A/N: enjoy <3

“Again,” Rowan demanded, sweat dripping down his chest and back. He raised the practice blade against Jean’s blade. Both guards preferred a shorter blade, but practicing with a longer and heavier weapon was excellent for dexterity and agility. 

Felix and Julien were not amused at their impromptu training session, evident by the glares they sent the guards from the bench on the sidelines. Felix had participated, though, sparring with Jean a couple of rounds before settling on gossiping with Julien, who refused to participate.

Jean was worst for wear, welts forming along his arm and exposed side from a few failed feints. He bumped Rowan’s blade aside, holding a hand in surrender as he caught his breath. “I’ll pass. Next time.”

Rowan frowned but lowered his sword. He wouldn’t have minded spending another few rounds, but it wouldn’t have benefitted the princes to waste all of their energy, especially when Rowan hadn’t fed in nearly a week. Though he’d be sated with a blood bag twice a month, the threat of the Coalition made him reconsider his feeding schedule. 

Most mature vampires only needed to fully feed once or twice a month from a human to survive, but for Rowan, feeding from blood bags meant frequent drinks. He’d at least need one or two bags a week to stay in top condition if an attack on the Rosenthal manor was to occur. 

His fangs dared to peek through his gums as he thought of the blood bags back in Julien’s room. All of which were B+ blood, the only blood Rowan enjoyed the taste of—Julien never understood Rowan’s pickiness, but it meant more B+ blood for Rowan.

“We’ll train tomorrow,” Rowan told Jean. “The princes should practice as well.”

Julien waved his hand as if to swat the idea from the air. While Felix didn’t look thrilled at the idea either, he agreed.

“I want to hit up Blue Vein,” Julien announced as the guards placed the practice swords away. “Find a hot human while I’m there to feed.”

The Blue Vein was a popular club catered to anyone from vampires to dhampirs to wolves and humans alike. It was notorious for its private rooms for feeding and sex—right up Julien’s alley. Rowan hated the place, though he’d hate to admit they served excellent beverages.

“Going to the Blue Vein is exactly what we should be avoiding,” Rowan said. 

Julien crossed his arms. “Yes, but that’s what the Coalition is expecting. Keeping us locked up in the manor with our guard up. At least if we go out—it doesn’t matter what club, I suppose—we could gain intel on them. Surely some vampire or dhampir has heard something about the Coalition’s activity.”

Jean raised a brow before nudging Rowan’s side. “He does have a point.”

Rowan scowled. “There’s also a chance the Coalition will be there to get intel on us.”

Felix stepped in line with Jean. “Then again, it’s a pretty inclusive club; most of the mortals there seek us out to be fed from. I doubt humans in the Coalition would be willing to have hungry vampires and dhampirs bearing down their necks. They’d probably hit up other clubs first.”

“This is why you’re my favorite sibling,” Julien said with a smirk. “Let’s go.”

“I’d advise against this,” Rowan insisted, but Julien had wrapped his arms around the other two’s shoulders. 

Julien glanced over his shoulder to look at his guard. “I’ll even buy you a drink.”

“I shouldn’t. I’m working.”

“You’re always working,” Julien said dryly, letting go of the younger prince and reaching for his guard. “Just one drink.”

Jean spared Rowan a glance. “We’ll be there if anything happens; it should be fine.”

Rowan glared at him as they turned the corner toward their rooms.

“Oh, come on,” Julien drawled, practically dragging Rowan’s arm down. “When’s the last time you’ve left this damn manor for a feed?”

It had been years since Rowan’s allowed himself to feed from a consenting mortal, which had been out of obligation when blood bags were scarce during a mission away from the estate. “A blood bag will suffice.”

Julien groaned. “Well, I’m starving and honestly wouldn’t mind a drink after that family reunion.”

“It wasn’t that long,” Jean remarked behind them. 

“Long enough that I want to get drunk,” Julien said. 

Felix rolled his eyes. “I’ll take a blood bag before we go. The last time I drank on an empty stomach, I could hardly leave the bed.”

“It wasn’t fun,” Jean stated. 

