Chapter Seven
Marcus scraped his tongue with his teeth as he made his way to his tower, but a bitter taste clung to the inside of his mouth like sticky toffee.
Nothing was going according to his plans.
He’d mentally played out the events of this day a hundred times, but precisely zero of those scenarios had involved him abandoning his new wife on his wedding night.
One moment he’d been standing in front of Winifred, feeling like a sailor rowing toward land he had been charting for months.
The next moment, a prickling sensation had started in his feet and swept up his body until it had filled his head with static.
Rather than allow her to see him experience an attack, he’d taken the easy route and fled.
Coward.
It shouldn’t have bothered him. Winifred had accepted his proposal because it served her interests as much as his own. He was a scientist, and she was a historian. Their lives had no room for anything else.
He ascended the spiral steps to his tower three at a time, then flew inside and slid down the closed door and wrapped his arms around his knees.
Before Winifred had arrived, it had been easier to pretend everything was fine.
It didn’t matter that he missed his siblings because he kept busy with a search for an alternative to mating.
There was no need to hunt when livestock fulfilled his need for blood.
But he couldn’t lie to himself forever. His condition was worsening at an alarming rate. The Marcus of a year ago would never have avoided interacting with his guests because he didn’t want to face that prickling, panicky sensation again.
Coward.
He slowly uncurled his limbs and forced himself upright, then descended the steps to the bottom floor and the exit that led to the forest behind the castle.
It was nothing more than a hunk of wood and metal, but he would have preferred to be staked through the heart or drowned in the ocean rather than cross through it.
He could no longer even think about grasping the handle without feeling like the walls were closing in on him.
“There you are,” a chipper voice said.
Marcus turned to see Jonathan leaning against the wall at the bottom of the steps. His baggy sack coat was unbuttoned, revealing an equally shabby mismatched waistcoat and trousers.
“I am not sure if I should offer congratulations or condolences,” Jonathan said.
Marcus rubbed his aching back. After the attack outside Winifred’s room, he felt as anxious as Cordon had seemed when he’d delivered Lucina’s message.
At least he had no fear of receiving a lecture from his youngest brother.
Jonathan could be dangerously reckless when it came to protecting anyone he cared about, and his youth meant he often let his temper get the better of him, but he was the least inquisitive person Marcus had ever met.
“I was going to watch for movement in the forest,” Marcus said, even though Jonathan hadn’t asked. “In case Cordon is right and there are hunters nearby.”
Jonathan removed a cigar from inside his jacket and twirled it in his fingers. “Do you want me to flush them out?” His grin widened as he stuck the end of the cigar between his teeth. “I could be the bait.”
Marcus chuckled. That was typical Jonathan, always itching for a fight. Here, however, a more subtle plan was warranted. “No. Not yet.”
Jonathan curled his lip in obvious disappointment.
Marcus sighed. Without instruction, his brother was likely to get himself into trouble.
How much longer would it be before every member of his nest came to him for orders?
He should have been alarmed, but it felt right to be in charge again, like things were back to how they’d been after Marguerite had left, but before Marcus had let his pride get the better of him.
“Keep watching my guests,” Marcus said. It was possible that Lucina’s warning and the Belltrees’ arrival were unrelated, but it was too much of a coincidence not to investigate. “Tell me if any of them leave the grounds.”
Jonathan lifted one eyebrow. “Even your pretty new wife?”
An image of Jonathan embracing Winifred flashed in Marcus’s mind and a red haze tinted his vision.
A vampire barely mature enough to be allowed to wander alone was challenging him.
He would tear the whelp limb from limb, burn his body in sunlight, and scatter the ashes.
He channeled his blood through his palm and formed a fist that wrapped around Jonathan’s neck, lifting him nearly to the ceiling.
His brother clawed at the restraint and uttered a high-pitched sound that might have been a plea for mercy.
“Stay away from Winifred,” Marcus said. “She is mine.”
As quickly as it had started, the white-hot anger that burned in his chest faded.
He released Jonathan to collapse into a heap and recalled his blood.
Then he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his damp forehead.
He had not had such poor control over his emotions since he’d been a fledgling.
It had to be another symptom of his affliction.
Jonathan struggled to his feet and gave Marcus a bewildered look. “What was that?”
Marcus swallowed the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth.
He couldn’t tell his brother the truth, that Cordon believed he was suffering from the same disease that had caused their maker to abandon them fifty years earlier.
Jonathan had always been the closest to Marguerite and taken her disappearance and presumed death poorly.
If Marcus revealed the extent of his illness, there was no telling how Jonathan would react.
So rather than apologize or dismiss the incident as a mistake, Marcus squared his shoulders and tilted his head up, even though he could not look down his nose at his much-taller brother.
“A lesson,” Marcus said coldly. “Our nest has become complacent.” He tucked his hands behind his back. “I might have allowed Cordon to presume authority for the moment, but you would do well to remember that I am the eldest.”
Jonathan straightened. “Y-Yes. Of course.” Then he dropped to his knees and dipped his head. “I will obey your commands.”