “And why does that someone have to be you, Gav?” Oliver asked, a worried crease drawing his thick golden brows together. Gavin rolled his eyes at his typical wolfish logic.

  “Because they have to have someone in their corner. There has to be order.” Gavin’s jaw clenched as he scanned the room, returning his attention back to the pits. The crowd was going wild, chanting for the hulking wolf covered in blood to snap the ragtag in two.

  “There is order, Gav,” Oliver replied, his gaze also fixated on the fight.

  Gavin remained quiet, knowing that nothing would change his friend’s mind. He was lucky Oliver was helping him at all. Maybe one day, he would open his eyes and seek justice.

  “Ollie, why did you fall?” Gavin asked a moment later, changing the subject. “You were bound to win.” He took another drag. The big brute of the man next to him shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

  “Eh, didn’t feel like it today, mate,” he replied.

  “You fucking bastard!” Gavin hissed and rounded on his friend, but Oliver only stared, as if he knew something Gavin did not, which made Gavin seethe with anger. He curled his fingers into fists and dug his nails deep into his thumbs. Oliver Case Dawson was one of the biggest werewolves in the circuit and Gavin knew it. Hell, everyone in the Underground knew it, which was why Gavin and a handful of others had bet on him.

  “I’d check how you’re speaking to me, Gav.” The low grumble in Oliver’s voice shook the surrounding tables—a warning that the vampire should let the topic drop. Puffing out his chest, Gavin let it fall in defeat.

  “Fine.” He knew it was his fault in the long run. Betting had become as natural to Gavin as breathing, and despite being a vampire, Gavin did have to breathe. If he hadn’t placed all of his coin on Oliver, then he wouldn’t have been as fucked as he was. He’d find another way to scrounge up the coin and buy some humans from Palmer.

  Gavin knew how to survive.

  He knew how to play politics and games. Releasing a sigh, Gavin leaned back onto a rotting pillar.

  The next fight was about to begin and the space around the pits grew in numbers. Chants and laughter rang through the air, the spectators growing rowdier with each passing moment. Bloodwhores hung on the arms of the rich, dressed in clothes that barely covered their assets, giggling and begging for a bite to quench their fix. Gavin scanned the crowd, checking for telltale signs that one of the rich would let their guard down long enough for him to pickpocket a coin purse. Or perhaps he could tap into his Ripper and use compulsion on a bloodwhore to do his dirty work. Either way, he’d figure it out.

  A flash of gold to his right interrupted Gavin’s thoughts. A curly head of blonde hair bobbed in and out of sweaty bodies, a beautiful sea of lush light in an otherwise colorless world.

  Rosalie Coston.

  Oliver elbowed Gavin in the ribs, causing the vampire to wince as a sharp pain radiated through his bones. He shot the werewolf a ‘fuck you’ glance and returned his search for Rose.

  “That lass is trouble with a capital T,” Ollie mumbled, but his words sounded muffled in Gavin’s ears as the blonde woman came into full view.

  Curvy and sensual, the petite vampire pushed through the remaining men in her path to stand in front of Oliver. What would a Coston want in the Underground? Gavin blinked, watching as Rose stuck her hand down her low-cut shirt and retrieved a dark red coin purse that hung around her neck. She lifted the purse over top of her head, smiling as she unclasped the crushed velvet bag and checked the contents inside. Clicking it shut, she lifted her ocean blue eyes to Oliver, flashed him a pearly white grin and handed it to him. “Here, I believe I owe you this, doll,” she drawled, her Elirion accent as seductive as it was authoritative.

  “Why thank ya, lass. My friend ‘ere was just busting my chops for losing.” Oliver smirked in Gavin’s direction, nudging him once again. Gavin rolled his eyes, biting back the retort on his lips, fighting to keep his temper in check.

  “Coston,” Oliver said, a smile beaming across his wild features. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “The best, for the best,” she replied. The woman’s gaze turned to Gavin and he stared into her piercing silver-blue eyes. Her rosy lips pouted as he found himself unable to look away.

