Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

”But what if he grows sick of waiting?”

Dean had nothing to say to that.

Not because the question was clever.

Because it was wrong in the most dangerous way.

Nero would not move on.

Dean knew that with the same certainty he knew his own name. Nero was Dax’s son. Whatever madness burned in King Dax of Saha had not diluted itself politely through inheritance. It had been refined. Focused. Become white-blond hair, violet eyes, and a smile too beautiful to be anything but a warning.

Dax had never moved on from Christopher.

Not before the bond. Not after the marriage. Not after twenty-five years of rule, children, scandals, treaties, and every possible force in the world trying to make obsession mature into something reasonable.

It had not.

Dax still looked at Chris like he had found him yesterday and might burn a kingdom if someone suggested giving him back.

Nero had grown up watching that.

Worse, Nero had inherited it.

So no, Dean did not believe Nero would grow tired of Sebastian and find someone else. That would almost have been easier. Ugly, insulting, damaging, but understandable.

The true fear was not that Nero would stop wanting Sebastian.

The true fear was that Nero would decide wanting had waited long enough.

Dean’s throat tightened.

Ilara watched his face, and something in her expression said she knew exactly where his thoughts had gone.

”You see it,” she said quietly.

Dean hated her a little for that.

”No,” he said. ”I see Dax.”

Arion’s hand closed more firmly around his.

Ilara inclined her head. ”As do I.”

”Nero is not his father.”

”No.” She let out a low, unamused chuckle. ”His son is way worse.”

Dean’s brain stopped.

For a moment, it did not even try to recover. It simply went blank, as if the thought had entered, looked around, and decided there was nowhere safe to stand.

Because what was he supposed to do with that?

Dean had neutralized Nero’s pheromones before. He had beaten him in sparring once, twice, and enough times for the instructors to pretend they were not quietly relieved someone could still put the Sahan prince on the ground.

But those victories belonged to a time that no longer existed.

Nero had grown stronger with every passing month and now Dean couldn’t actually put him down.

He was an enigma now in every way that mattered.

He could put down an infected beast in minutes.

”What...” Dean began, then stopped, because the question was too large for his mouth.

”You can’t do anything about it,” Ilara said firmly.

Dean’s eyes snapped to her.

Arion’s hand tightened around his before he could speak, not to restrain him, but to remind him that he was not alone in the room.

Ilara did not soften.

”That is not an insult,” she continued. ”It is a fact. You cannot overpower Nero. You cannot threaten him away. You cannot shame him into decency, and you cannot appeal to a restraint he has already decided has cost him too much.”

Dean’s throat worked.

Ilara leaned forward slightly, her hands still wrapped around her cup as if the warmth were the only indulgence she allowed herself.

”They both died,” she said.

The words landed cleanly.

Dean’s hand went cold in Arion’s.

”How?” Arion asked.

”We do not know.” Ilara’s fingers tightened once around the cup. ”The visions are fragmented, and nobody has seen enough to build a proper history from. Only repeated impressions from those who carried memory across timelines.”

Dean thought of Lucas.

His father, who had lived too many lives and still woke some mornings with the expression of a man listening to ghosts.

His stomach turned.

Ilara continued, ”Sebastian and Nero were both dead. The capital had fallen. The infected beasts had broken through and entered the world.”

Dean laughed once, without humor. ”You asked me here to ruin my honeymoon?”

”I asked you here because Sebastian will not listen to me first.”

That struck him into silence.

Ilara held his gaze. ”He may listen to you. Or to your fathers. Or to Arion, if the warning is framed correctly. But if I send a formal request through temple channels asking Sebastian Fitzgeralt to present himself for evaluation regarding a possible siren awakening tied to Prince Nero of Saha, what do you think he will do?”

Dean’s mouth closed.

Because unfortunately, he knew.

Sebastian would read the message once.

Then he would delete it, block the sender, forward the temple’s identification number to his security team, and pretend the entire thing had never happened out of spite and personal dignity.

”He will refuse,” Dean said.

”Yes.”

”He will say he is a dominant alpha, fully awakened, medically stable, and that everyone involved needs either sleep, a physician, or fewer religious documents sent before lunch.”

Ilara’s expression did not change. ”Yes.”

Dean hated how accurate that was.

”And by the time he realizes it is not nonsense,” Ilara said softly, ”Nero may already be too close.”

Arion’s voice was low. ”Why are you trying to take him away from Nero?”

Dean turned his head toward him.

The light from the windows caught in Arion’s deep gold eyes, but there was no warmth in them now. Only the cold, still pressure of a sigma who had found his mate in Dean and understood, perhaps better than anyone in the room, what it meant to want someone and still be expected to remain human about it.

Like his cousin, Arion would not give up what was his.

Unlike Nero, Arion had already been chosen back.

That difference sat between them like a blade.

Ilara went very still.

Arion did not raise his voice. That made it worse.

”Why did you not report the danger of the beasts to me?” he asked. ”To the Emperor? To Hendrik, at least?”

Ilara’s fingers tightened around her cup.

Arion’s face hardened with every word. ”You are the temple, Ilara. But the ones shielding everyone from the infected beasts and whatever corruption is in the restricted area are us. Not you.”

Dean’s pulse slowed for one strange second as he knew Arion was going to tear the temple down.

”You said it yourself,” Arion continued. ”You do not know what happened entirely. You know one event from many. A fragment. A possible future. And you are acting on it by trying to move Sebastian away from Nero as if that will not become the exact pressure point that makes both of them worse.”

Ilara’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

Arion leaned forward slightly. ”Do not reach Sebastian. Do not reach Nero. If you do, knowing both of them, they will kill each other faster.”

The room went silent.

Hunter did not move near the door, but Dean felt him listening with his entire body.

Ilara lowered her gaze to the cold tea.

For once, she did not answer quickly.

That worried Dean more than any prophecy had.

”You are not wrong,” she said at last.

Dean blinked.

Arion did not soften. ”That is not enough.”

”No,” Ilara agreed. ”It is not.”

She set the cup down carefully, and this time there was no mystery in the gesture. Only age. Only exhaustion. Only the weight of an old woman who had seen enough to fear her own restraint as much as her own action.

”I did not report the beast breach because I could not determine whether it was cause or consequence,” she said. ”The records do not agree. Some fragments show Nero and Sebastian dead before the breach. Some after. Some show the capital already burning. Some show Rieslow falling first. Some show no Rieslow at all, only sirens, emergency broadcasts, and infected beasts moving through streets that should have been impossible to reach.”

Arion’s eyes narrowed. ”That should have made you report sooner.”