Oliver was a hulking brute, one of the best damn fighters Gavin had ever seen, but he was better. He’d cheated death once and embraced her with open arms, drinking in her darkness.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Palmer’s ghoulish voice rang. “From the hand that gives to the hand that takes, I expect payments to be made in full. Each and every one of you betting this evening knows the rules. You know my rules. Come up empty and your debt will only be forgiven… at a cost. This evening, two of our very own have decided to learn that lesson the hard way.
“I have a treat for all of you. A debt must be repaid. So, without further ado, from the pits of Elirion, to the whore houses, to your hearts and wallets, I give you Dawson!” The crowd erupted into applause and cheers as the gates on the other side of the pit opened to reveal Ollie, glistening from head to toe in sweat, clothed in nothing more than his undershorts while his hair was knotted in his typical bun. Ollie stalked into the pit, kicking the sand up behind him. He looked up to the rails, howling at the crowd and waving his hands in the air. If Gavin wasn’t on the other end, he would have been smiling, laughing even at his friend’s attempt to win bets. But he was on the other side. Soon there would be bloodshed and one of them would be left a corpse.
“And last but not least, the man of the hour, the man that takes what he does not have. A fallen prince, if you will. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Jagger!”
Gavin’s heart thumped wildly against his ribcage, threatening to break free. Just the word prince, so trivial, was enough to shake him. Sucking in a breath, Gavin clenched his fists at his sides and walked from the tunnels into the pit opposite of Ollie. The crowd fell silent. The eerie quiet where one could hear a pin drop.
He was not what they were expecting, and he couldn’t blame them for their shocked expressions. It was unheard of for a vampire to battle a werewolf this unceremoniously. This kind of fight warranted grandeur that was not present today. No, today was not grand, but rather, a spur of the moment event. One Sven Palmer had likely been dreaming of since the two started frequenting his establishments. But now, Gavin would have to kill his best friend. And for what? A pouch full of coin and Palmer’s entertainment?
Ollie deserved better.
“Ah, two friends on opposite ends of the pit. What will the outcome be, folks? Place your bets! But remember! If you don’t want to end up like these two, pay up!” Palmer’s voice chilled Gavin to his core. He was teaching his betters and bookies a lesson. He was not to be crossed.
Pawns. That is what he and Ollie had been reduced to. Anger welled anew in Gavin’s chest, spilling into his eyes, changing their chocolaty color to something more sinister. They would rival that of even Limos.
Across the pit, Oliver’s face was made of stone. A spark of sadness in his eyes, the only sign that this was anything other than a regular match for the brawler. Gavin doubted wholeheartedly that Oliver would transform during their confrontation, but there was always the instinctual change that was uncontrollable. Gavin hoped, for Oliver’s sake, that neither change would occur.
To either one of them.
Briefly, Gavin wondered what Palmer’s slimy ass would do if they both just stood there. What would he do if they refused him in front of his spectators?
A blonde head caught his attention in the stands above, tearing him from his thoughts. Rose.
Her presence made all of this so much worse. She was about to see the worst in both of them. What would she think of him? A murderous bastard who would bring down his own friend?
It wasn’t confidence that made Gavin fear he would be victorious. It was what lay within him. He feared his Ripper would be the end of Ollie. Bloodthirsty and cruel, Gavin’s instincts began to take hold as the werewolf started to move toward him. At first, it was a hesitant waltz between the two. One stepped one way, the other stepped another. Back and forth they danced, throwing jabs that they refused to land. Gavin ducked to the right as Ollie’s fist swung to the left. He circled his friend, crossing his feet as he took steps, ever the agile predator.
“Alright ladies, enough fiddling around!” Palmer thundered, magnifying his voice with only a thought. Gavin took a deep breath and shook his head.
This was it.
Ollie
Knots curled in Ollie’s stomach, coursing guilt through his veins. Anguish spread across his face as his heart pounded in Ollie’s chest, threatening to burst free of his ribcage. This was the man he’d sworn to follow until he was seated on the throne. And now, he was about to tear him to pieces. Or try to.
