A/N: enjoy <3

While vampires naturally felt cold depending on how hungry or fed they were, the chill in the air was usually colder than either Rowan or Julien had anticipated. 

In Julien’s defense, he had assumed they’d just be partying it up in the club where the body heat of very intoxicated mortals and vampires alike would be warm enough. Not in a dank alleyway with all too revealing clothes that did nothing to shield their bodies from the cold. 

But because Rowan hadn’t complained about the freezing temperatures, Julien bit his tongue; after all, he was the very one to blame for even visiting the Blue Vein in the first place. Not that he’d admit he was wrong, though he did admit Rowan was right. 

“Completely different things,” he insisted when Rowan asked what the difference was.

Rowan didn’t try to understand the prince’s logic, instead focusing on a proper way back to the Rosenthal estate without attracting the attention of the Coalition, a task more difficult than he had imagined.

The measly six members had quadrupled in size, scouring the streets for vampires to kill, most likely Julien. Fighting six off would be challenging but doable. At least two dozen? Rowan would’ve needed to drain a mortal and trust that Julien would be able to coerce at least half of them and fight alongside him. And even that was pushing his luck. 

Rowan led Julien in and out of alleyways, further disorienting Julien that he had no idea which direction the estate was at. Occasionally he could hear the bustling sound of mortals on the main strip or what he thought were footsteps behind them, but there was no option of turning back to check with the speed Rowan was moving in. 

Rowan flashed his fangs as he heard the footsteps entering a shorter alleyway. Luckily, far enough that he could sort out some plan. He led Julien behind a smelly dumpster, which made Julien want to hurl. Rowan slipped a knife from a holster, extending it to Julien wordlessly. 

The prince took it and nodded, testing its weight. Julien wasn’t as skilled as Rowan or Jean in utilizing a knife, but it was for the best if the two sets of footsteps turned into more. 

As the footsteps halted for a moment, Julien had let his guard down, his arm accidentally knocking over a metal grate that had been propped against the building. He cursed silently as the two footsteps headed straight for them. 

“Go,” Rowan directed. Julien left the safety of their cover, putting considerable space between them before Rowan left their spot too. The Coalition members eased their pace, watching them as Rowan stood between them and Julien. Rowan couldn’t see any backup on the street behind the mortals, which was a good sign. He could manage two.

Both mortals were young, and without the weapons and equipment around their waist, Rowan would’ve assumed they were harmless. 

It was clear from their stance and the determination on their face that these were not just curious Coalition members. They were here for blood, and not in the way vampires sought it in the Blue Vein.

Their weapons were steady and raised, poised directly at Rowan, but their eyes told a different story. Both mortals narrowed their eyes, pinning a death glare on the prince behind him.

This wasn’t just about targeting any vampire, it seemed.

Rowan waited for their first move, studying their body language. The mortal on the left moved first, aiming for Rowan’s throat, which he easily parried and sidestepped. While off-balanced, Rowan pushed at the attacker’s chest, who stumbled into their partner. As they righted themselves, Rowan put more distance between them. 

The man on their right lunged first, his dagger heading straight toward the prince. Rowan stopped the man by his wrist, twisting it enough to release the weapon. The man cried out in pain. While simple enough to disarm him, the other Coalition member had used that opportunity to attack next, swinging their dagger wildly toward Rowan and the man. 

Rowan would’ve used the man as a shield. Still, these were mere mortals, and letting them die in an alleyway would not look good on the Rosenthal clan if the other members had witnessed the event and recognized Julien’s face, even if they could prove it had been an attack on the Rosenthal family. Against his training, Rowan took a step back, dragging the wailing man closer to Julien and letting the person wielding the dagger advance on them. 

Rowan took a second to analyze their next move and, at breakneck speed, shoved the man out of the way, using that hand to push Julien further behind him as the dagger arced in front of him. 

It wasn’t fast enough to evade the blade away, the attacker’s blade slicing his left arm. Luckily, it wasn’t his dominant hand, but it was enough for Rowan to lose his focus momentarily. The man retrieved a spare dagger from his partner, holding the weapon up at Rowan and nursing his injured hand to his chest.

Rowan cursed as he took a couple of retreating steps. The gash burned more than usual, and judging from the dagger and other very lethal weapons and mysterious liquids attached to their belt; Rowan deduced it was laced with silver. While not dangerously lethal, healing would require more time and blood.

Julien hissed at the Coalition members, still stationed behind his guard, as they waved their daggers at them. He had a knife—one of Rowan’s many spares—but he couldn’t but freeze in place, not nearly as used to such violent attacks like this. Rowan was surely going to scold him for his hesitation, but Julien bit his lip, and instead of using Rowan’s blade, he opted for a different means of attack. He concentrated on the mortals before him, letting everything around him fade into the distance as he metaphorically gripped onto their conscience.

“Sleep,” Julien’s voice was clear, stern, almost intimidating as he stared down at the mortals. His eyes had shifted from his normal brown to a purple hue. “You will forget this has ever happened upon waking.”

It took a moment for the coercion to reach their ears, working its way to the mortal’s brain. It was always in that moment that Julien feared it wouldn’t work, but in a second, their legs slumped, and eyes fell shut. Their bodies hit the damp ground unceremoniously. But despite the possible concussion they’d face, neither of them startled awake. 

