Mature for CW: for non-con touch and inappropriate flirting

Though Jean sent Rowan a questioning look, he dropped the Coalition and Liszt clan talk, taking a swig of his drink before noticing Julien and three mortals approaching the bar. Behind them, Felix was still chatting with a few men in the crowd. His body language was tense, but it was hard to tell if it was the loud crowd or the company he was with. Regardless, Jean kept his eye on them as the woman with colorful hair and her two male companions eyed Rowan. 

“Well, hello,” the lady with vibrant pink hair drawled, leaving Julien’s side to approach Rowan. “You didn’t tell me you were in the company of such fine men, dear.” 

Julien gasped in fake offense. “Well, he may be fine, but he’s not the best company.”

Jean snorted behind them before sauntering away with his drink to attend to Felix. 

The two men didn’t seem to notice, instead fixated on an unamused Rowan. The pink-haired woman blinked up at him. “Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t mean that, right?”

Rowan glanced between Julien and the woman with a shrug. “I’m not.”

“Oh, come on,” she insisted, tilting her head to the side. “Don’t be so uptight; you could use a drink, couldn’t you?”

“No,” Rowan said plainly, focusing his attention on anyone but the woman who reeked of booze and something foul, most likely cigarettes. 

She hummed and stepped closer to him, the edge of the bar counter digging into Rowan’s lower back. “I bet you’re absolutely starved. And I’m completely willing,” her words slurred, in part because of the alcohol and from her incessant send of desire. None of which appealed to Rowan.

The lady set her drink on the counter before reaching a hand to his midriff. Placed against his lower stomach, Rowan resisted the urge to tense his muscles and flinch away from her touch. He gritted his teeth as her hands explored his waist, brushing against the exposed skin in a way that left a bad taste in Rowan’s mouth. 

He didn’t move, though, which irritated the tenth prince. His fangs poked through his lips in a snarl, sending her a disgusted look. She hadn’t noticed, too engrossed in feeling Rowan’s taut muscles. 

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private?” she said, batting her fake eyelashes. “Feed your appetite, muscle man.”

“I’m not here to feed,” he said plainly, attempting to pull away from the woman, pressing his shoulder against the prince, the counter bound to leave a bruise against his back. 

“Don’t be like that,” she mewled, her hand making its way up his scarred but luckily clothed side. He couldn’t resist twisting his torso away from her, which warranted a grunt from the prince beside him.

“That’s enough,” Julien said, swatting her hand away. “He said no.”

She scoffed, looking between the two of them. A flash of annoyance and disbelief crossed her face before her lips became a scowl. “Wow, good luck getting your fix now. You’re the one that approached us, bloodsucker.”

Her friends looked at her in shock at her outburst, quickly following her as she stormed away. Julien picked up her discarded glass and downed it in one sip, slamming it against the counter so that even the bartender jumped.

“Fucking idiot,” he sneered. “This is why I don’t bat for that team.”

Rowan held his glass to his lips. “You didn’t need to intervene.”

Julien rolled his eyes. “She was annoying; you told her to stop.”

“I could’ve handled it.”

“Not respecting your boundaries, major turn-off,” Julien said, watching as the disgruntled woman walked away with her friends. “A shame, the guy was a total catch.”

Rowan huffed, straightening the tight crop top. “You are still welcome to pursue him.”

“Not if his friends are like that,” Julien argued. “That in of itself is a red flag. The least he could’ve done was stop her from pulling that kind of shit.”

Rowan shrugged before picking up his drink, letting Julien ramble on about how annoying the group of mortals was. Julien ordered another drink and downed it before mumbling something about finding another willing mortal, leaving Rowan alone to his thoughts. The places the woman had touched his midriff still burned, the scar itching unbearably underneath Julien’s crop top. He caught himself reaching for the material, willing himself not to irritate the sensitive skin and focus on the drink before him. 

Jean had returned without the youngest prince and ordered water from the bartender. Rowan was grateful for the distraction as Jean leaned against the counter. Before Rowan could ask, Jean answered, “Felix is in the crowd. I can see him from here.”

