“What did he do to you?” Caster’s soft tone drew him away from the myriad of bloody images clogging his mind, his imagination awash with all the ways he would kill Bastian.
He was still trying to find an answer that would be vague and satisfying to the vampire he couldn’t trust, when Caster sighed and shot to his feet. “Fine. You’re entitled to your secrets.”
Mark said nothing, but only because he feared he might not stop if he let the first word slip through.
Caster walked to the door, his phone in his hand, and reached for the doorknob. “Bastian is an asshole, but he’s family.”
The warning was explicit, and it reiterated his convictionthat there was more going on here. It seemed like too much of a coincidence that Bastian would show up and the witch would attack him in the space of forty-eight hours. Caster and this family he vowed to protect, hid something from them. Could they have sanctioned the witch’s attack? If so, then why this elaborate act to ask for their help tracking her down? No. The witch had killed as many vampires as wolves.
Nothing had changed. He needed more information, and if anyone could find a connection, it was James. Now, he just needed to be extra careful to guard his mind from Caster. It wouldn’t be easy the longer they remained stuck in this cabin, but for the sake of his vengeance, he would. Everyone was a suspect until proven otherwise.
Hunger coursed through Caster’s veins. Hunger for answers, white-hot hunger for the wolf in the next room. He could hear his breath, and it seemed he was too worked up to fall asleep. Riley promised to call as soon as everything was clear, but that had been hours ago. Mark hadn’t spoken to him, except to ask if he could use one of the bedrooms. The sound of the shower earlier had conjured images of his naked form, increasing the intensity of Caster’s need to see him.
His arousal was beyond his control, adding to the annoyance he couldn’t get over. What was taking Julian so long? If he only knew what Bastian had done, perhaps there could be amiabilitybetween them. That this was more than just about the witch had gone from a niggling doubt to all-out certainty. The conviction that he would need his father, that the treaty and everything that came with it would come into play before this was over, grew until he couldn’t deny it.
That was why this attraction to the wolf he couldn’t seem to get away from was such a nuisance. He didn’t have time for such entanglements. His purpose was the protection of his species. As his father often said, being King meant being responsible for every vampire walking the earth. The witch and her endless need to kill his kind was, by extension, his problem. That she also threatened the werewolves shouldn’t factor into his plans. So, why did it bother him so much that she seemed intent on hurting Mark? What is it about him that made him a target?
Caster shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. His priority should be his family, and yes, that included Bastian. His young cousin was involved in some way, but he was also misguided, a pawn in Uncle Lucien’s plans.
He drained the last of the whisky in his glass and moved to the bed. The alcohol kept another one of his hungers at bay. With so much going on, he’d once again missed his chance to feed, and he was beginning to feel the effects. He stared at the black screen of his phone, willing it to ring. Julian, or better yet, Riley, would free him from this prison.
He flopped headfirst onto the bed and closed his eyes. Out of habit, he allowed his heightened senses to take in the sounds of the night. The familiar, strong, dependable thump of Kyle’s heart reached him first. He hesitated to listen in on Mark only for a second, but his curiosity overrode common sense, and he was startled to find his heart rate slow and steady. He was asleep. Against his better judgment, relief coursed through him,only for it to increase his annoyance tenfold.
He closed his eyes and willed himself to think of something else, anything other than the images of the perfect fit of Mark’s relaxed body against him that night at the club. His mind flitted between thoughts of how trusting he’d been and images of the perceived danger his secrets brought. He’d just fortified his mind against the need to burst through that second bedroom door and draw him into his arms when a whispered “no” reached his ears.
Confusion was momentary when a roar shook the walls, so loud it left an insistent ring in his ears. The roar was followed by a low whine. The whine of an injured wolf. He moved before he could formulate thoughts, avoiding a collision with Kyle as he too raced towards the tormented sound coming from Mark’s room.
He tore the door off its hinges in his attempts to subdue whatever attacked him, only to stop dead in his tracks. No threat. No witch. Mark was in the deep grip of what could only be a nightmare. His shirtless body thrashed, his muscles straining against the unseen threat. His wolf alternated between threatening roars and whines of pain.
Caster glanced at Kyle to see his confusion mirrored on the otherwise stoic vampire’s face.
“You’ve got this?” Kyle asked, his voice low.
Caster’s reply was a nod, even though he didn’t know what this was.
His tentative steps carried him to the tormented werewolf, cautious as he approached the bed. The wolf may be wounded, but the strength he’d demonstrated a few days ago wassufficient to cause a lot of harm.
Caster sat on the bed and reached for his arm. Mark’s body stopped its violent thrashing as soon as he made contact. His breath was shallow, the wolf’s whines lost their urgency, retreating to the safety of Mark’s mind, but he still couldn’t hold on to his breath.
“Wake up!”
Mark’s eyes popped open. Caster had a moment to register the confusion on his face before he moved. Their lips met, and it was his turn to escape the tight rein of control. He could do nothing to deter his tongue from taking everything Mark offered. Moans, mixed in with their labored breaths, filled the room as he pulled Mark closer, the need to feel his body again overriding his good sense.
His hand found Mark’s hair, and the damp strands drew him away from the haze this impossible attraction had brought. He tore his lips away from Mark’s, drawing his body further back when Mark wouldn’t relent.
“Stop it!”
Mark opened his eyes, his breath even shallower. Goddess, he was beautiful, and Caster never wanted anything more than everything he offered.
His hand went through Mark’s hair with little input from his brain. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed touching him, the surrender in his every muscle.
“Breathe, Mark.”
That surrender tore at his resolution that this shouldn’t happen. He closed his eyes to keep the enticing, reddened, wetlips from calling to him, but he lost that battle.
“Please…” Mark’s voice was a rough, low whisper devoid of the fight and energy it had displayed a few hours earlier.
He opened his eyes. “Don’t.” Still, he wouldn’t stop touching him. “We can’t.”