Julien’s eyes shifted back to his normal hue, falling from their mortal’s face, then back to his guard’s bleeding arm. He stumbled forward as Rowan adjusted the mortal’s position, carefully propping them against the brick wall behind them. If the blatant attack didn’t still shake up Julien, he would’ve told Rowan to leave them in their crumpled form. 

Once satisfied, Rowan pressed his arm against the gash, attempting to stop the blood from dripping onto the cobblestone beneath them. 

Julien stumbled forward, closing the distance between them.

“Your arm,” Julien said, his hand hovering above it.

“Silver,” Rowan explained upon seeing Julien’s confusion about why it wasn’t healing as quickly. “Let’s get out of here before more show up.”

“But your wound.”

Rowan hissed as he pulled his hand away from it. It was deeper than he had first realized but not nearly as deep as it could have been, and certainly was better him than Julien. “Let’s go before your coercion weakens.”

Julien gulped and stood, taking a glance at the incapacitated Coalition members. He wished Rowan would’ve done worse to the man’s arm or let Julien coerce them to suffer worse, but Rowan was already making his way down a narrow corridor that adjoined two equally ominous alleyways.

But as they reached a heavily secluded area, Rowan stopped and leaned against one of the sides of the buildings. Worried that Julien had missed another wound Rowan sustained, he was relieved to see that he was attempting to stop the bleeding. Julien hadn’t even noticed the trail of blood Rowan had left. 

Julien watched in mild horror as Rowan ripped a strip of fabric from the already tight and too-short crop top he had lent him. 

The prince scoffed, teasing him, “that’s coming out of your check.”

Rowan held the fabric between his teeth, using it to fasten it around the wound tightly enough to staunch the bleeding. While it wasn’t heavily bleeding or deep enough to worry, the smell could easily attract even a distant dhampir. “I’ll purchase more on your next trip to the clothing stores if it bothers you that much.”

Julien didn’t bother to tell Rowan that it was merely a joke and that he wasn’t bothered by the torn shirt at all. He was more distracted by Rowan’s increasingly exposing midriff and by the wound he sustained from protecting him. 

It was Rowan’s job after all, but it nonetheless left the tiniest bit of guilt on Julien’s conscience—not that he’d let Rowan know about it. Julien hated always hated that feeling of shame around his guard. While grateful for having someone to protect him, it didn’t feel right or deserved. Maybe if Julien had been the first or second son or Ivan’s actual biological son, he’d thought it appropriate. But having someone take the punches and deadly weapons just seemed silly. How could he oversee and defend territory if he couldn’t protect himself? How was having everyone else shield you supposed to train him for “the real world” as his siblings so gladly enjoyed reminding him? 

“Prince Julien?” Rowan extracted him from his thoughts, but the slightly concerned look on his guard’s face only made Julien angrier. Rowan was bleeding and poisoned from an event he had suggested in the first place, against his guard’s judgment.

“What?” he practically snapped.

“We must return to the estate lest they try to hunt us down again.”

“Right,” Julien’s tone was softer this time. “Just get that looked at.”

Rowan raised a brow. “This is minor; I’ve dealt with much worse before.”

Julien’s jaw ticked. “Whatever, I’m saying it’s not just a scratch. It could get infected, and you’d be a shit guard if you had to amputate a limb.”

“I don’t believe this cut will—“

Julien made a disgruntled noise before pointing to the end of the narrow alley. “To the estate, remember?”

“Yes,” Rowan obliged. He pushed off the wall, probably adding to Julien’s sour mood as the filthy remnants of the building had perhaps stained his already torn-cropped top. Rowan was used to Julien and his skill at finding anything to complain or whine about. 

He led down the alleyways, taking different turns in hopes of deterring any other Coalition members that may still be lurking nearby. After a handful of twists and turns and Julien’s little silence, they returned to the main strip, finding no Coalition members, the youngest prince, or his guard. 

Julien glanced around. “You think they got ambushed too?”

Rowan scanned the horizon for any indication of Coalition members, but it was hushed. Most of the mortal townspeople weren’t out walking as they had earlier. “We won’t know until we get to the estate.”

They followed their way back to the estate, occasionally watching their surroundings for the prince or any Coalition members, but the silence continued. Most of the groundskeeping and stable boys paid no attention to them or Rowan’s bleeding arm. One of the gardeners waved, while the rest mostly ignored them. Rowan was just glad they made it back without any further trouble. 

Near the wing for their rooms, they spotted Felix and Jean outside Julien’s door. 

“Geez, Ro,” Jean greeted from the archway. “What happened to you?”

Julien rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, “Glad to know you made it back safely, asshole.”

“They attacked you?” Felix asked. 

“Two of them,” Rowan answered. “You two?”

“One was tailing us for a little bit but then vanished. They just seemed like a curious mortal. Let me guess, shortstack here instigated them?”

Julien stuck his tongue out at him. “You know, I’m not always trying to get myself killed or stabbed.”

Jean smirked. “Depends on the type of stabbing you’re referring to, right?”

Julien snarled at him, shoving Jean to the side and slamming his bedroom shut behind him.

“Geez, someone’s cranky, am I right?”

With a silent plea on Rowan’s face, Jean held his hands in surrender. “Right, I’ll stop. Good luck in there.”