Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Dean was not sick.

He had decided this with the authority of a man who had survived royal weddings, temple prophecies, political murders disguised as family dinners, and Arion in rut.

A slightly cold nose did not count.

A mild headache did not count.

The fact that Seven had entered the room wearing the expression of a man preparing paperwork for treason definitely did not count.

Dean sat curled on the sofa in their private sitting room, wrapped in one of Arion’s dark robes because it was warmer than his own and also because theft inside marriage was not theft. It was resource redistribution.

Boreas sat in front of him, like a furry northern tribunal.

Dean sniffed.

Boreas barked.

Dean stared at him. ”Stop that.”

Boreas stared back.

Dean reached for his tea.

His nose betrayed him.

He sneezed.

Boreas barked once, sharp and scandalized, as if announcing to the entire palace that the Crown Consort of Alamina had attempted to die in public.

Dean closed his eyes. ”You are making this worse.”

Boreas gave a low, deeply judgmental sound.

”You are a dog.”

Boreas barked again.

”A very large dog, yes. Congratulations.”

His tablet chimed.

Dean grabbed it too quickly, which Boreas clearly noted for later testimony.

Arion: Landed. Stay inside.

Dean sniffed, offended.

Dean: I was not planning to crawl onto the runway.

Arion: You asked the driver if the secondary airport road was open.

Dean: Academically.

Arion: Dean.

Dean stared at the screen and felt the full injustice of being loved by a man with too many security clearances.

Dean: I am slightly cold. Not dying.

Arion: You sneezed four times during our last call.

Dean looked at Boreas.

Boreas looked back with the expression of a creature who would absolutely testify.

Dean: Your dog is spreading misinformation.

Arion: My dog is the only responsible adult in the room.

Boreas barked.

Dean startled, sneezed, and was immediately barked at again.

”Oh, you traitor.”

The door opened before he could continue the argument, and Seven entered with a medical case in one hand and the exact face of a man who had expected this.

”No,” Dean said immediately.

Seven paused. ”I did not speak.”

”You were going to.”

”I was going to ask if you had taken your temperature.”

”No.”

Seven stared at him.

Dean pulled Arion’s robe tighter around himself. ”That was an answer.”

”It was a confession.”

Boreas barked.

Dean pointed at him. ”Do not encourage him.”

Seven walked closer, immune to royal dignity, omega irritation, and the dramatic tragedy of being mildly unwell while one’s husband was still twenty minutes away. He pressed a scanner near Dean’s temple.

Dean attempted to look dignified.

The scanner beeped.

Seven looked at the result.

Dean looked at Seven.

Seven looked at Boreas.

Boreas barked.

Dean groaned. ”That cannot be medically necessary.”

”You have a low fever.”

”I have betrayal.”

”You have both.”

Dean sank deeper into the sofa. ”Arion is going to be impossible.”

”Arion is always impossible.”

”Yes, but now he will have evidence.”

Seven gave him the kind of dry look physicians developed after treating royal families for too long. ”Your fever is not a conspiracy against you.”

”It feels politically timed.”

”Most illnesses do not consult the calendar.”

”They should. I am busy.”

Boreas placed his enormous head on Dean’s knee with careful, devastating gentleness.

Dean’s irritation cracked.

”Oh, now you are sweet?”

Boreas huffed.

Dean scratched behind his ears with one hand while Seven handed him medicine with the other. Dean took it because refusing would only delay the inevitable and because Arion would somehow know.

His tablet chimed again.

Arion: Seven says fever.

Dean glared at Seven. ”You are a spy.”

”I am a physician.”

”There is overlap.”

Seven did not deny it.

Dean typed with great dignity.

Dean: Your surveillance state has no respect for patient privacy.

Arion: My mate has no respect for basic survival.

Dean: It is a low fever.

Arion: I am aware. I am also aware that you tried to come to the airport.

Dean: Academically.

Arion: I will be home soon. Stay on the sofa.

Dean looked down at himself, buried in a robe, tea, blanket, dog, and medical insult.

Dean: I am trapped by your beast.

Arion: Good.

Dean: He barks when I sneeze.

Arion: Good.

Dean stared at the message, then sneezed.

Boreas barked so loudly that Seven closed his eyes.

Dean pointed weakly at the dog. ”This is Arion’s fault.”

Seven packed his scanner away. ”Most things in this residence are.”

The outer doors opened then, not fully, only enough for the security change to ripple through the suite.

Dean felt Arion before he saw him.

Vetiver and cold night air.

His entire body, traitorous and feverish and deeply sentimental, relaxed before his mind could produce a single clever defense.

Boreas lifted his head.

This time, he did not bark.

He stood, tail sweeping once, proud as a commander who had held the line.

Arion entered still in his travel coat, hair wind-touched, golden eyes already fixed on Dean with the terrible focus of a dominant alpha who had crossed borders and was now seconds away from becoming everyone’s problem.

Dean lifted one hand from under the blanket. ”Before you say anything, I am fine.”

Arion looked at Seven.

Seven said, ”Low fever. Irritating but stable.”

Dean gasped. ”Irritating?”

Arion crossed the room.

Dean tried to sit straighter.

Arion placed one hand on his forehead, then cupped the back of his neck, thumb brushing the edge of the collar hidden under the robe.

”Take your medicine, Dean,” he said, fingers tracing the mark under the fabric.

Dean shivered. ”You are cheating.”

”Yes.”

”That was not a denial.”

”I was not attempting one.”

Dean glared weakly at him.

Arion held out the pills.

Boreas barked.

Dean sighed. ”Fine. But I am emotionally reporting all of you.”

”That will not bother me. You being sick does.” Arion shrugged off his coat. ”I am withholding your participation in this year’s beast season if you are sick.”

Dean froze with the pills halfway to his mouth. ”You would not dare.”

Arion’s gaze stayed calm. ”Try me.”

Seven made a small sound that was suspiciously close to approval.

Dean swallowed the pills out of spite. ”This is medical tyranny.”

Boreas barked again.

Dean pointed at him. ”You are losing aunt privileges with Sylvia.” Then he turned to Arion and took the pills. ”I’m not losing the moment Andrea dies for a cold.”