  “Gavin Sinclair, do my eyes deceive me?” she purred, crossing her arms in front of her chest, pushing her bosom up until they nearly brimmed over her shirt. Gavin’s nethers jolted, feeding a hunger within him. Forcing his gaze away, Gavin glanced to the floor.

  A slight bout of shame washed over him. Of all the places in Elirion to find him, Rosalie had to find him here, at the bottom of the barrel scraping for scraps. Such a long fall from where she’d last laid eyes on him.

  “Oh,” Gavin coughed, blood rushing into his cheeks. “They call me Jagger, here,” he replied sheepishly, rubbing at his perfectly manicured neck. Her eyes roamed over him like a lioness sizing up her prey.

  “I see,” she replied, clicking her tongue against white canines. Rose lifted to her tiptoes, pulling the werewolf’s neck toward her puckered lips. A pang of jealousy nipped at Gavin as he watched Oliver lean in, allowing her to plant a swift kiss on his cheek.

  He didn’t understand it. He could have had any woman in the joint, hell in the kingdom, but this one was different. Rosalie was royalty and one of two of the highest born heiresses to Elirion. The pits, the Underground, the bloodwhores and wolves that fought for Palmer and all of the debauchery belonged to her family. Belonged to her.

  Rose raised her hand, cupping Oliver’s cheek. Her hand lingered for a few moments more than Gavin liked, and then she whispered, “You did well, Dawson,” before she flipped her hair over her right shoulder and turned on her heels, retreating back into the crowd. Oliver’s face was beet red when Gavin turned to look at his friend. Another tinge of envy swept over Gavin as his gaze drifted back to the disappearing head of gold. It should have been his kiss. His.

  When Gavin was sure Rose was far enough into the throng of gamblers not to hear him, he said, “How the fuck do you know her?” Oliver rolled with laughter, clutching at his toned belly. “And what did she pay you for?”

  The wolf beside him sighed, his amber eyes drooping lazily as he grinned and looked to where Rosalie had disappeared, “That, there is fine enough reason to lose a lousy mutt fight, cuts and all.”

  “She paid you to lose?” Gavin gasped, feeling the bite of darkness as it crept over him. The blonde beauty had purposely cost him. “Why?” he snarled.

  “Don’t know, don�
��t care. When something that looks like that asks you to do something, brother, you do it,” Oliver replied, wiggling his eyebrows. Rosalie had deliberately undermined him and in that moment, Gavin knew that she was onto his plan. The humans that he’d been buying had belonged to her. A chill ran down the vampire’s spine, a sensation he hadn’t felt in ages. If Rosalie knew, then how many others did and would she keep quiet?

  2

  Gavin

  “Alright, you arrogant ass. You’re buying food,” Gavin said and grabbed the wolf by his enormous shoulders, shoving him hard in the direction of the tables in the back. Lights flickered overhead, buzzing louder and louder the further the pair went from the pits and the bar; the noise of the fights muffled enough for them to hold a conversation. Slinging into the torn leather booth, Gavin immediately felt eyes on his back. Ignoring the urge to turn around, he beckoned for the nearest waitress.

  Dressed more like a harlot than anything else, with a skirt barely to her mid-thigh and a rack that caused her blouse buttons to scream, Gavin imagined the things he could do to her and the moans that would escape her lips as he plunged his fangs deep into her neck. He’d drink until he was satisfied, until they both were. Oh she’d let me too, he thought. She smiled and quickly scampered up to him, her dark ponytail bobbing in time with her steps.

  Though his looks were no mystery to him, it often took Gavin aback by the amount of attention his dark eyes and hair got for him. Women were drawn to his sharp cheekbones and mysterious persona like moths were to a flame.

  Oliver was the stark opposite of Gavin, with long unruly sandy-colored hair that was usually pulled back with a leather strap, olive skin, and dark amber eyes. Not to mention that he was double the size of Gavin, not in height, but in build. The girl barely batted an eye in Ollie’s direction. To most, Oliver appeared to be nothing more than a fighter, but Gavin saw him for what he truly was.

