Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Victor left close to midnight.

The private sitting room felt strangely quiet after the door closed behind him, as though the physician had taken the last of the clinical tension with him and left everything else scattered across the table instead.

Medical notes.

Old records.

The paused forest footage.

A half-finished glass of water Dean had forgotten about nearly an hour earlier.

Dean remained on the sofa, one leg folded beneath him while the other rested against the carpet, staring at nothing in particular.

Arion noticed.

He gathered the tablets from the table, locked the restricted files, and set them aside before coming back without saying anything.

Dean looked up only when Arion stopped in front of him.

”I should have told you.”

Arion’s expression barely changed.

”Told me what?”

”The eyes.”

Dean rubbed one hand over the curve of his stomach.

”The teeth. The scent changing during your worst ruts. All of it.”

Arion crouched in front of him.

”You thought it was normal.”

”That sounds like an excuse.”

”It is the truth.”

Dean looked away.

Four years.

He had seen those eyes repeatedly over four years and, after the first few times, stopped thinking about them because they always appeared under the same conditions and disappeared when Arion’s rut ended.

That had seemed reasonable then.

Now it felt negligent.

”What if it mattered earlier?”

Arion’s hands settled around Dean’s knees.

”We had no reason to connect it to corruption.”

”I studied secondary-gender biology.”

”So did half the medical board.”

”They didn’t see you like that.”

”Neither did Victor.”

Dean frowned.

”That is not helping.”

Arion rose.

Then, instead of continuing the argument, he slid one arm behind Dean’s back and the other beneath his legs.

Dean made an offended sound as he was lifted.

”I can walk.”

”I know.”

”You say that every time.”

”Because you keep informing me.”

Arion carried him the short distance to the deeper corner of the sofa and sat with Dean settled sideways across his lap.

Dean should have protested.

He did not.

The moment Arion’s arms closed around him, some of the tension that had been sitting behind his ribs since Victor arrived began to loosen.

Dean leaned against his chest.

Arion lowered his face to the side of Dean’s neck.

The first kiss landed just beneath his ear.

The second against the old mark at the nape.

Dean closed his eyes.

Arion lingered there, mouth warm against the scarred gland before inhaling slowly.

Dean’s pheromones had changed with pregnancy too.

Mint lemonade remained beneath everything, but it had softened over the months, warmer now and sweeter around the edges whenever he was relaxed. Arion breathed him in with the familiarity of someone checking that something fundamental was still where it belonged.

Dean let his head tip aside, giving him more room.

”You’re distracting me.”

”Yes.”

”That is manipulative.”

”Clearly.”

Dean laughed.

Arion kissed the mark again.

”There is nothing you did wrong.”

Dean’s smile disappeared.

”You don’t know that.”

”I do.”

Arion’s voice stayed low against his skin.

”You saw something strange during a marking response and then during suppressed ruts. Every time the cycle ended, it disappeared. I was healthy afterward. Nothing suggested infection.”

Dean opened his eyes.

”That still feels stupid now.”

”Everything looks obvious after someone gives it a name.”

That was annoyingly reasonable.

Dean turned slightly in his arms.

Arion’s face was close enough that Dean could see the darker gold around his pupils.

Dean touched his jaw.

”And today?”

Arion was quiet for a moment.

”Today was different.”

”That is what worries me.”

Dean leaned back into him.

For several minutes neither spoke.

The residence had gone still around them, the terrace doors shut against the colder night air, and most of the lights dimmed beyond the sitting room. Somewhere farther down the corridor, Boreas shifted heavily against the floor outside the bedroom and then settled again.

Arion’s thumb moved slowly over Dean’s hip.

Then he said, ”I’m going to contact Amaru tomorrow.”

Dean lifted his head.

”That sounded like a change of subject.”

”It is partly one.”

”About what?”

”Draxil.”

Dean’s attention sharpened immediately.

Arion’s hand remained at his waist.

”I want to know how stable the situation is.”

”Stable enough for what?”

”A visit.”

Dean stared at him.

Arion continued before he could interrupt.

”We have waited months for Amaru to consolidate support, secure the military factions, and keep his brothers from turning the succession into an open civil war.”

”That was intentional.”

”I know.”

”Because invading Claudia’s palace while half of Draxil is still deciding who they obey is generally considered poor planning.”

”I am aware.”

Dean narrowed his eyes.

”Then why do I hear the part where you’ve already decided?”

Arion’s mouth curved slightly.

”Because I have.”

Dean sighed.

Pregnancy had made patience difficult enough without his husband deciding to become predictable.

Arion looked toward the dark window.

”We know the cocktail came from Draxil. We know Claudia’s network had access to abilities, synthetic carriers, corrupted pheromones, and enough medical infrastructure to keep Amaru dormant for years.”

Dean’s hand went still against his chest.

”And now whatever happened on Snake Island has changed something in you.”

”Yes.”

That removed the last trace of humor.

Arion’s expression hardened.

”I am tired of waiting for fragments.”

Dean understood that too well.

They had enough evidence to understand the design of Claudia’s work and nowhere near enough to understand the mechanism.

Claudia’s palace remained the obvious center.

If anything survived there, it could answer questions Victor could not.

Dean studied Arion.

”You want access to the laboratories.”

”I want everything.”

Dean leaned back slightly.

”And you think Amaru will let you walk into Draxil now?”

”If his position is stable enough.”

”That is a very important if.”

”Yes.”

Arion did not pretend otherwise.

Dean looked down at his stomach. Their son shifted faintly beneath his palm.

Arion noticed and covered Dean’s hand with his own.

”We are not doing anything until I know the situation.”

Dean was silent.

That made Arion suspicious.

He looked at him.

”No.”

Dean blinked.

”I didn’t say anything.”

”You were about to.”

”I was thinking.”

”That is usually where the problem starts.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed.

”You are planning to go into Claudia’s palace after what happened on Snake Island.”

”With Victor’s involvement.”

”That was not my concern.”

”It should be one of them.”

Dean shifted until he was sitting more upright in Arion’s lap.

”You are not going there alone.”

Arion stared at him.

Dean stared back.

Then Arion’s hand moved to the visible curve beneath Dean’s shirt.

”You are eighteen weeks pregnant.”

”Yes.”

”You are not entering Claudia’s palace.”

Dean’s expression flattened.

”I didn’t say I was entering the laboratory.”

”You said you wanted to go.”

”I do.”

”No.”

Dean folded his arms.

Arion looked toward the ceiling for patience.

Dean settled more comfortably against him.

”Good. We can discuss the details tomorrow.”

”There are no details.”

”There will be.”

Arion’s eyes narrowed.

Dean smiled.

”I’m going with you.”