Caster’s hand moved back to the back of his head, its tightening grip signaling his impatience.
“Jerry Martin.” He placed his hand on Caster’s arm, hoping his touch could ease the anger. “He didn’t live very long after I told Dean about him.” He squeezed Caster’s arm. “Then Dean made sure I got the proper training, and there haven’t been any Jerrys since.”
“I would have killed him for that.”
Mark sighed when Caster eased his hold. “He was human, and it was a long time ago. I doubt he’d still be alive. And you?”
“What about me?”
“Have you always been so domineering?”
“Yes.”
Mark laughed. “That seems accurate. Even when you were a child?”
Caster stared at him for a moment. “I love it when you laugh. I’ve only seen it once before, but it makes you… more than beautiful.”
He lowered his gaze to Caster’s chest.
“I’ll keep telling you you’re beautiful until you believe me.”
When he chanced a glance at his face, the earnest expression tinged with the barest hint of desire had him craving more, more than today. The thought he couldn’t hide sobered them both, and he cleared his throat. “You didn’t answer my question.” Not that it was important. Nothing else seemed important.
“Yes. The privilege of being my father’s son didn’t help,” Caster said, a small smile on his lips. “But that was a long time ago.”
“How long ago?”
His smile widened. “Are you asking me my age?”
He shrugged. This, this conversation with no apparent direction, was safer than what he wanted.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“OK.” He waited. “You first.”
“850.” Caster waved his hand between them. “Well, 849 to be exact.”
He couldn’t contain his gasp. That was unexpected.
“What, it can’t be that much of a shock? I met your brother about two hundred years later, so I know he’s at least six hundred.” Caster drew further up the headboard, rearranging the pillows and sitting up. “How old are you?”
“Five hundred. 508 to be exact.” Being immortal made annual celebrations of one’s birthday too much. They were accustomed to rounding up or down to the decade. It made things much easier.
Caster frowned. “You’re a hundred years younger than your brother? How can that be?”
Mark lay on his stomach and placed a pillow under his elbow as their initial frenzied attraction dissolved into a comfortable simmer. “Wolves can procreate at any age.” He shrugged. “And I’m sure Mikey and I were a surprise to our parents.”
The confusion on Caster’s face deepened.
“My mother thought she’d only have one child.” He stared straight at the headboard, unsure if he wanted to share the pain of his childhood. But the floodgates had opened, and he couldn’t stop. “And most of the time she acted like she only had one child, even when Mikey was little. It got worse when she found out my need for submission went beyond my wolf.”
Caster reached for his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK. I always had Dean and my father. And then later, Mikey.”
“Dean told me your mother passed away?”
He nodded.