  “What can I getcha, lovely?” the waitress asked in a sultry voice, propping up on the table to poke out her chest. She glanced through dark lashes at Gavin, lust gleaming in the dark parts of her eyes. Gavin ordered another fried potatoes and whiskey with a shot of blood. “What do you want, Ollie?” Oliver was too busy looking the waitress up and down to reply right away.

  “Besides looking at the backside of this one, a steak, raw. Thanks,” he growled. The waitress jumped as though she was on edge and a phantom hand had grabbed her rear. Gavin was unsure if it was Oliver’s tone or the betting house in general that set the eerie tone. Gavin moved his hand to her cheek, peering into the mortal woman’s eyes. Her body slackened, eyes glazing over as Gavin spoke, “You’re going to leave now and put in our order. And when you return, you’re going to forget whatever sets you on edge. You’re going to leave us to ourselves and stop making eyes at me. Do you understand?” A thin veil glimmered in her irises, a sign that his compulsion had taken hold. The mortal swallowed and blinked slowly.

  “Right away,” she replied, shaking her head as she cleared her throat. She turned on her heels before running off, and Gavin turned his attention back toward his friend.

  “Mate,” Oliver began, a disapproving look settling in across his features.

  “Relax, you hulking brute, she wasn’t worth bedding and you know it.” Gavin slouched back in the booth, yearning for another smoke.

  “That’s not the point, mate. What’s so alluring about yer kind anyway?” Oliver pouted and followed suit, settling into his seat.

  “We’re hypnotic by nature. You know this. That’s why you love me,” Gavin goaded. Oliver sputtered a laugh.

  “I’d hardly say that.” His grin was wide and sinister, and Gavin couldn’t help but to return it. This was his friend. His best friend. The man who had picked him off the bar floor and made him presentable again after an all-night bender. He was the man who had fought off the vultures circling a newly fallen prince. He was the man who had given him a new identity. The man who risked everything to help him with his agenda. Oliver Dawson was his anchor.

  They had traveled to this wasteland by horse months back, both trying to escape a past they’d rather forget. The Pits, as it was known, sat along the edge of Elirion. The ocean was a stone’s throw away, but the only place worth a damn was the Underground bar and fight ring from which the town was named. Where the rich and the vagabonds gathered when the moon rose and the merchants slept. Palmer’s was the spot to be to bet and bed slags, to feast on bloodwhores who willingly gave blood in exchange for sex. It was said that a vampire’s bite was better than the act itself, though, Gavin supposed if it were true, more humans would live the unsavory lifestyle. Whatever you were after, you could find it here. It was exactly the place neither man should be.

  The hair on the back of Gavin’s neck rose on end, sending his stomach into flips. A cool sweat peppered his brow. His pulse quickened as the eyes behind him bore into the fallen prince’s back. Gavin sighed and fished in his pocket for his matchbook and cigarillos. He retrieved them and lit the end of one before lifting it to his lips. A puff of grey, clove smoke eased Gavin’s nerves, until the smoke was gone. When the prince could no longer bear being the phantom’s spectacle, he turned around in his seat.

  Across the poorly lit bar, stood a prominent shadowed figure, one that gnawed at Gavin’s insides. Something in his gut told Gavin to stay put, to not even acknowledge the presence of this stranger.

  Pulling the cigarillo from his lips, Gavin held the unlit end out to his friend.

  “Hold my smoke,” he grumbled, hardly waiting for Oliver to grasp it before taking a deep breath. Gavin let out a sigh as foreboding filled him. His instincts screamed for him to turn around and leave the cloaked being to the shadows, but Gavin ignored his internal warning and pushed forward anyway.

  “Jagger!” Oliver called, but Gavin didn’t stop or hesitate. His blood was pumping, rushing like a geyser, filling his ears. His heart beat faster, though most of the time it hardly pumped at all, and his fingers clenched into fists readying for a fight.

