Chapter 35
Caster had seen a lot of death. He’d killed a lot of vampires, humans, and werewolves in his long life, but the precision, the deep purpose of this kill was striking. It was almost as if Mark had been planning the exact sequence of actions for a long time.
Ten years.
His task done, the ever-efficient Kyle said something about cleanup and left the room.
“You coming?” Dean asked his brother, but Mark only shook his head.
Caster too remained rooted to the spot, unsure of how they’d ended up facing each other, their undefined attraction crackling between them.
His mind failed to grasp the rational response needed to stop what he couldn’t.
Mark’s lips were on his before he could even formulate a plan to regain his control.
The residue of Mark’s rage was palpable in the insistent press of his tongue. That primal animalistic side of Caster that he fought to push back crawled to the surface, and he had Mark by the neck against the same wall the dead vampire had been clinging to, lost in the need to take everything.
Mark’s hands held on to his wrist, but he didn’t struggle. The challenge in his eyes was all the permission Caster needed, but his training reared its ugly head. “I’m desperate for you. I can’t be gentle right now.”
Mark didn’t back down, meeting the relentless energy with equal violence. “I don’t want you to be. I never have.”
The night at the cabin floated through his mind, and he was lost to his desire to push into Mark’s body.
The smell of blood, its gradual decay, filtered through his senses to his occupied mind, but rather than repulse him, it only increased the fervent desire.
He pushed his straining cock against Mark’s arousal, the minuscule difference in their height making the action easy.
They both groaned at the contact, and he couldn’t wait any longer.
He turned Mark’s body with little effort or resistance and ripped at his slacks.
The time it took to find his prize seemed an eternity, even though it was only a few seconds.
With no time for him to undress, he lowered the zipper of his pants, tore through the additional layer that was his underwear, and pressed his cock against Mark’s entrance in the space of a heartbeat.
“Don’t you dare stop.”
The warning in Mark’s voice almost made him stop just to see what he would do, but he was too far gone.
He plunged into the welcoming heat and held on, a hiss tearing past his lungs into Mark’s ear as his body shuddered through the assault.
Mark moaned, and he forgot his resolve to give him time to adjust. The first thrust was punctuated by a low moan from Mark.
By the time he lost his rhythm, Mark’s pleas for release were broken whispers echoing through their connection to settle in his heart.
He denied him the permission he sought, needing to feel a little bit more. But his body called him on his denial, and he could do nothing about the delicious tingle at the base of his spine signaling his impending release.
“Come for me, baby.” His rough command drowned in Mark’s surrender. His body gripped him like a vice, only to release and repeat. He stilled, buried inside Mark’s pulsing body, and wave after wave of his own release overtook every sense, every cell, and they tumbled together.
When he could feel his body again, his face was buried in Mark’s hair for the second time in a few days, their breaths in perfect synchrony.
Although it was the last thing he wanted to do, he pulled out, wrapping his arms around Mark to pull him away from the wall.
The mess that was the dead vampire on the floor invaded his senses, as did the state of their clothing.
The evidence of Mark’s vengeance stained their once pristine white shirts a deep red, his pants torn beyond repair.
Caster turned Mark in his arms, needing to see his face, and cradled his face in his blood-slickened hands. “Better?”
There was a haze in his gaze, the effects of their explosive shared orgasm evident.
Mark opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come, and he nodded.
Caster tried and failed to resist the call of his open mouth.
The gentle kiss contrasted with the ghost of the violence in the room.
Mark’s total surrender didn’t help. The gift of everything he’d hoped for was his for the taking, and he had to fight to break away from the moment lest he indulge in what didn’t belong to him.
Mark looked at him with expectation, and he wished his world contained only this moment. He reached for his hand, leading him away from the growing stench of death already infecting the air. The hallways to their room were deserted. Kyle’s doing, no doubt.
No words were needed as he undressed Mark, stripped his own clothing, and pulled him into the shower.
§
Try as he might, Mark could not move past the pleasure.
He was well aware of what this was. Every submissive was.
But he hadn’t felt it in so long, he couldn’t be sure it was real.
The pain of Caster thrusting into his ill-prepared body was not sufficient to bring this on, was it?
With Zeke, he’d needed more than momentary pain. He’d required enormous amounts of it.
Caster seemed oblivious to the battle raging within him as he fought to keep his reaction from him. It wouldn’t do to surrender that part of himself. Still, he wanted to sigh, Caster’s hands, the heat from the water cascading over their bodies, spreading the contentment further.
His resistance manifested in a moan, and he lay his head on Caster’s shoulder, praying he hadn’t betrayed himself further. This was too much, too fast. He wasn’t ready to give himself to anyone. He was sure he never would be.
If Caster heard that thought, he didn’t show it, only drew him closer so every inch of their bodies touched.
They were both aroused again, but neither made a move to do anything about it.
He tracked the water’s path past their feet to the drain as it lost its pink tint the longer it cleaned off the vile vampire’s blood.
That’s it. The memory of that day, the thirst for vengeance, should get him out of this. He replayed the vampire’s widened eyes as he reached past his chest cavity, and he drew back from the edge of explicit pleasure back to the land of the living, back to what had brought it.
Almost as if he could sense it, or because he could, Caster turned off the water and walked past him, grabbing two towels and handing him one.
“Thank you.” His whisper held more significance than the moment could contain. Caster could have stopped him from killing one of his own, but instead had chosen to honor his unspoken promise for vengeance. Whatever would happen after this, he would always be grateful for that.
Mark felt his eyes, his questions as he pulled on pajama pants, neglecting the need for a shirt.
He was too wired to sleep, but Dean would no doubt be waiting downstairs with questions he wasn’t ready to answer.
He couldn’t avoid his brother forever, but tonight he needed the comfort this room provided.
Any explanations his brothers wanted would have to wait.
He climbed into bed, watching Caster, who didn’t put on his pajamas as he’d expected, instead choosing another white shirt and slacks.
“Cleanup,” he said with a smirk. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”
Mark didn’t believe for a second that Caster did any of his own cleaning, but if he needed him to know, he would tell him, and whatever it was, Mark didn’t need to know. There was no need to complicate this any more than it already was.