Julian nodded. “I assure you, I removed every reason for my prisoner to lie.”
“What happened?” Caster needed to know if he wouldprotect his family, protect Mark. He felt Damien’s stare, but he didn’t dare meet his cousin’s eye. Damien knew him too well.
“My source didn’t have many answers as to why the witch wanted the Prime Alpha’s brother, but he was her target. They cornered the two wolves, and the inevitable fight ensued. Mark injured one vampire before they could subdue him. My prisoner says another wolf appeared in wolf-form, and the tide turned. From his description, the wolf could only be James.”
“And the other wolf with Mark?” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to know, but Caster had to ask.
“Zeke. He died that day.”
Mark’s pain, his inability to speak of it, made sense in that instant.
“And you are sure Bastian was involved?” Caster understood the pain hiding behind Damien’s casual question. Bastian had always been a problem, but this was beyond his usual nonsense.
Julian nodded, concern coloring his often emotionless demeanor. “I know for sure.” He kept his gaze on Damien. “I’m sorry, boss. I didn’t want it to be, but it’s clear it was all his doing.”
“Which means Lucien is working with the witch,” Riley said. “And the treaty is under threat.”
“We have to tell Dean.” Damien’s voice was low; the anger and hurt at what his brother’s actions would cost them were clear.
“I thought so too,” Julian said, standing. “But allow me to find out how much they know first.” He glanced at his watch. “I am meeting James in a few minutes. I know he, too, was lookingfor answers.”
Caster nodded. Mark must have suspected a larger play when Bastian showed up at the house. It was smart of Dean to seek more information before confronting them, but that confrontation was imminent. He reined in his thoughts of his inexplicable attraction to Mark. This situation required rational thought, a strategy. His undefined feelings for the werewolf in question shouldn’t come into play.
A hush descended after Julian left. There was little to say. They should have known the witch had not acted alone. But did Uncle Lucien hate his father enough to destroy everything they’ve built?
Dean left a few minutes after James, explicit in his warning that he shouldn’t leave the house, and Mark had been on edge ever since. He checked the barrier for the thousandth time in the past hour just to make sure he hadn’t lost his wolf again. James’s findings meant that a fight was inevitable. The battle lines drawn that night were even clearer now, and he would need his wolf if he were to stay in the fight.
He raised the latest bottle of whisky to his lips, the liquid burning a path through his throat to his empty stomach. It was the sixth bottle in the last hour, and he felt its effects. His wolf’s expedited healing meant that his kind couldn’t get drunk, but he was too wired to settle into the obscene whiteness of thisroom. It was missing something, something he had a hard time admitting to himself.
The night called to him as he paced the room he hated, drowning in the alcohol’s effect. His wolf sighed in a periodic rhythm. Was he getting drunk as well? Mikey had once described the effect to him, but Mark had always been too studious to engage in foolish fun before.
It wasn’t fun he sought. Now, he hoped the alcohol would dull his senses long enough to keep the nightmares at bay. One other solution had proven effective, but how could he explain going to Caster without confronting his feelings? He’d said he wanted everything or nothing. Mark had already given everything to Zeke. He was empty.
His grip on the bottle tightened enough that a cracking sound filled the room. He looked at his wet hand. Blood tinged the whisky coating it, as did the shards of glass that bore into his skin. No pain, though. He pulled out the glass and was out of the door, his destination calling to both sides of him.
Kyle was at his post again, and he stepped aside, opening the door as Mark approached. His smirk was not enough to deter Mark, who walked in, Caster’s scent overwhelming him. A bit of this, and he could go to sleep.
He turned the corner toward the sitting area and stumbled. Caster’s stare held him still, but he wasn’t alone. That boy was here again, naked in Caster’s lap, cradled against his chest. The room swayed, the vision of the intimate scene around him drowning in the alcohol. He needed to get out of here.
He started to turn, but…
“Don’t you move!”
His breath caught, every muscle held still, and he was forced to endure tenderness he hadn’t seen in a long time. Caster brushed the boy’s hair from his face, waking him with soothing whispers. The boy stirred, and a blurry Kyle walked in to take his hand, leading him out.
Caster patted the cushion next to him, and his muscles regained their vigor, carrying him to the couch.
“What’s wrong with you?”
The tone was harsh, and his mind swam with the answer, but he couldn’t find the words. Caster stood, and he tried to reach for him, only for his hand to fall back onto the couch.
He came back with a glass of water. “Drink this.”
He took a sip, keeping a wary eye on Caster. His wolf had no such reservation; he’d come out to play, exhibiting his shameless joy at each command.
Caster nodded towards the glass. “All of it.” He stood over him, and all Mark wanted was to shuffle to his knees, the taste of his cock a memory he wanted to revisit.
“No. We are not doing that.” Caster resumed his seat next to him, but somehow still too far away. “Are you drunk? I didn’t think that was possible.”