Chapter 11
Mark couldn’t wait for the dinner to be over.
He hadn’t intended to antagonize Riley. It was clear his power was enough to tear him apart, but Mark had been crawling out of his skin since he’d met the Crown Prince.
He refused to use his name. That would signal a familiarity with the vampire he didn’t intend to encourage.
Still, in the prince’s presence, his wolf was restless, clawing at the barrier keeping him contained with an intensity Mark had almost forgotten.
He stared at the gigantic bed in his assigned room, unsure if he could trust it.
His body begged him to fall into the oblivion of sleep, but he was certain he couldn’t relax enough to do it.
The room with its adjacent sitting area and attached spacious bathroom was decorated in pure white, spotless, and almost new. He didn’t envy whoever had to clean it.
Mark dared to sit on the bed, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t take off his boots and get comfortable. The restlessness of his wolf bled through the barrier, something that hadn’t happened since the last time he’d transformed ten years ago.
He sighed as the pain of that memory threatened to undo him. In these moments, the outdoors helped, but Mark didn’t know if he could trust vampires not to attack him the moment he set foot outside his room.
He reached for his last remaining heightened senses and tried to eavesdrop on the outside. The sounds of the forest he’d seen earlier called to his wolf. He couldn’t transform, but perhaps the night air would calm his restless animal.
He picked up his jacket and opened the door before he could talk himself out of it. If any vampire saw it fit to bother him, they’d find out why he was the Werewolf Council’s Head of Security. Now, if he could just find his way to the front door without running into one.
The unfamiliar halls seemed similar, but the call of the night air guided him to the front door. He reached for the handle as it swung open, and he bumped into the one person he hoped he wouldn’t have to see.
The half-smirk on the Crown Prince’s face was almost as mortifying as his response to their proximity.
Aware of the very male body standing too close to him, Mark wanted to step back, but found he couldn’t move.
To anyone else, it was an irrational response, but Mark knew it well, had only felt its overwhelming force with one other person.
Hate, spiteful, and toxic coursed through his system as he dared compare this vampire to the only man he would ever love. Still, the submissive in him couldn’t help but respond to the dominant in front of him in predictable fashion.
“Out for a stroll?” The voice stole the last of his control, and his breath shortened. The gradual loss of breath worried his fragmented mind.
The source of his torment tilted his head to the side, and Mark dropped his gaze, the pristine white shirt stretching over the Crown Prince’s wide chest a safer prospect than his gray eyes.
The world narrowed further, and his lungs failed him as Caster closed the distance, whispering, “If you’re going to stop breathing every time I talk to you, this will be very unpleasant for you.”
Mark couldn’t form a coherent thought with him this close. Why was this happening? Why him?
“Look at me!”
Mark couldn’t resist the command in his tone, even as he battled for every shallow breath. He met gray eyes, a thin red circle around the pupil, a subtle indication of his nature.
“Breathe.”
Tears stung as his lungs inflated against his will. The deep intake of much-needed oxygen was so good, he closed his eyes and did it again. The same unique scent blanketed his body the longer they remained close, his wolf howling out its delight.
“That’s good.”
A rush of warmth spread through him at the Crown Prince’s pleasure, and the last vestiges of his torn heart fell apart.
“I need to…”
The Crown Prince stepped back and away from the door, giving him the room he needed to get as far from this as he could. He thanked him for not questioning his reaction, even though Mark would have had no choice but to answer.
It took everything in him not to run. The night air hit his body, and he trembled with the force of his breaking heart.
He’d managed to hold back the dam that threatened to break every time he thought of him for years, but now he could hear its walls creaking.
Away from any prying eyes at the edge of the forest surrounding the house, Mark’s legs gave out, and the dam broke.
Tears he couldn’t control, didn’t know he wanted to, streamed down his face.
This session, like all other times, was a silent cry, taking away a huge piece of his heart with it.
He’d been aware of his need for a dominant force in his life for a long time, but always assumed only one could fill that role.
When he’d been taken away from him, Mark had resolved to endure whatever was left of his life alone.
Once in the last decade, he’d tried to find a temporary replacement, but no one could take control of him like he wanted, and he’d given up. How can a vampire make him feel this way? He wiped at his face, unsure of how this much heartbreak hadn’t killed him yet.
Then an image of the witch, her extended hand ripping the man she loved to shreds in front of him, rose from the recesses of his memories, and his reason for staying alive, for surviving, grew clearer.
There was only one thing left to do. Avenge Zeke.
Dominant vampires whose presence confused him wouldn’t get in the way of that. Nothing would.