They reached their adjacent doors, letting the princes enter their rooms before the guards followed them inside. Julien was quick to tear his closet apart, finding a suitable outfit for the club he typically frequented. Strewn haphazardly on the unmade bed, Julien stared and messed with the different pieces before settling on one. Rowan had made a beeline to the mini fridge stocked with B+ blood bags. He had a few in his room, but most days and nights were spent watching over Julien, so it made more sense to leave them here. He pulled one and set it on the side, just as Julien approached him with a few questionable-looking pieces of clothing. 

“Sheer or v-neck?” 

Rowan was as knowledgeable about fashion as a fish knew how to fly. Though the black sheer was less revealing, the bedazzling would attract just about anyone under the sun—not the wisest when Julien was likely a target for the Coalition or Marlon, as Ivan suggested. The white ruffled v-neck was less flashy than the sheer top but was definitely distracting in its own regard. Julien had worn it a few times, and each time he did, Rowan found himself staring at just how exposed Julien’s chest was in that shirt. 

Both options seemed like a trap, but Rowan had to pick his poison. “The v-neck,” he said finally. The pleased smirk on Julien’s face made Rowan second guess himself, but it was too late; Julien was pulling his shirt off and sliding the sultry white fabric over his skin.

Rowan evaded his gaze when he found himself distracted, but Julien closed the distance between them.

“Please don’t go to the club in that,” the prince pointed at Rowan’s worn garb. “Wear something like this. It’ll definitely attract a willing mortal.”

Rowan didn’t see anything wrong with his normal high-collared black shirt. Though it was drenched from sweat, he had multiple pairs of the same shirt he wore around the estate most days. With straps that carried his weapons and gloves to hide his scarred hands, it made the most sense to wear something like this. “It’s practical.”

Julien made a disgruntled sound before holding up the thin and sheer material. “Yeah, but nobody will want to approach you when you look like some scary assassin. Wear this.”

He held the material up, seemingly too small for Rowan. Was this even a shirt?

“I don’t believe it will fit,” he said, staring at the sleeve he could make out. “I do not fit your clothing.”

“Even better,” Julien said. “Tight is in. Come on.”

“It’s safer if I keep the blades on me,” Rowan explained. “We shouldn’t be going out in the first place with the threat of the Coalition.”

Julien groaned. “Coalition this, coalition that. Live a little.”

The corner of Rowan’s lip raised, his left fang exposed.

“Don’t flash your fangs at me,” Julien snapped back. “We’ll only be out for a little while, alright? It won’t take me long to find someone willing to bare their necks out. I’ll bring them back to the estate if it’s easier. Let’s hurry this up before Felix, and Jean ditch us.”

Rowan sighed as Julien turned to tear his clothes from his drawer, hoping to find something else suitable for his guard. While most of the clothes were obviously too small for Rowan’s stature, Julien finally found a black top and tossed it at Rowan’s face. 

Rowan looked at it questionably, but Julien shooed him away to the bathroom. Rowan detached the straps and knives from his everyday outfit and inspected the thin shirt Julien had given him. While Julien was comfortable stripping his clothes in front of anyone, Rowan preferred changing in the bathroom. The burn scar along his left ribs was a painful reminder of his past that he hated showing anyone.

Spending a few failed attempts at figuring out which was the arm versus neck hole of the shirt, Rowan slipped it on, the fabric tight in the shoulder and upper chest area, but it did fit. A long-sleeved turtleneck that was cut short in the stomach. Of course, Julien had picked a fitted and cropped shirt for Rowan to wear. 

Tempted to remove it and slip the sweat-drenched shirt back on, Julien’s knock at the bathroom door interrupted him. “They’re ready to go; let’s go.”

Rowan slipped his knife holsters back onto their original places before stepping out. Julien nodded in approval before walking out of the room to meet with Jean and Felix. Rowan grabbed the blood bag before following the three, carefully tearing the port to extract the blood. It was a messier way of feeding off blood bags, but Rowan didn’t have time to savor the blood in a glass as the two princes and Jean walked briskly down the hall. 

The taste of the blood coated and soothed Rowan’s throat, his fangs eagerly peeking out from his lips as he let the thrum of his senses heighten. Though most vampires and dhampirs got drunk off the feeling, often overindulging their bloodlust, Rowan would instead savor it, keeping his mind as focused as possible to prevent his mind from making rash bloodlust-induced decisions.