“Good.”

“And Julien?”

“Finding a mortal to feed on,” Rowan said.

“How much would you like to bet on who his next victim is,” Jean joked. His eyes glazed over the crowd before settling on one corner of the room. “My bet’s on that bloke.”

Rowan set his glass on the table before trailing his focus on that corner of the room. Unassuming, the dark-haired man didn’t appear to be with anyone. He had his arms crossed against his chest and a stoic face that surveyed the crowd as if he was a bouncer. An embroidery of some kind rested on his chest pocket, impossible to make out from the bar. 

He didn’t resemble anyone Julien had sought before. “Why him?”

“Isn’t that his type?” Jean nudged Rowan’s arm. “An emotionally unavailable guy brooding in the corner?”

Jean laughed at his remark, but neither Rowan nor the people around them found it funny. Rowan particularly never understood why Jean insisted Rowan was the epitome of Julien’s type; Rowan had witnessed Julien’s “type” in bed with him more than he could count, and they never looked like him.

But as Jean went on about how similar the mystery man was, Rowan was preoccupied with following Julien’s steps. He was approaching that corner of the Blue Vein, almost a beeline to the man Jean had pointed out and, by the looks of it, had gotten the man’s attention. 

But not just the man in the corner had turned toward the prince. Instead, a few silhouettes in the corner or his eyes turned in tandem, eyes following Julien as if he was prey.

The hair stood up on the back of Rowan’s neck. Something was off-putting about the man. His eyes would look to Julien before glancing across the room, then the corner to his left. 

Not across the room, Rowan gathered as he followed his line of sight, finding another mysterious and brooding—as Jean would put it—figure in the corner. Arms crossed with a similar shirt—exact emblem placement. Rowan had a bad feeling that this wasn’t right at all. He looked to the first man’s left, only to find another. Then another. 

As far as Rowan could spot, six of them donned the same shirt with an emblem on the chest. Each corner and thorough-way marked by one of them. They weren’t bodyguards or any of the bar’s employees, which meant one thing.

Coalition. Rowan’s feet were already moving, dragging Jean by his upper arm away from the bar toward the princes.

Before Jean could protest, Rowan ordered, “find prince Felix; we’re leaving now.”

“Wha—“

“Coalition,” Rowan sneered under his breath. “They’re here. At least six. That man is one of them.”

Jean swore but weaved through the crowd of people. Rowan would have, too, if he hadn’t been so focused on keeping a visual on Julien. While his hair color was easier to spot in a crowd, the number of mortals, dhampirs, and vampires was not helping. 

The Coalition member in the corner hadn’t moved as Rowan neared the tenth prince, slipping between dancing mortals and blood-drunk vampires. He feared calling his name would attract more attention than necessary, especially if this Coalition member was a dhampir. While their hearing wasn’t as on par with a full-blooded vampire, it was still a possibility Rowan wouldn’t risk. Instead, he reached forward, his gloved hand wrapping around the bicep of the prince, halting him in his tracks. 

Julien turned and flashed his fangs until he realized it was Rowan. He then blushed as Rowan stood unbearably close to him.

“Oh?” Julien’s brows shot up as Rowan’s face neared his. The heat of their bodies, warmed up mainly by the surrounding crowd and club lights, intensified as Rowan’s lips were a hair away from grazing Julien’s cheeks. Tempted to give in to his urges and tilt his head, Julien remained still, an impossible feat as Rowan’s breath left a trail of goosebumps along his cheek and neck.

“While I appreciate the attention, your grip is too tight,” Julien said matter-of-factly. Rowan immediately lessened his grip on Julien’s arm, but only just enough. 

“We’re leaving,” Rowan said quietly, his breath tickling Julien’s ears. Rowan didn’t react to Julien’s sudden quietness, his eyes never leaving the mysterious man in the corner. “Coalition is here.”

Julien cursed under his breath. “And here I thought maybe you’ve come to your senses.”

“Senses?”

