CHAPTER 39
He’d been here only a few hours ago, the plan he now dreaded implementing taking shape in the early hours of the morning.
Now, as the sun dipped over the horizon, Mark ran through his plan, their plan.
It was dangerous, that much he could concede, but his mind had gone through all scenarios with no viable alternative.
The only way to beat Ethel was to find out the source of her power.
Then perhaps they would find a way to sever that connection.
With her dark power stripped away, she was just another witch, and that, they could handle.
He squeezed Caster’s hand for what seemed the hundredth time as Riley and Amara assembled what looked like an altar.
He could smell some of the herbs in the large caldron at the center of the circle surrounded by several large wreaths.
He didn’t know how they’d gotten everything they needed so quickly, but he was learning that with Caster’s family, anything was possible and logistics were never a stumbling block.
Reverent silence followed when Riley and Amara stood to face them. Mark could still feel Dean’s opposition, but his brother would not voice his objection, not when even he knew this was the best course of action.
“You’ll need to be in wolf form.” Amara’s casual request startled him, and he glanced at Caster.
Caster squeezed his hand. “Why?”
“His life force is strongest when he’s in wolf form. Much easier to track,” Riley said.
“And the other Alpha seems to respond to that side of you. If he has the power of a Prime, he will sense your wolf over long distances.”
Amara’s dark eyes met his as she explained, and Mark nodded.
He checked on the barrier keeping his animal from the present moment, and the calm, almost lazy acceptance there said his animal trusted the new witch. Perhaps he should too.
The last time he’d been in wolf form had been the first time in ten years.
There was the niggling fear that he couldn’t do it.
But as he released his hold on Caster’s hand, he reached for the powerful essence that was his animal, calling him forth through their connection.
The power flooding his system was incomparable to anything, and as the sunset filtered through the eyes of his true self, he allowed it to surge through him.
He heard and felt gasps from everyone around as the animal emerged, sending his human form behind the mental barrier they shared with minimal effort and faster than any other wolf.
His paws held on to the perfect grass, his growl of approval tore through the compound, and his fur swayed in the wind, his clothing torn to shreds.
He inhaled, reveling in the details of a world his human self would never experience.
The pain the transformation brought was momentary, retreating to the recesses of his memory with his human self.
The hand on his head was familiar, as was the scent it brought. Can’t get over how beautiful you are, baby. Comfortable?
The human side of him trapped behind the barrier smiled his answer; the wolf pushed closer to his protector.
He was aware of words, words he couldn’t make out in wolf form, but both sides of him remained calm. Caster was here. He was coming with him. Zeke didn’t stand a chance.
Mark was unprepared for the effect of the spell on his animal. Its power was undeniable; he could see the halo of the purple hue it took on as Riley and Amara held hands, their mouths moving in a rhythmic chant that would not reach into his mind.
The purple halo turned black, then green, and panic replaced calm anticipation.
He pushed closer to Caster and sensed his desire to protect him, just as his human self rose from the recesses of his mind to meld with his wolf.
For the first time in his life, he felt like a single entity, but he was still in wolf form, his paws digging into the grass as he tried to find purchase.
The spell surged, its color going back to a deep purple before eerie silence overwhelmed his heightened senses and he was surrounded by darkness.
The slow pan of a scene from his memory tore through his eyes.
He took stock of himself to find the same clothes he’d worn the day the witch had attacked his home.
Darkness gave way to a steady stream of light, but its comfort was short-lived.
The memories were still fresh, so as he watched the image of his own face devastated by Riley’s failure to counter Ethel’s power and her joy at having thwarted them again, he dismissed his grief, choosing to focus on the task at hand.
He sped through the memory to the moment he’d seen Zeke.
The same crooked smile, the endearment that now crawled over him, but had only confused him in the moment, greeted him.
Zeke, the past Zeke who couldn’t see the present projection of Mark, closed the distance between them.
Caster, the memory of Caster, called out to him, but red eyes appeared over Zeke’s shoulder.
Mark gasped and started to turn towards safety, but Zeke whispered something in an unfamiliar language, and he was trapped.
The eyes over his shoulder glowed a radiant red, and an invisible force pushed Mark to his knees.
The darkness that had brought him here swallowed him whole, and he was in human form again.