Oliver knew his strength was nothing compared to that of the Blood Prince. A legendary murderer in a life long past, the prince was a ripper if there had ever been one. He waited for the first glimpse of red to appear in his friend’s glassy eyes, knowing the sleeping beast within him was simmering beneath the surface, yearning to break free. The knowledge that it would take over and what that would mean for Oliver weighed in his chest like lead.
Ollie didn’t want to watch this unfold, but he would put up as much of a fight as he could. He feared who would change first, and one of them would surely transition. Ollie lunged, rearing his fist back before swinging at Gavin’s jaw. Gavin sidestepped, dodging Oliver. A smile crept across Gavin’s face.
“Cute, Ollie. But I expected more from a regular brawler.” The air buzzed with life around Ollie before Gavin curled his fingers into a fist and swung. Ollie pushed back, feet digging into the dirt, barely dodging his friend’s attack.
Damn it! Ollie thought. He was still incoherent from the bane little- miss-trickster gave him, though he knew he was also at fault. His own demons were already aching for more.
With Gavin’s god-like speed, he reappeared behind Ollie. Oliver turned, coming face-to-face with the vampire, catching a glimpse of what he could have sworn was impossible for the immortal prince. A single tear slid down his stony alabaster face, dropping from the tip of his nose. Ollie could see it clear as day. The werewolf swallowed down the lump of emotions that formed in his throat and refocused. He had to lose the fight, but to lose meant death. Was he ready to die?
No, his mind screamed. Ollie never imagined dying at the ripe age of twenty-four. He always assumed he would pass, surrounded by his pack and their pups, not like this and not at his best friend’s hand. He had to give it his all. And if he perished, at least then he knew he had gone down with all that he’d had.
The sluggishness of the bane had not dissolved enough for him to control his emotions. Chemical reactions told the wolf he should be enraged. Oliver allowed anger to emanate from him. Anger at being imprisoned for so long. Anger at Palmer for inciting this brawl with him and Gavin at center stage. Anger for all the hate he received for just being who he was.
A werewolf.
A dog.
A monster.
Ollie attacked again and this time he made contact. Pain erupted through his knuckles like fire. A horrid crunch resonated from Gavin’s jaw as blood sprayed through the air. Gavin’s eyes widened, his body frozen in place as Ollie delivered a kick to the vampire’s gut. Ollie knew that he’d fractured a rib as Gavin hurled through the air, sailing back into the rock walls of the pit. The crowd roared. Gavin staggered to his feet. With a sickening crack, he reset his jaw and spit blood into the sand before lunging forward.
First blood.
Gavin
Agony rippled through Gavin like scalding white fire as the monster within stirred. Red flashed in his eyes as hot, sticky liquid poured from the gash in the back of his head down his shoulders. Gavin’s fangs clipped his lower lip, dripping with venom as he shot Ollie a devilish grin. He felt the change almost immediately. He had battled up until this point, but with blood came the overwhelming need to spill more.
“Bad move,” he snarled, bolting toward Oliver with immortal speed, driving his shoulder into the wolf’s belly. The pair fell to the ground and Gavin was atop his friend in seconds.
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. Ollie’s yellow eyes widened, fear gripping his features as he feverishly dug at Gavin’s unyielding hand.
“I’m sorry, brother, I win,” he said, his grip tightening on the wolf’s throat. Ollie’s eyes bulged, his complexion growing purple. Gavin looked up at him, his arm trembling. “I’m so fucking sorry,” Gavin whispered, breaking through the Ripper’s grasp on him momentarily. His voice broke as he swallowed and the Ripper tore back into Gavin’s consciousness. Releasing Oliver from his grip, he slammed the wolf onto the ground.
* * *
Dust peppered the air in a cloudy haze. The ground shook, cascading debris from the ceiling in a steady stream. Gavin flexed his jaw, fangs aching from the kill, wanting the tang of blood on his tongue.
Shaking the high off, Gavin’s heart sank. He had done exactly what Oliver had told him would not happen. He had let the Blood Prince out to play. Caging the beast within came easier than usual with the sobering view of his dead friend, lying in a lifeless heap in front of him. Something about this seemed too easy. Oliver shouldn’t have fallen so effortlessly, even for the Ripper. Ollie should not have fallen so quickly.
