CHAPTER 24
Caster had never been as shaken as he’d been when Mark had professed his fear of losing him.
The arrogance that came with being a Born-Vampire meant that the prospect of injury or even the possibility of his death never crossed his mind.
He went into every battle fueled by that arrogance, knowing before the battle had even begun that he would be victorious.
But Mark’s fear had given rise to the recent memory of Pierce and how scared he’d been.
He hadn’t been afraid that he would die; his fear had been for Mark, for what losing him would mean.
When he’d awoken from that nightmare, he’d resolved to do everything to bolster their collective strength, make sure they’d never be vulnerable again. Zeke’s threat had distracted him from that resolution; Mark’s fear, communicated by a mind he’d lost control of, had revitalized it.
The first step was to make sure no other vampire would be privy to Mark’s thoughts without his permission. Mark’s mind, like the rest of him, belonged to Caster, and he would guard it with his life.
Mark frowned at him, but his mind was closed. The subtle changes in his heartbeat indicated his anger. Good. Anger was the correct response here.
He nodded at his hand. “Let your wolf heal that.” He stepped back, giving Mark space. “Then try again.”
The satisfying sound of his wrist bones knitting back together filled the room, and Caster smiled as Mark’s wolf once again obeyed him.
Mark’s frown deepened as he tested the weight of the sword in his hand. “This is unfair. I don’t know how to use this thing.”
Caster tightened his grip on his own sword. The weight of it, the weight of its significance, settled on his heart, but this was not the time for sentimentality. “Good.” He waved this sword in the space between them, noting Mark’s inadvertent step back. “Get mad at me. Attack me.”
The flash of amber in Mark’s eyes was momentary, and he almost regretted his direction when Mark didn’t hold back.
His inexperience with the weapon was apparent in the way it was a tool to him, not an extension of his anger.
He slashed at the air, his momentum as Caster dodged each one of his attacks with precise, practiced movements, pushing them further across the large space that was the sparring room.
Caster ducked away from Mark’s latest attempt to decapitate him, his laugh just increasing Mark’s anger.
His grunts as he swung with little apparent aim, missing his mark every time, became growls the longer Caster dodged his attacks.
His growl filled the room with his intent, and Caster’s sword came up to meet the latest strike.
Their combined strength was enough to break Mark’s inferior weapon in two.
Mark gasped as the shattered steel crashed to the floor between them, but even with his weapon halved, he didn’t relent.
He snarled, the haze of battle making him forget himself as he tossed the broken weapon to the floor and came at Caster with his bare hands. Caster smiled as he too discarded his sword. This was the Mark he wanted, the formidable warrior he’d seen in that memory of the worst night of his life.
He was right. The sword had been a hindrance.
Hand to hand, Mark was more formidable than anyone Caster had ever fought except perhaps the Prime Alpha.
He growled as he tried to reach for Caster’s neck, but a vampire’s hidden advantage was speed.
Caster utilized that speed now, grabbing Mark’s clawed hand before those formidable weapons made contact with his skin.
They hovered over his face, their intent a threat that increased his heart rate not out of dread, but out of the sweet excitement only battle can bring.
He glanced at Mark, and they both smiled. Mark bit his lip, a distraction that Caster fell for, and he twisted away from Caster’s tight hold. The dull pain in his gut, enough to make him bow forward, was the first indication that Mark had even moved.
The fucker. He’d get only one of those. The pain dissipated as fast as it had come, and Caster caught Mark’s second blow aimed at his ribs before it could make contact. He held his fist in his hand and smiled before twisting.
Mark’s howl of pain was animalistic, but the significant injury was already healing.
His eyes flashed amber again, and a deep growl bubbled from his chest.
He tried to pull his hand out of Caster’s grip, but Caster tightened his hold, and the volume of the growl increased enough to tear at his eardrums.
The door burst open, and Caster didn’t need to tear his attention away from an angry Mark to know Kyle was there. He used his hold to pull Mark closer as he caught Kyle’s eye and shook his head. His ever-vigilant bodyguard understood the situation and returned to his post with a smirk.
Mark didn’t relax, every cell fighting Caster’s considerable strength.
“Stop!”
It took a second for the command to infiltrate his mind, but Mark’s growls died down. They were both breathing hard, a consequence of a sparring session that had gotten out of hand.
His tight hold eased as Mark’s body relaxed against his. “You, OK?”
Mark’s nod was small. The question often brought all kinds of thoughts to his mind. The silence this time was an indication of their momentary success.
Pull that barrier down.
Mark frowned.
He reached for the damp curls on his forehead. Let me in, baby.
The most significant milestone of their relationship came to life in the second it took for Mark to understand his request. Mark nodded, closed his eyes, took a breath, and his thoughts, thoughts of his love, flowed from his mind into Caster’s.
He opened his eyes, his smile wide. “I did it!”
Caster didn’t want to diminish his joy, but there was little to be gained in false hope.
Still, he couldn’t contain his own joy. “Yes, but we’ll need more practice.”
He pulled Mark even closer, the inevitability of an arousal he doubted he could resist every time Mark was in his arms imposing itself on the moment.
“Every part of you is mine and mine alone. Am I clear?”
Mark’s answer was apparent in the way he left that barrier unlocked, in the myriad of images of a future together he didn’t try to conceal, and in the way he snuggled deeper into Caster’s embrace.
***
It had not been a surprise that they’d ended up in bed.
Mark doubted he would ever get enough of Caster.
His arousal, his need for him, was present even as his wolf had taken over and the haze of battle had consumed him.
But even now, as he released every last stone of that mental wall to let their intimacy shine through, he could feel his control of it.