Julien rolled his eyes. There was no sense in elaborating on the proximity of Rowan’s lips or how Rowan’s gloved hands felt like a secured rope or restraint against his bare skin, which made him mad with desire. As far as Julien could remember, Rowan never showed interest in anyone before and certainly was not roused by any of the advances of women or men that had been in either of their presence. 

While in the beginning, he had chalked it up to Rowan’s constant need to play the part of stoic bodyguard, Julien wondered if it was something more. While calling their situation bonding was a stretch; Rowan had been less quiet and closed up around Julien in recent years. The side comments and sass undoubtedly meant he felt comfortable around the prince, right? But it was always the same unamused and unaffected guard no matter how elaborate, and wild Julien’s nightly activities became. 

Rowan’s hand squeezed Julien’s arm again, a reminder of their current predicament in the Blue Vein, dispelling Julien’s thoughts about Rowan’s attraction—or lack thereof. It would have to wait, not that Rowan would be likely inclined to tell him, Julien assumed. His guard was still a mystery even after all these years.

“Felix and Jean?” Julien asked, turning to scour the crowd, but Rowan pulled him into a group away from the outskirts of the club. 

“Jean will find him and reconvene outside.”

Julien pursed his lips, whispering back to Rowan in case anyone could overhear, “how do you know it’s the Coalition?”

Rowan reiterated what he saw and said to Jean to the prince, describing the emblem on their chest pocket. Away from the bar, Rowan could make out the logo; a bold black C encased in a blue triangle. Underneath, it looked like a patch with a name he couldn’t make out, even with his heightened senses. “While they don’t seem prepared to attack in a crowd like this, it’s best we leave before we find out.”

Julien gulped and nodded, but not without comment. “I just wanted to feed; I guess I’ll have to drink your shitty B+ blood bags when we get back.”

“You’ll live.”

Julien echoed him back mockingly. “Whatever, let’s go.”

Surprisingly, the main entrance to the Blue Vein was not guarded by any Coalition members, just the usual bouncers. Though promising, Rowan knew that at least four of them had a vantage point of the entrance, including the one that had his eyes on Julien earlier. 

Rowan removed his hand from the prince’s arm, hovering just above the small of Julien’s back as they walked past the crowd and headed for the doors. “Don’t look at them, pretend you—“

“Shit, they’re moving,” Julien said, his head whipping around to meet his guard’s unimpressed face.

“Keep moving,” Rowan chided, increasing their pace slightly until they headed out the doors. Thankfully there weren’t a group of Coalition members waiting for them, but Rowan knew better than to stop and dawdle. 

They continued down the sidewalk, hoping the mortal pedestrians were enough of a deterrent to provoke violence on the streets. But after a block of speed-walking, a shout from behind them garnered both Rowan’s and the prince’s attention. 

Behind them were not just four or six Coalition members but at least a dozen. Half on either side of the road, walking at the same speed. Julien cursed as they turned back around and continued to walk, Rowan thinking through a few different options.

After walking for another block, Rowan pulled Julien’s arm, tripping the prince as he yanked him back into the alleyway between a few buildings. Julien held back a startled squeak as he pressed his face into Rowan’s chest, the sound of rushed footsteps on the main roadway approaching them. They crouched behind some dumpsters, the puffs of smoke from the sewers aiding in masking their presence. Rowan only hoped it was only mortal members of the Coalition; dhampirs’ slightly enhanced sight and smell could easily track them down if they wanted.

“We’ll take the back alleys,” Rowan informed him once the footsteps faded. “Keep to the shadows.”

“What about my brother?”

“Jean and prince Felix are capable of finding their way home.”

Julien narrowed his eyes. “And if there are more Coalition members, and it’s an ambush?”

Rowan clenched his teeth before gritting out, “then we’ll see if their training has paid off.”

Julien sighed. “This is where you say I told you so, isn’t it? That going out was a bad idea and blah blah blah.”

“Yes, it is.”

Looking for something more light-hearted? Check out Love, on Read, a nearly completed novel about finding love in a coffee shop.  Links in bio <3