None of the staff paid them any mind as they left the premises, quite used to Julien’s little adventures into town. Though a few did send questioning glances at Rowan’s new outfit, one that Jean couldn’t help but laugh at even as they made their way into town.

—

The Blue Vein was as busy as ever, much to Rowan’s dismay. Not only did the crowds of drunk mortals and horny vampires irritate him to no end, but Julien quickly disappeared into the crowd, dragging a less-pleased Felix into the middle of the dance floor. Jean stuck by Rowan’s side, watching the princes find a spot to linger before loitering near the bar. Jean ordered a draft beer while Rowan stuck to a soda. The last thing he needed was to lose Julien while drinking in a crowd like this.

Ivan would stake him if he lost Julien in a club near the estate. 

“To think he convinced you to wear this is hilarious, you got to admit,” Jean leaned in for Rowan to hear. Rowan’s eyes were set on Julien’s white attire across the room. He regretted his decision to pick the v-neck; at least with the sparkly top, he’d be easier to spot amongst the crowd.

“He was adamant I change out of assassin attire.”

“Assassin is putting it lightly,” Jean mocked before gesturing to his more muted clothes. “I have one knife on me; what do you have, four?”

“Six.”

“Geez, Ro. Don’t you think that’s excessive?”

Rowan turned to give Jean a drawling look. “Better to be prepared if the Coalition is here.”

“I doubt it, but they’ll be safe. We’ll both be there; other vampires and even dhampirs are regulars at the club. They wouldn’t want trouble for anyone here.”

Rowan hummed. “Still risky.”

“Anything can be risky, even staying in the Rosenthal estate is risky at this point.” Julien took a sip of his beer. “Hell, they could be any one of the staff members.”

Rowan glanced around them before whispering, “it could be a non-Coalition member.”

“Someone not affiliated with them? Why would they do that? The Rosenthal’s are one of the most powerful families; who’d mess with them?” Felix’s voice rose, sparking Rowan to silence him with a stare.

Rowan chose his following words carefully. “Lord Ivan suggested it’s likely someone who has left before. Is that even possible?” 

“A few have left our clan for others. Often times they return to their family’s clan or whoever turned them. Why?”

Rowan ignored the question. “Of their own volition? Or for malicious intent?”

Jean frowned, lifting the glass to his lips. “None have been stupid to attack us, I suppose. Aside from the threat of the Coalition, I doubt any clan would be gutsy enough to try and dismantle the Rosenthal’s—“

His face paled as if remembering something. He downed his drink before flagging the bar staff for another drink.

“Jean?”

“I have heard of another clan,” Jean told him quietly. “They are fairly newer, not nearly as powerful as ours; rumor has it the coalition is after them too.”

“Why would they target a smaller clan?”

“Not small,” Jean corrected. “They have a significant number of vampires and dhampirs in their ranks. The problem is that most are aggressive, known criminals who have been turned or stray vampires who were shunned by their clans. They’ve grown incredibly fast and strong; I doubt the Coalition will appreciate having another clan to threaten the mortal’s livelihood.”

Rowan took a sip of his drink, his gaze scanning the crowd for the two princes, who were still occupied around naive mortals. He couldn’t bring up Marlon’s name; it was too dangerous in a crowd, even if he trusted Jean with his life to keep it a secret between them. But if Marlon was associated with this clan of misfits, it would mean more than just the Coalition was an issue, as Ivan had suggested.

“They have a lord?”

Jean nodded. “Liszt. Oscar Liszt”

Rowan’s glass nearly slipped from his grasp, his reflexes kicking in just in time to prevent shattered glass and attract the nearby bar staff and guests’ attention. 

It was a name he had never wanted to hear again; the name that belonged to a face he wished was wiped from his memory. 

“Marlowe?” Jean’s voice was warbled, but it was enough to prevent the memory of a burning home resurfacing. He was not a Liszt anymore, Rowan reminded himself. He refused to associate with the man who had taken everything from him. He was a Marlowe, a son of a lower-class woman, not the son of a now dangerous clan leader. And certainly not a man that could ruin everything he had going for him again. 

“Liszt,” the name was bitter on Rowan’s tongue. 

“You’ve heard of him?”

“No,” he lied. “I haven’t.”