Gavin took tentative steps toward the body. He stared down into Ollie’s paling face before falling to his knees. The wolf before him ceased to move but the urge to kill still ran rampant through the Prince of Blood. The cage Gavin had built seconds earlier shattered at the sight of Oliver’s blood, but a part of him remained, allowing Gavin to feel the weight of what he had done.
“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Palmer’s voice boomed from the sidelines, tearing Gavin’s attention away from Ollie’s broken body. “It seems we have a winner and a very dead loser. Such a pity. Dawson was a good fighter, one of the best.” Palmer turned his attention toward Gavin, his gaze cold and hard as if studying the vampire prince, but Gavin refused to budge. He would kill Palmer and release all of his fighters of their debts. Steeling himself, Gavin chose to focus on the roaring crowd above and raised both fists into the air before letting out a victorious howl of his own. He could play along if that’s what Palmer wanted. For now.
“The King of Blood, ladies and gentlemen. I give to you the new King of Tatum!” Palmer’s voice reverberated through the betting house, striking a chord in Gavin’s chest.
His eyes widened as he pulled in another breath, trying to steady himself. What did he mean by king? Palmer turned, a smug look gliding across his undead features as his squad of ghouls picked up the body lying in the dirt. Grunting, they hoisted Ollie into the air, seizing his arms and legs as they crept back into the tunnels. The crowd erupted with cheers once more, but Gavin’s blood ran cold as ice through his veins. Something was very wrong.
“Your parents,” Palmer said, jumping down from his precarious perch and coming close enough to Gavin that he could smell his rancid, hot breath, “are dead.” It came out as a deathly whisper just for him. Denial rang in Gavin’s ears, finally and truly sobering him. Palmer was a vial trickster, surely this was just another way to play with his head? And yet, he knew who he really was. His true identity.
Gavin blinked before his anger and grief consumed him. Ollie and his parents were dead because of him. Everyone he held dear suffered.
Something inside him shattered, forcing Gavin back to reality. He moved at immortal speed, fleeing the pits and down the tunnel, snatching his torn shirt from the ground. He raced through the underground betting house toward the door that led out into Elirion. He needed to get back to his coven before the realm fell into the wrong hands.
His mind swam with thousands of thoughts as his body propelled him forward into the night. But the pain, he would not let it in. Not now. He, nor his kingdom, could afford for him to fall short if Palmer’s declaration was true.
Gavin’s legs burned, begging for him to slow his pace, but he pushed onward. The trees blurred around him as he passed, each one holding their own secrets. Gavin had always hated the Forest of Knowing, had always dreaded going through it on his way home to Tatum. Hallucinations lured all his demons to the surface, and although he should have been used to seeing the Blood Prince’s victims by now, Gavin still couldn’t stomach his crimes. Each vacant face drenched in scarlet blood with a gaping hole in their neck where their windpipe should be.
So many ghosts to haunt him, all brought to life by the magic of these trees.
“Enough,” he hissed. “The dead will stay dead. Do not follow me, demons of the night. I’m protected by the goddess’s blood!” Slowing, Gavin fell into an easy step, attempting to catch his breath. He’d invoked his grandmother, Celeste, goddess of the Night, to shield him from the hauntings. Her Darkness shrouded the prince, warding off his phantoms, and the Forest of Knowing remained eerily silent.
A rustle of leaves stirred in the breeze that kissed his cheeks. Crows cawed overhead, their silhouettes taking shape against the moonlit sky as the tip of a knife pressed into Gavin’s back. He stiffened as blood began to ooze beneath his tattered shirt. Every nerve throughout his body screamed to unleash his Ripper, begging to tear out his attacker’s throat. Gavin inhaled sharply, breathing in the scents of cedar and lilac as his attacker spoke.
“The dead will always speak from their graves, but will you?” the assailant asked in a confident female tone. Exhaling, Gavin whirled around, allowing the knife’s point to drag against his muscled torso before he wrapped his hands around her blade. Blackened blood began to seep from his palms, but he ignored the stinging pain.
