CHAPTER 27
His enormous responsibility weighed on him even as he walked back to their room.
Damien raised an eyebrow as he pushed the door to the same parlor they’d left two hours ago, but Caster shook his head.
The laughter flowing past the open door was what Mark needed.
He wanted some time to himself. His cousin shrugged and walked into the joy as Caster turned in the direction of their room.
Kyle straightened as Caster approached. “What do you need, boss?”
His long-time bodyguard was more capable than most of reading his mood, and Caster appreciated the unique way he could anticipate his needs, sometimes even before Caster could identify them.
He knew why his mood was sour; he needed blood. He’d gone too long without that nourishment, and he thanked Kyle for noticing with a nod. “Nourishment.”
“That boy, Nicholas, isn’t anywhere close, and your father doesn’t allow humans to stay here for too long, so perhaps…”
Caster shook his head. “No. Get me some of the bagged stuff.”
Kyle frowned, but schooled his features a half a second later and went to his task with little fuss.
He wouldn’t question Caster, but this was the first time Caster would drink blood that was not fresh from the vein in a long time.
He craved the intimacy that drawing blood from a living, willing human would provide, but the implication of it felt like betrayal.
Mark was nowhere close to accepting the ritual of blood sharing, so the bagged blood that his father always stocked would be sufficient.
It wouldn’t give him the rush of power only fresh blood supplied by a pulsing heartbeat could provide, but it was a useful substitute.
Besides, he doubted he would ever let himself experience that intimacy with anyone other than Mark.
The door opened as he settled on the couch, the headache brought on by the lack of nourishment pounding away, and with it, his worry that the witch would prove too powerful.
His eyes remained closed even as he registered one of his father’s attendants placing the glass with the liquid he needed on the table in front of him.
He waited until he was alone again, having ordered Kyle to go to Mark, before he lifted the glass to his lips. The liquid was cold as it hit his tongue, unappetizing, but his headache disappeared the instant he swallowed the first sip, and he sighed.
It was not sufficient by any measure, but it would do.
He’d drink this every day if it meant he would remain strong enough to protect Mark.
As he relaxed into the loneliness, he narrowed his senses to find Mark’s heartbeat.
Strong, steady, no fear. Cy was proving to be the ultimate distraction, but it was only that, a distraction.
Soon, if the meeting he’d just walked out of was any indication, their world would come crashing down.
Whatever Bastian wanted was not simple by any stretch.
Damien was right to suspect his brother’s motives.
Like most of the family, his mother in particular, Caster wanted to believe that Bastian was only trying to please Uncle Lucien, but they hadn’t walked into Mark’s memory of that night, or lived it the way he had.
The Bastian he’d seen in that memory had been sadistic, evil even, not the little cousin he’d been, annoying in his pursuit of everyone’s attention.
He’d found that attention in his father, and Uncle Lucien used that desire to please like the weapon it was.
This Bastian’s role in Mark’s pain was something he wasn’t sure he could forgive.
But how could he reconcile that with his mother’s desire to see her youngest nephew saved?
He sighed, vigor returning to his muscles with the last sip of the unremarkable blood.
Before Mark had invited him to experience the worst night of his life, Caster had resolved to leave the issue of what to do about Bastian to Damien.
If anyone could handle Bastian, it was Damien.
But that memory had changed everything. His desire to wring the life out of his cousin had taken root that night and never left him.
Now, he knew only one person would decide what was to be done with Bastian. Mark.
It would be one of the greatest tests of their fated bond. Even bigger than Zeke’s return. As he leaned into the couch, reveling in the paltry power of the blood he’d consumed, infiltrating every cell, he feared that this one time, he would have no choice but to disobey his mother if Mark chose to.
***
It was early morning by the time Mark made it back to their room. Cyrus was a bad influence, but even as both he and his wolf drowned in the effects of the overindulgence Caster’s brother had encouraged, he knew he’d made a lifelong friend.
Cyrus, or Cy as he insisted on being addressed, was impossible to overcome.
Even in his current drunkenness, Mark recognized this for what it was.
Cy wanted to distract him from the threat they couldn’t hide from for too long with his endless stories of exploits that seemed too good to be true, and encouragement to lose himself in the alcohol.
It had taken more than four bottles of whisky to produce the feeling Mikey and Ben had tried to explain to him.
And now, as he watched a slow smirk overtake Kyle’s stoic expression, he regretted allowing them to talk him into it.
Caster would not like it, but even the threat of his disapproval would never be a match for his need to be close to him.
He should let his wolf heal the drunkenness, but even his animal self seemed to prefer this unguarded state.
Caster looked up, smiled, and then narrowed his eyes as he stumbled into the living area. Mark’s body fell into the couch next to Caster and sighed, all the tension leaving his body the moment Caster’s scent inundated both sides of him.
“Cy did this to you?”
Mark smiled, laid his head on Caster’s shoulder, and released the barrier keeping his thoughts in check. It had been a chore battling to keep his mind closed, and he reveled in the release.
“Good. The last thing you want is my brother in your mind.”
He lifted his head off Caster’s shoulder, still unwilling to clear his mind of the wonderful drowsy effect of the alcohol.
“Why?” Caster asked, once again deciphering his thoughts with little effort.
He shook his head. “I’m tired.” A yawn broke through as his wolf settled into the calm comfort Caster’s presence provided.
“Want to go to bed?”
Mark didn’t know that he would ever want anything more than he wanted this, just being with Caster. He was tired, but he didn’t want to move.
“I’m gonna kill him.” A smile hid behind that threat. “You like my brother?”
“He’s a good person. My wolf trusts him.” Mark smiled. “But all his stories can’t be true, right?”
“Most are.”
Mark couldn’t imagine the life Cy’s stories implied. His brothers went out in the world, became a part of it, but Mark had always been sheltered first by his grandfather and then, after his mother’s death, by his father.
“When all of this nonsense with the witch is done, we can see the world together.”
He smiled, knowing Caster would interpret his acceptance with little effort. He settled further into the couch, taking in as much of Caster as he could. For the first time in a long while, Mark felt normal. Zeke was still out there, so was the witch, but here, now, it seemed they couldn’t touch him.