“Fine.” Mark sighed. The last thing he wanted was a tour of this monster of a house. Why did it matter anyway? They were here to catch and, if he had his way, murder a witch, not socialize. But he acquiesced, following the group chatting away ahead of him at a distance. Angering Dean and losing his only ally in this fight would not be wise.
A rare and sudden prickle assaulted his senses as they made their way to the main conference room, where they’d be meeting the Crown Prince. For the first time that day, his wolf came closer to the barrier keeping him at bay, and Mark stopped. The sweet smell of moist soil in the rain invaded his senses. The animal in him sensed the outdoors and clawed at him to be let out. The sweet scent grew the closer they approached the door, and Mark glanced at his brothers. They didn’t seem to sense it, engrossed in conversation with their host.
The delicious scent struck him like a sledgehammer to the chest when the door opened, and he closed his eyes, both sides of him wanting to drown in it.
“Aah, you’ve arrived. Sorry, I wasn’t…”
Whatever the deep voice said drowned in the scent his wolf couldn’t get enough of. Mark opened his eyes to find the speaker’s gaze all over him. He continued to speak, but all Mark heard, all he felt was the effect of his voice. Velvet, deep, and a subtle command in each word. A command he wanted directed his way.
The human side was confused, but the wolf pranced around in its cage for the first time since…
Mark shook his head to dislodge the memory and closed his eyes only for his senses to be assaulted by that delicious smellhe couldn’t escape. His wolf danced with delight, and Mark once again tried to find comfort with the other wolves in the room. Again, his brothers seemed blind to his turmoil, laughing at something one of the other vampires said.
He swallowed the lump of emotion clogging his throat and forced himself to assess the room. There were two other people there aside from Mr. Velvet Voice, and each one stared at him with a guarded expression.
Velvet Voice reached out his hand in greeting, and Mark couldn’t resist the pull. As soon as they touched, his wolf let out a howl of delight, almost an acceptance.
Startled by his internal reaction, Mark withdrew his hand too fast.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mark.” The voice didn’t lose its edge even in its softness.
Mark’s head swam with the need to remain here and continue to bathe in that scent and the intense desire to run as fast and as far as he could.
The vampire, causing him so much distress, stepped closer to him, drowning him in that delicious scent. He leaned closer, gray eyes with a tiny red ring around the pupil holding him captive as he mouthed, “Breathe…”
And just like that, Mark’s lungs expanded with much-needed air, and he was unable to restrain the moan bubbling from the depths of his soul. The vampire, the Crown Prince, stepped away from him, a half smirk on his lips, and moved to sit at the head of the large table. Mark rubbed his damp hands on his jeans and sat next to Mikey, as far from the source of his discomfort as he could.
Everyone seemed engrossed in their conversation, but Mark drowned in his wolf’s insistence to be let out. He tried and failed to avoid the scent coming from the other end of the table, and when he glanced in that direction, the same half-smirk told him the vampire enjoyed the effect he had on him.
He wanted to run, but he couldn’t be sure he could stand again. Not on legs that couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Not with the way his wolf rolled around in the new scent. He could feel Caster’s eyes on him, and it took everything to focus on drawing breath. Was he having a panic attack?
Caster’s gaze followed Mark across the room as he chatted with his brothers. His smile lit his beautiful face. And he was beautiful. Deep brown eyes that almost matched his sun-kissed brown hair. Like most wolves, his hair was thicker and bounced as he lowered his head to look at the glass of wine in his hand.
Caster has always been attracted to the male form, but he’d never once thought one was as beautiful as the Prime Alpha’s brother. That he’d responded to his dominance in unrestrained fashion earlier was another surprising aspect of the man he couldn’t stop looking at.
Damien and Riley chatted about the latest attempts to findthe witch beside him, but his attention was drawn to the wolf across the room. How had they never met? The object of his thoughts turned toward him, the smile on his lips fading as they locked eyes. A second passed, and then two before Caster heard him gasp, his gaze shifting to the floor. There, it was confirmed. He was submissive.
Caster shook his head and turned his back on the wolf to face Riley. He listened with one ear as his friend described his latest attempts at finding the witch and narrowed his senses to zero in on Mark’s heartbeat. Steady, strong, and a little unsure. He seemed afraid of something. A little guarded.
“Are you even listening?” Damien’s exasperated tone drew him out of his reverie.
He nodded. “You still can’t find the witch…”
“It’s not from a lack of trying.” Riley’s tone held a rare defensiveness. As the most powerful witch in the world, it was rare for him to admit he couldn’t do anything. Everything came easy to him, but this witch was getting to everyone.
“I hope the wolves can help.” He sensed Mark’s eyes on him, but Caster didn’t turn. The last thing he needed was the distraction an inexplicable attraction to him would bring.
“I have an idea about that.” Riley sipped his drink. “I can use magic to increase the range of their tracking skills.”
Damien chuckled. “Good luck convincing them. They don’t like witches.”
Caster had thought it wise to welcome their new guest with a formal dinner in their honor. It was only proper, as his mother would say, to be an ideal host. He’d instructed his householdto make the werewolves feel comfortable, but judging by the way the three wolves huddled together and avoided mingling, perhaps their efforts had been less than fruitful.
“I imagine we’ll all have to do things we don’t like before this is over.” He glanced at the wolves again, disappointed to find Mark had turned away from him. He was almost as tall as his brother, the Prime Alpha, but with none of the bulk that made Dean such a formidable weapon. The white shirt Mark wore molded to his defined muscles, accentuating the strength every werewolf constrained in their human form.
Unsure why he took so much notice, Caster turned his attention back to his cousin and Riley.
Damien frowned at him and glanced at Mark. “I imagine we will.”