It didn’t take long for rare concern to overtake Damien’s smile. “I worry you’re doing too much. You know I’m here. Riley and I are.”
The headache that had begun in the conference room roared at him with increased intensity. “I know. It’s just…”
“Take a moment. Breathe. Maybe have some fun?”
Caster smiled. “You’re starting to sound like Mother.”
Damien frowned.
He stood, needing a shower before he went looking for nourishment. “And you should take your own advice. You work more than I do.”
Their familiarity with each other was such that Damien could stay with him as long as he wanted. He was more of a brother to him than his actual two brothers, who were much younger. “The difference is, I like what I do.”
He stopped at the threshold, turning to face his cousin, who looked as tired as he felt. “Who says I don’t like being Head of the Council?”
Damien shrugged, leaning back. “I’ve known you forever, Caster. You’re not fooling me.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and a rare vulnerability crawled to the surface, threatening to ruin the control he’d only just reined in.
“You think that your father is about to abdicate and you’re afraid of being in charge of it all.”
He snorted, denying the truth of his cousin’s words. “I am not afraid of anything.” Since he’d overheard his parents talking about it five years ago, the fear he was not ready to be king clawed at his insides every morning. But he wouldn’t admit it, not even to Damien.
Damien laughed. “Yeah. It’s me, Caster. Not one of your scurrying submissives.”
“I don’t like this conversation.” He walked into his bedroom, undressing as he went.
“I’m just saying. If that happens, Riley and I will be here to help. You don’t need to do it all on your own.” Damien didn’t need to shout; the significance of every word would find him no matter where he hid.
Still, Caster worried. He worried the witch would expose the whole supernatural community, and no one could tell him where she was. Was the world big enough for one tiny witch, albeit a powerful one, to hide for centuries? Her activities were sinister enough to scare the Grand Priestess of the European Coven. She had to be stopped, and Caster would be the one to do it. It was his responsibility. His duty, and Damien could never understand.
Awarm chuckle drowned out the noise in the bar, and Mark’s heart threatened to burst through his chest. He was so beautiful when he was not being all domineering. Mark watched Zeke’s blond hair sway with the movement as he bent to readjust his position and take the shot. The pool game had gone on far longer than Mark wanted it to, but he’d forgive the others if it let him catch Zeke’s unguarded moments.
Goddess, he loved him. Loved every aspect of him. But this, this he adored. The controlling dominant was gone, hidden behind the joy he shared with their friends. Still, he craved those moments when the mask would be gone, and Zeke wouldbe his true self again. The true self he shared only with Mark.
A rumble reached his ears, and Mark turned toward the unusual sound. The other four wolves didn’t seem to hear it, carrying on with their boisterous conversation like nothing had happened. He glanced at Zeke, who caught his eye and smiled. His senses prickled, and worry seeped through his skin to settle in his belly. The rumbling growl grew louder, and Mark sought Zeke’s comforting eyes, his reassuring smile.
Zeke’s eyes lost their familiar light blue haze, acquiring the amber that signaled his transformation into wolf-form. But he remained human, staring Mark down with an unmistakable challenge.
“Zeke?” Another deeper growl drowned out Mark’s voice. The pool table, the bar, their friends all faded into the silence that followed.
Red eyes appeared over Zeke’s shoulder, a clawed paw reaching out of nothingness to caress his exposed neck. Mark’s warning scream clogged his throat as the creature broadcast its intent, its claws digging into Zeke’s neck.
Blood, more blood than one body could hold, poured from the wound as did the howl of Mark’s wolf filling the space in his brain. The wolf’s claws tore at his sensitive nail beds and then retreated. The fangs he longed to use to defend the love of his life failed to come through his human canines.
He tried to move towards a bleeding Zeke, unsure why he wouldn’t fight back, but something kept him glued to his barstool. He cried out in frustration, fighting with everything in him to transform, move, anything. Whatever force kept him in his seat released him as the monster’s claws tore throughZeke’s neck, tearing his head clean off…
Mark’s eyes popped open, the sound of his overexerted heart pounded away in his skull, drowning out the tortured sound of his howling wolf. He was the only one who could hear it, but the other wolves in the house could sense his distress.
The pain of his loss was reinforced every night. If the witch had intended to cause him everlasting suffering, she had won.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and, to torture himself a little, reached for the barrier keeping his wolf away from him. There was nothing there, but he lingered, seeking a whisper of a connection he knew was gone.
His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten last night. After news of the witch, Mark spent all night fantasizing about all the ways he would end her life. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t transform. Mark didn’t need his more powerful wolf-form to drain the life out of the woman who’d cost him everything. He didn’t relish the prospect of working with the vampires to find her, not when they had given her the opportunity to cause him more pain than he thought he could handle, but he didn’t have a choice.
He pushed the covers off and sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Mark hated mornings. His dreams, as horrible as they were, brought his wolf closer to him. Morning pushed his wolf too far back in the recesses of his mind, so all he felt was weak, and weakness was intolerable in wolf society.
Time to take a breath and repeat his daily reminder that he still had a role. He was the Prime Alpha’s brother, the Head of Security for the Werewolf Council. Anyone who had a problem with that could go fuck themselves.