He frowned, mirroring Mark’s position against the headboard.
“You didn’t promise.”
“I may not have been explicit with my words, but I did.” He dared to ask. “How are you?”
Perhaps it was the relaxation his orgasm brought, but the anger he’d expected didn’t come. In its place was a small smile. “Your mother is very good at distracting me.”
Caster chuckled. “Oh, no. What did she do?”
“Endless tea sessions, stories of your childhood…”
Yes, that sounded like his mother.
Mark yawned.
“Go to sleep.”
He nodded. “When are you coming back?”
“I’ll be there before you wake up.”
“OK.”
As his face disappeared from his screen, leaving an empty blackness, Caster was certain Mark had been half aware of his actions. Still, it warmed him more than it should that he’d called, the pride filling his chest at Mark’s need to seek his permission more than he should claim. The shift this single phone call had elicited in their strange relationship couldn’t be ignored, and he was certain he had his mother to thank for it. She thought she hid it well, but he’d seen enough of her subtle interference in Ben and Riley’s complicated relationship to recognize it when it was aimed in his direction.
The full moon illuminated the garden outside, Mark’s keen senses catching the most subtle of movement from his window two stories high. Small animals oblivious to his presence scurried to their activities, the distant howl of his animal cousins causing their movement to grow a fraction frantic.
He waited, unable to retreat to the bed that called to his tired body. Zeke had been gone too long, so long a niggling sense of worry threatened to impose on his calm night. He refused to tell Mark where he went almost every night, but he swore it wasn’t anywhere dangerous, and Mark trusted Zeke more than anyone, except his brothers.
A black-clad silhouette imposed on his keen eyesight, and he moved closer to the window. The proud shoulders, his body’s build, were all unmistakable even under the layers of darkness, and Mark breathed a sigh. Zeke looked at him, and he smiled.
His wolf let out a low whine, the sound a distinct warning that had Mark moving closer to the closed window, his smile fading into worry as he tried and failed to unlock it. Pain tore through his fingers with the window’s resistance, his efforts growing more frantic by the second. He could do nothing as the red-eyed monster appeared behind Zeke, his anguished scream constricted by the emotion clogging his throat.
The window continued to resist his efforts, so he tried to punch through the glass, but an invisible barrier cushioned his fist’s impact. The figure behind Zeke smiled, a thin-baring of pointy, animalistic teeth before a single claw in its otherwise darkness-obscured hand, tore through Zeke’s neck. The scent of blood floated through the barrier he couldn’t get through, and his powerlessness came through in a scream that shattered his heart as he watched Zeke crumble—
“Wake Up!”
His body had no choice, responding to the command that drew him away from the pain and loss following him into wakefulness. His eyes adjusted to the room, not his room back home, but just as familiar. Tears that spoke of a loss he couldn’t handle for much longer dampened his cheeks, the tight grip on both arms keeping him from falling face-first into the darkness that was his grief.
“Breathe for me.” Caster’s voice was soft, with none of the edge he was beginning to get used to.
He pulled him into his arms, and Mark didn’t try to resist. He wasn’t Zeke. He would never be, but the safety he offered eased the pain enough to keep him sane.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed away so long,” Caster said into his hair, drawing him further away from the grief.
He shook his head as much as the tight embrace would allow. “It’s not your fault.”
Caster released his hold. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Mark’s denial was automatic. He would be free to discuss the events of that night, his failure, only after his penance was complete. When everyone involved was dead.
Caster nodded his acceptance, and Mark realized he’d once again forgotten to guard his thoughts. He moved away from the embrace he would spend all day in, needing a little bit of space to gather himself and erect that barrier. Why had the dreams come back? Was it because Caster had been away from him? The prospect of needing Caster in that way only added to his already unbearable pain.
He sniffed back his emotion. “Your uncle is making new vampires?” A distraction was necessary to aid in pushing the pain down where it belongs before he broke and shared everything.
Caster stared at him for a long moment, the distance between them minuscule, but somehow too great. “Yes. Dean told you.”
It wasn’t a question, but Mark nodded anyway. Caster reached for his hand, and he allowed the contact, the constant reminder of his loss retreating further away by the minute.He was so tired, so tired of trying to analyze this, of the consequences of his denial.