Caster turned him around so fast, he stumbled. “What?”
He sighed. With so much going on, he’d forgotten to protect his thoughts. He wanted to fight Caster’s hold on his shoulders, but the fight was gone; in its place, the grief of his failure.
Caster searched his eyes for answers he didn’t want to give, and he closed them.
“Kyle, go. Make sure Bastian doesn’t come back.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Until he’d spoken, Mark hadn’t noticed Caster’s bodyguard.
This time, Caster did not fight him when he shruggedhim off. He didn’t try to stop him as Mark left the room. The revolting, particular scent of that vampire faded as he took the stairs to the room he’d been assigned, doing his best to ignore Caster’s eyes boring into his back. The pain he’d thought had dissipated in the playroom last night slammed into him with incredible ferocity.
The sublime whiteness of his room felt almost dirty as he discarded his torn shirt. It was soaked in blood, blood bearing Bastian’s scent. Now he had a name to match the scent he would never forget. It was clear Bastian and Caster were related, but that wouldn’t save him. Nothing would. Dean had been right. This was the place to be if he intended to satisfy his thirst for vengeance.
Caster had been in a lot of battles, but he’d never seen anyone fight with such ferocity or focus. It was clear Bastian deserved it, but why? Why would Mark try to kill a Born-Vampire and almost succeed? His only advantage had been that he’d caught Bastian by surprise. Werewolves were strong, capable of taking a vampire’s head in a single bite, but only in wolf-form and with the element of surprise on their side. Mark had seemed intent on killing Bastian in human form.
What had Bastian done to deserve such hatred? Mark’s thoughts, that he’d forgotten to guard again, spoke of Bastian’s role in something terrible. He shook his head. Whatever it was,Mark didn’t or couldn’t talk about it. It wasn’t too much of a leap to connect it with the pain that had all but consumed him last night.
Caster had never had a submissive react to him that way. It was not unusual for a release of pent-up emotion to follow an intense scene, but that had been more than emotion. The raw pain had infected the space with its dark energy. Was Bastian responsible for it?
He couldn’t put it past his young cousin. Bastian was Damien’s youngest brother and closest to their father. Uncle Lucien’s resistance to the treaty was loud. Could this be related to his uncle’s campaign against the King’s decree to end the war, and what did it have to do with Mark? There were too many coincidences.
“What the fuck?” Dean’s voice filled his damaged, bloodied study.
He met the storm in the Prime Alpha’s blue eyes, trying to find words to explain the situation.
“Mark!”
His brother’s scent was everywhere. “Yes. But he’s fine.”
“Where is he?” The tightness in his voice, the tension tightening his jaw, were the only signals of his rage.
“His room.”
The Prime Alpha stared Caster down for a long second, the blaze in those blue eyes enough to cause anyone else to shrink away. “I will need an explanation for this.”
“You and me both.”
Dean nodded and left, pushing past Damien in his haste to get to his brother.
“What did your brother do?”
Damien’s frown was familiar, and he was aware that his question indicated he’d taken sides, but he had no apologies, just a situation with the potential to be a huge problem for all of them.
Damien sighed. “I don’t know, man.” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, a rare sign of frustration. “I haven’t seen him in over a year.”
“What was he doing here?” Caster couldn’t get himself to move to the chair, his hands flexing in preparation for action he couldn’t yet see.
Damien shook his head. “He said he needed something from Riley.”
“And you didn’t believe him?”
“No. I caught him in here, looking guilty as fuck. Whatever he’d been here to do is not good.”
Caster rubbed at his tired face.
“Why would Mark want to kill him?”
He shrugged. “I wish I knew.”