Unlike before, the barrier seemed closer, easily accessible.
“Good.” Caster spoke against his temple, their collective, exerted breaths adding to the air of contentment in the room. “I will punish you every time you lose control of it.”
He gasped, leaving the comfort of Caster’s shoulder. “That’s not fair…”
Caster’s raised eyebrow was an indication this was not a discussion.
He sighed and reached for that barrier again, the threat of Caster’s pronouncement prompting him to check that he still had control of it. “OK.” He saw each brick of that wall, well within reach, and he returned to the comfort of Caster’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I broke your sword.”
Caster’s hand was a distracting caress on his back. “That one was a simple practice sword. Already replaced.”
Mark had seen the intimate way Caster had used his sword. He knew vampires were fond of their weapons from the stories his brother told of the war. But Dean was known to embellish.
Caster chuckled. “Yes. Your brother can do that. But you’re right. That sword is special to me.”
Curiosity imposed on the hum of pleasure still coursing through his body. He didn’t need to voice the questions. That wall would never go up when they were alone.
“You want to see it?”
He nodded. Even without the ability to read thoughts and decipher emotions, he could tell that Caster was as excited to share the weapon’s significance with him as he was to learn about it.
Seconds passed in silence, and Caster surprised him by moving away from the embrace he wanted to maintain more than he wanted to know about the sword. He frowned.
“Stay there!”
His body, his mind settled into the command even as he hated watching Caster walk away from him. Mark’s heightened senses picked up a few words, Kyle’s dependable voice reaching past the vast living area before he heard the door close.
Caster was back in the bedroom with the weapon in his hand.
He stopped at the foot of the bed, cradling the gleaming sword in both hands as if he sought to protect it.
His fingers grazed the intricate designs on the blade that Mark had failed to notice before.
Mark was on his knees, seeking to share the awe on Caster’s face.
His hand hovered over the blade, and Caster nodded for him to touch it.
His fingers grazed the design engraved on the blade from the sword’s guard to the tip. It looked like the severed tail of a snake.
“No. Not a snake. Dragon.” Caster’s voice was reverent, and he drew Mark’s hand from the design that seemed to rise out of the blade itself, dragging it to the pommel. At the top sat the head of the dragon Caster alluded to.
Mark frowned. The red and black image of the creature felt real, its texture almost as scaly as the animal would be in real life. He gasped. It was magical.
His suspicion that this was more than just a weapon was confirmed by the look on Caster’s face.
Mark couldn’t stop touching the dragon’s head sitting at the pommel, the intricate design of the guard a clear impression of the animal’s neck. “Why a dragon?”
“It’s the family crest. But the significance of the animal is long lost, or my father and my uncle Lucien refuse to talk about it.”
Mark reached for the guard, hoping Caster wouldn’t deny him, and smiled when Caster released his hold, allowing him to test the sword’s weight. It was heavier than the one he’d been using. “It is special.”
Caster moved back to the bed, leaning back against the headboard with a sigh. “There are only two like it. This one and Damien’s.”
Mark followed, unable to contain his need to be close to him, but still fascinated by the weapon in his hands.
“Because you’re the firstborn?” He glanced at Caster and forgot to keep his fingers away from the sword’s sharp edges.
The first indication he’d nicked his finger was the scent of his blood. He gasped when Caster inhaled a breath.
Caster reached for the sword, and he acquiesced even when all he wanted was to continue to feel the inexplicable power the weapon contained.
He placed the sword against the side table and reached for Mark’s hand, studying the tiny cut as if willing it to heal.
“Be careful. Yes. This one belonged to my father. Damien’s to his father.”
“And you’ll pass it on to your son?”
Caster’s head came up too fast, his hand still cradling Mark’s with care. He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t intend to have sons.”
He smiled. That the subject had come up before was evidenced by the underlying annoyance in Caster’s demeanor.
“Not even one? Isn’t it your duty to ensure continuity of the royal bloodline?”
Laughter, he was doing his best to contain, as Caster’s frown deepened with each word, burst through, and he doubled over with more joy than he’d felt in longer than he could remember.
He was on his back, Caster’s full weight pressing down on him as he gasped through the last of his laughter. “You’re lucky I love it when you laugh.” Caster’s eyes were on his lips, and he licked them in anticipation. They were so close, their lips brushed with his words. “Do you want any?”
Mark started to shake his head, but his mind caught up with the severity of the question, the intent behind it. “Children?”
Caster nodded even as his face moved closer, his body pushing Mark further into the bed.
Mark had never thought about it. “I don’t know.” He doubted he would be anything but honest with Caster. Before everything with the witch and Zeke, he hadn’t even considered it. Now he wasn’t sure about it, about anything. The only thing he was certain of was a future with Caster.
Caster stared at him for a long moment, as if seeing him for the first time.
He closed the tiny distance between them with deliberate intent, and Mark opened himself up, bracing for an assault that didn’t come.
When their lips touched, the kiss was gentle, so gentle he lost his breath in the next second.
Caster’s tongue didn’t invade; it sought his permission, begging for a love Mark was only too willing to give.
There was no urgency, no rush towards pleasure. The kiss was all they needed.
When he relented, it was clear they had added a new layer to the foundation of what would be the rest of their lives together.
We have an eternity to discuss it. Caster’s words, a whisper through his unguarded mind only added to the intensity of the tender moment.
Caster tried to move off his body, but Mark was not ready to lose this closeness. He pulled him closer, and Caster released a breath and settled on top of him. The rest of the world would impose on them soon, but he intended to soak up this love as long as he could before it did.