“Bas is capable of a lot, the little shit. But it’s a long time since I saw that much rage.”
“Where is he?”
“He said something about not wanting to be where he’s not wanted and took a car.”
Caster frowned, ready to insist that he didn’t want Bastian anywhere near the house…
“Don’t worry. He’s not coming back. He got whatever he needed here.”
“We need to find out what that is.”
Damien nodded. “Julian is on it.”
With Damien’s reassurance and trust in Julian’s capabilities, Caster relaxed enough to sit at his desk. Julian, Damien’s Head of Security, was the most capable of them to find out what Bastian had been up to. The broken door would have to be fixed, but they’d been lucky that’s all it was.
“Goddess, that wolf is strong!”
The reverence in Damien’s voice brought a smile to Caster’s face. Yes, he was. “He would be very useful in a fight.”
Damien leaned forward. “So, why do we know close to nothing about him?”
“He is the Werewolf Council’s Head of Security.”
“Yeah…”
Caster frowned. He knew that look. “What?”
“A few years ago, I caught Bastian and his friends talking about failing to kill someone. They stopped as soon as they saw me, but it sounded like more than the usual hunt, you know.”
“And you think it was Mark?”
“It would explain his rage. If someone had tried to kill me and failed, I’d be as mad as he was.”
Caster nodded. Mark didn’t want to talk about whatever it was. “Julian knows about this?”
“Is there anything Julian doesn’t know?” Damien stood. “I’m off to clean up and find something to eat.” But he didn’t move, his expression determined. “Our guests are hiding something.”
“No shit.”
The tension in his shoulders rolled off him as he leaned back in his chair, watching his cousin walk past the remnants of what was once a sturdy door. Diplomacy was necessary to prevent another war with the wolves. He’d grown to trust that Dean would enforce the treaty at all costs. They were both prepared to do that, and so far, the treaty held. There was no shortage of small skirmishes between the species, encouraged by Uncle Lucien and his cohorts, but they were nothing more than a nuisance. Had Mark been the victim of one?
His breath was still too short. The tension in his body and the roaring rage coursing through his veins pulsed like a heartbeat in his mind. His wolf growled, its frustration clawing at the barrier separating them. Mark wanted to yell at the animal. It was its subservience to Caster’s dominance that had caused them to lose their prey, but his voice wouldn’t cooperate. He paced the length of the room, his mind awash with strategy. He needed to find this Bastian. He’d tried over the years to locate the vampires who’d been there that day, but all he had to go on was their scent, fading as his wolf retreated further from his control. He doubted he would have been able to detect it today had his wolf not awakened.
Even in the haze of his rage, he recognized Caster’s role inhis wolf’s resurgence. But he couldn’t dwell on that. He had a lead. It was only a name, but it was more than he’d had in the ten years he’d spent searching.
The warning whine of his wolf stopped his strategizing mid-thought, and his hands balled into fists, his muscles coiling with tension, ready for another fight. The door to his room burst open, and all the tension drained in an exhale when he saw his brother.
Dean’s Alpha influence flooded his mind, his wolf acquiescing to the Prime Alpha’s dominance in predictable fashion. For the first time since he’d given everything to Caster last night, Mark relaxed, allowing his brother to take control.
If Dean felt his surrender, he didn’t show it. He reached for Mark’s shoulders, his grip tight enough to prevent movement. “What happened? You OK?”
Mark didn’t try to shrug him off. “I’m fine.”
Dean didn’t seem to believe his words, his eyes searching Mark’s body for injuries even as his Alpha’s influence did the same with his wolf.
“I’m not hurt.”
Dean’s blue eyes held so much determination. “There was so much blood.”