Page 38 of Only You, No One Else

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?”