  Before Gavin could reach the table, the ghost was perched behind, a bookie grabbed Gavin by the scruff of his tailored shirt, flipping him around. He stared straight into a pair of vacant, dead eyes.

  “Let go of me. You’re fucking up my collar,” he snarled, flashing his fangs. A grin curled on the dead man’s cracked lips, exposing his rotten teeth. The prince’s stomach lurched as he peeled decaying fingers from his shirt and shoved the withered corpse away.

  “You owe great debts here, Jagger Mcfarland,” the haunting voice replied. One of Palmer’s ghouls. Great. Gavin grimaced.

  “Piss off, mate,” Oliver said, coming up behind the bookie.

  “Yeah, mate.” Gavin spat into the creature’s sunken face.

  “‘Fraid I can’t do that. Boss wants his coin. And his coin he shall get.”

  “Well, I’m afraid he’ll have to be disappointed.” Gavin shrugged and turned back to the figure he had originally been headed over to. All he found was an empty corner. The ghoul chortled.

  “Pay you will.” A deeper voice drew Gavin’s attention.

  “Sven,” Oliver chided, rolling his yellowing eyes, a color Gavin knew to mean change.

  “Dawson, Jagger,” the stout older ghoulmaster greeted the pair, “I believe you know how dire the situation is if I must personally make an appearance.” Sven Palmer was a full foot shorter than Gavin and a foot and a half shorter than Oliver. However, that did not mean he was a pushover or someone to take lightly. He was known to be bloodthirsty and ruthless. The leader of all things criminal. Sven Palmer was a force to be reckoned with and a profitable one at that. From bloodwhores to wolfsbane, if it was outlawed, Palmer had a hand in it. Nobody fucked with him and lived.

  “Give us some more time, Palmer, you bastard,” Gavin argued. His mind whirled. He knew if Palmer was there to collect that he was completely and utterly screwed. He had to think fast, but Gavin’s mind drew blanks.

  “I think I have been more than gracious with yo
u, Jagger.” He turned to Oliver. “You may be one of the best fighters and the best showman here, but that does not mean you can escape your debts which are racking up by the way.”

  Oliver snorted, folding his arms over his massive chest. This did not bode well. “My debts are paid you, greedy fuck,” he snarled.

  “Your debts are his debts.” Palmer nodded to Gavin. “He is your sponsor, after all, and if he owes, then you owe too. Now hand me my pay, mutt,” Palmer barked.

  Gavin watched as Oliver thrust his hand into his pocket where the coin pouch should be, coming back short. Gavin struggled to breathe. Nerves wreaking havoc in his mind, pain splintered through his temples. He stared at his friend; there was not enough there. As hands seized them, claws threatened to break Gavin’s skin as the ghoul stepped forward. “I will get my pay, gentlemen, and we’ll settle this now.”

  “And how do you propose we do that? I could rip your head from your body. That’d be satisfying,” Gavin replied coolly, a muscle in his cheek twitching. Palmer laughed, ignoring Gavin’s taunt.

  “I’ll spare one of you. Only after a duel in the pits. Seems fitting.”

  “We’re not fighting for our freedom,” Gavin hissed.

  “Ah, but you are. See, we could do this the easy way, the way I proposed, or I could just take your pet back to the cages where he belongs and end the issue permanently. Either way, I still get what I want.”

  “I swear I’ll kill you, you son of a—” Palmer held his hand up, causing the rest of Gavin’s reply to catch in his throat. The ghoul at Palmer’s side curled his fingers into a tight fist. The air whooshed from Gavin’s lungs as the dead man drove his fist deep into the prince’s gut. Gavin’s knees threatened to buckle and delicious pain stirred the beast that had started to awaken within.

  “Gentlemen, please, remember, my house, my rules. Now, you’ll each fight. The winner will be pardoned and the loser will die. I say it’s a win-win.” Leering through his winded haze, Gavin and Oliver both scoffed. It was hardly a win. And to fight his best friend? Was Palmer out of his goddessdamn mind?