“How many of you are there?” he asked, keeping his voice low so that only the girl could hear. She, to her credit, remained firm, smirking as her eyes locked onto Gavin’s.
“Enough to kill you and your coven.” Twigs snapped as more bodies came into view, engulfed in the shadows of the trees. Gavin’s nostrils flared, his jaw set. He ground his teeth as he fought against the call for blood. They were women. Every last one of them. Gavin shook his head, not knowing whether to laugh at the notion of a gang of women bandits or at the fact that they were trying to jump him.
“Ladies,” he said, casting his gaze around the forest, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. “Surely, there is enough of me to go around.” He thought of Ollie. That was what his dearly departed friend would say. A scoff sounded from the girl in front of him.
“Fucking disgusting, your kind,” she hissed as the blade cut deeper into Gavin’s hand.
“Tora,” one of the women called. The bandit turned toward the voice. It would be enough for him to escape and Gavin knew it, but he continued to hold firm on the blade. Letting the pain smother some of his bloodthirsty thoughts. Letting his scent squander that of the women around him.
“Let him go. The Black Widows have no reason to bid war with him. He is clearly distraught already.”
“Silence,” Tora snapped. “Don’t ever question your queen!” Gavin heard whispered responses slither all around him.
The woman who had spoken coughed, as she emerged from the throng of bandit women. “Tora Belle. I am still your mother regardless of whatever self-proclaimed title you have thrown on yourself. Now, kindly remove the knife from this man’s flesh.”
Tora huffed a loud rough breath and pulled her dagger up, slicing deeper into Gavin’s hand before wiping the black goo on her tanned pant leg, smearing it with pride. Her eyes shone deviously, but she remained silent as the older woman’s words choked her own away. Women in pants were a new sight for Gavin. The ladies back in Tatum wore only the finest dresses and skirts, well, except for Lorelei.
When he took a step as if to leave, Tora whipped around, slinging her long black braids around her shoulders. “Where do you think you’re going, bloodsucker?”
“Well, ya’ see ma’am,” Gavin drawled before his voice deadened, taking on a harsher tone, “I was hoping to leave.” As if these woods weren�
�t creepy enough, now Gavin had to deal with a mini band of bandit women. He rolled his eyes, setting his jaw as his tongue flicked over his fangs in frustration. He had to bite back his words. Something about these women rang death. Power given only by those that had killed. A power Gavin knew all too well.
“Is that judgment I see in your eyes, vamp?” Tora waved the blade around in the air, juggling it from finger to finger as she spoke.
“Judgment? Hardly.” Gavin was growing more and more agitated the longer he was confined in this estrogen circle. “Let me go.”
“Why should we do that?” Tora snapped.
“Tora,” her mother chided. Tora shot her a ‘wither and die’ look before turning back to Gavin.
“Give me one good reason why? You seem to be on the run, which means there’s probably a hefty bounty on that chocolate head of yours?” A sly smile curved the corners of her caramel lips.
“Speaking of delectable candies, your skin is the perfect shade of deep imported toffee. M’lady, why if you were to tame that unladylike spirit, you could be the belle of the ball.” Gavin placed his uninjured hand to his chest. The Bandit Queen scowled and rolled her eyes.
“If I ever see you in my forest again,” Tora hissed, coming within inches of Gavin’s face, “I’ll fucking gut you and string your innards from the trees as a warning to all those who cross the Black Widows.” Gavin bit back the retort that played on his lips, having wasted too much time already. He waited for the Widow to make her final word.
“Oh, and one more thing,” the Bandit Queen added. “Those spirits you see will never rest until you join them.” With that, she turned and disappeared into the trees with the gang of women in tow. Gavin puffed out a breath. Sure, he could have used compulsion to free himself of the bandit, but he had more important things on his mind. The women disappeared almost as quickly as they came, leaving Gavin alone once more with the Prince of Blood breathing down his neck.
Rose Bound: The Rose and King series Book 1 Page 4
