Dean grimaced. He did not like this alpha thinking of Silas as nothing more than a helpless omega. “His name is Silas Darkstar now and for the rest of his long life he will never see, scent or hear of you again. You are leaving here in the morning and if you ever have Council business again, you are sending a representative.”
“Yes, of course. Sorry,” agreed the alpha.
“And you will never tell anyone what happened here today,” clarified Dean.
The alpha blinked and he looked hesitant. Dean growled and took a step forward. The shadow of his white hot rage from earlier made him more than willing to rip the shifter’s throat out.
“Yes, okay. I won’t,” said the alpha hastily.
Dean glared at him a moment longer, then left whilst he still had control of his wolf. Dimly, he wondered if it was the Council’s reputation that had made the alpha so intimidated by him. Dean didn’t think he was that scary on his own, but maybe he was, maybe the violence he had learned in the pit clung to him like an aura.
Or perhaps the man simply understood how dangerously pissed off any alpha would be at another who had thrown his mate into a heat. But Dean didn’t really care what the cause was. It was done, and all he wanted was to get back to Silas and hold him. Time to find another mage to pin down and order to open a portal. He needed Silas in his arms.
Chapter six
ThenextmorningDeanwatched everyone in the dining hall carefully. Breakfast had been laid out along a long table against one of the walls. Some pack members popped in, grabbed some items and left. Others sat in small groups around one of the many tables dotted around.
Dean sat alone sipping his coffee. Watching and listening. He had left Silas sound asleep and didn’t want to be long. Nobody was talking about what had happened in the Council Chamber. Which meant either the rumor hadn’t got out or they were all aware of their Alpha sitting there staring at them.
Dean sighed and decided he should give up and just get some breakfast to take up to his mate. He could ask Isaiah later if anyone was gossiping. A movement by the door caught his attention, and he glanced over to see Silas walk in.
His mate was wearing very faded and ripped black jeans and a deep purple tee shirt with the words, ‘Necromancers. Just healers with terrible timing,’ on it. Dean remembered it had been a gift from Isaiah on their first pack Christmas and that his mate had been incredibly moved. Which had led to Dean discovering that the dagger he had given Silas for his birthday, just after they were mated, had been the first gift Silas had ever received and the tee shirt had been the first time anyone other than Dean had given him a present.
The knowledge had made Dean want to order everyone in the pack to shower Silas with gifts, but he had restrained himself. Silas deserved more than forced gifts.
Dean turned his attention back to checking if his mate was okay. His wolf wanted to rush over and ask Silas, but Dean decided giving the omega some space was probably a good idea. But a thorough visual and scent appraisal wouldn’t hurt.
Silas’s beautiful dark hair was swept up in a ponytail. His body language looked calm and he smelled good, like his normal delicious self. Dean felt only peace through their mate bond.
Dean was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he saw them. Ugly bracelets, one around each of Silas’s slender wrists. They looked like iron. Dean blinked. They were iron. They were magic binding cuffs. Silas had broken the chain that had connected them and was wearing them like twisted jewelry, but they would still bind his magic.
“No!” bellowed Dean, jumping to his feet. His chair crashed to the ground behind him and everyone flinched, fell silent and stared.
Dean strode over to his mate. “Take them off!”
Silas’s dark eyes met his, calmly holding his gaze. “No,” he said resolutely.
Dean growled, anger blazing through him. His human side and wolf side were in full accord, feeding off each other’s rage. He could not allow this. It could not happen. He tried to grab a hold of Silas, to shake some sense into him, but the necromancer neatly sidestepped. Dean chased after, determined to seize any part of Silas that he could.
Silas wriggled and fought back, but without his magic, he was just an omega. Far smaller than Dean. Dean ended up with a handful of his mate’s hair. It was good enough. He used it to start pulling Silas back up to their bedroom.
“Ow!” yelled Silas, still twisting and squirming. “Are you seriously dragging me around by my hair? What are you? A caveman?”
Dean didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he concentrated on hauling his mate to the privacy of their room. As soon as they were inside it, he flung Silas onto the bed so he landed on his back with a bounce. Then Dean straddled him. He grabbed one of Silas’s wrists and ripped the cuff off, flinging it across the room. Then he did the same with the other one. Then, placing his hands where the cuffs had shackled Silas, he pinned his mate’s arms above his head and glared down at him.
“You need to be safe,” growled Dean, “I can’t protect you. I’m not strong enough.”
Silas glared up at him. Dean knew his mate’s magic was now free. Silas could easily throw Dean off of him. Or incinerate him. Or turn him into a frog. But he merely glared.
“Please,” begged Dean, desperation cracking his voice. The horror of his mate being defenseless was too much to bear, it was like ice clawing at his gut.
Dean gathered all his emotion and shoved it down the bond as hard as he could. He was useless at words, but if Silas could feel what he was feeling, then maybe the necromancer would understand.
Slowly, Silas’s dark eyes softened. A deeply fond look flowing over his face. He sighed heavily, as if he was resigning himself to having the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Fine. Point made. I had them on for ten minutes and look at me,” Silas pointed out calmly.
A new cold horror punched Dean in the gut. He leaped away from Silas and off of the bed, as if distance from the act could undo what he had done. Dean ran his hands through his hair in distress.