Movement from the left, pinpricks of light appeared, the projection of Caster following in their wake.
The panic tearing through the last of his courage lessened when Caster nodded at him, granting him the support he needed to push through.
Previous experience of travelling through a memory told him they couldn’t communicate or do much more than offer silent support, but he’d never needed Caster more.
The darkness deposited them in what seemed like death. Solid earth was apparent, but Mark, the memory of Mark, remained on his knees in front of a regal-looking Zeke surrounded by a contingent of those red-eyed demons.
Mark glanced at Caster again, and they both looked at Riley and Amara. This world, there was no way it was their world, appeared dead, unreal. Mark forced himself to take stock of his past predicament, one he had no memory of, but was certain couldn’t be good.
Zeke stepped forward; his demon army maintained their position as if they sensed a threat they needed to guard against. He fell to his knees in front of Mark, the expression on his face familiar, yet foreign. He smiled and whispered something Mark couldn’t make out.
The subdued Mark on his knees rose a fraction.
“Zeke?” His voice sailed through time to deepen the ache in Mark’s heart.
There was unimaginable fear in it, tinged with a slight sprinkling of hope.
Shame flooded his system, but he resisted the urge to turn to Caster.
That hope was old and foreign. He loved Caster, like he was certain he would never love another.
“Yes, it's me, my love.” The endearment felt different, but he pushed even that comparison out of his mind as he watched Zeke reach for his hair.
The memory of Mark seemed to regain some semblance of himself. He pulled out of the touch, and Zeke frowned before dropping his hand. Mark looked around and behind him before scrambling to his feet. “Where am I? Where’s Caster?”
A sound he could only describe as a growling howl tore out of Zeke’s chest, followed by terrifying screeches from his demon army. Mark watched indescribable fear tear through the memory of himself, so palpable it caused a shiver through him.
“You belong to me. He can’t have you.” The growl in Zeke’s tone was threatening, as was the way his demons surrounded Mark.
Mark was helpless as he watched himself battle against a power too strong for words.
He tried to move away from Zeke, but a whispered chant from the Alpha’s lips paralyzed his movements.
Mark saw the rhythm of this dead world as his heart ached for a helpless past version of himself.
Every time Zeke chanted what seemed to be the words of a spell, the red eyes would glow, and the bonds holding his former self in place would tighten.
He glanced at Riley, needing to confirm his theory, but there was no way to ask. In this form, communication was impossible.
“Stop fighting me.” Zeke’s growl drew him back to the scene unfolding before them.
The moment all fight left Mark was so palpable it infected the dead world with a bit of light, its flash illuminating the dark bodies of the red-eyed demons.
Tears streamed down Mark’s face as he looked up at Zeke, his form slack.
This was the first moment Zeke had total control over Mark’s wolf.
It needn’t be more explicit; no words were necessary; he remembered that utter look of devastation at the loss of control.
He’d lived with it for ten years. Just below it was pure unadulterated hatred.
He’d hated the witch when she’d stripped him of the connection to his true self, and the same hatred he couldn’t conceal, even helpless and on his knees, sailed past this moment, past time to cause him to curl his fists.
“I don’t want to do this,” Zeke said, his false remorse only increasing his anger. He knelt in front of Mark again, and this time when he touched Mark’s hair, there was little resistance, his influence complete. “I love you. I just wanted you to see it my way.”
“Let me go.” The whisper, a quiet defiance even when his mind was not his own, tore at Mark’s heart. He longed to intervene, do something, anything to save his past self the pain constricting his chest with helplessness and anger. But in this form, he was nothing more than a spectator.
Zeke snarled. It was clear Mark fought his influence.
“I need you to listen first.” His voice turned soft.
“Look at me.” Mark raised his gaze from the floor, his head a weight he tried to fight, but Zeke’s influence won.
“I don’t want to have to kill you. Not you.”
He waited, a second or two, and then roared his frustration.
“Your brother has to die. But you don’t.”
Mark gasped out of whatever trance Zeke’s influence had him in, and he shot to his feet.
Zeke scrambled to follow, reaching for Mark’s arm, pulling him closer.
Whatever magic that had rendered Mark paralyzed was broken as he tore his arm away from Zeke.
The demons growled in threat, but Mark was not deterred.