Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Arion decided the second half of their date required considerably more dignity than the first.

That was how Dean found himself seated beside a floor-to-ceiling window in one of the best restaurants in Alamina, several hundred meters above the city, while candlelight reflected across black glass and winter lights spread beneath them in long golden lines.

The restaurant occupied the upper floors of an old hotel overlooking the imperial gardens. Dark walnut divided the dining room into quiet sections, bronze fixtures cast warm light over pale stone tables, and enough space separated each one that voices never carried farther than intended. A pianist played somewhere beyond the central bar, soft enough to disappear beneath conversation.

It was, Dean suspected, Arion’s way of restoring order after spending part of the afternoon running through a department store after his own husband.

Dean remained entirely unapologetic.

He had changed before dinner, trading the pale blue sweatshirt and jeans for fitted black trousers and a dark violet knit shirt beneath a cream wool coat that now hung over the back of his chair. Arion sat opposite him in black trousers and a charcoal shirt with the first two buttons left undone, his dark hair still slightly disordered from Dean running his fingers through it in the car.

Hunter had claimed a table across the room with another guard and was making an admirable effort to pretend he had not witnessed the afternoon.

Dean lifted his water glass.

"You overcorrected."

Arion glanced up from the menu. "For what?"

"The shopping center."

"I nearly had to tackle you beside the party supplies."

"You did not tackle me."

"I caught you around the waist while you were running."

"That is dramatically different."

"You had the ducks."

Dean’s mouth curved.

For approximately eight glorious seconds.

He had doubled back while Arion was distracted and reached the clearance aisle before anyone noticed. The transparent container had already been in his hands when Hunter spotted him.

Dean had almost made it to another aisle.

Arion had eventually caught him from behind, lifted him completely off the floor, and removed the hundred miniature ducks while Dean laughed hard enough to become useless.

"I had plans for those."

"That was obvious."

"You didn’t even let me explain them."

"You did explain them."

Dean smiled into his glass.

That had probably been his mistake.

One duck in Arion’s desk.

One behind Otto’s coffee machine.

Several hidden inside council folders.

One in every vehicle belonging to the imperial household.

A few distributed throughout Hendrik’s offices.

Enough scattered through their private rooms that Arion would continue finding them months later.

Dean had thought the plan was great.

Arion had reacted by issuing what Dean regarded as an unconstitutional prohibition.

"You cannot ban me from purchasing an entire category of object."

"I already did."

"You specifically added online after I asked for my phone."

"Because I know you."

Dean leaned back as the waiter placed their first course between them, delicate slices of smoked fish arranged with citrus and winter herbs over chilled stoneware.

"You also banned me from asking someone else to order them."

Arion’s expression remained perfectly calm.

"Correct."

"International delivery."

"Yes."

"Gifts?"

"Yes."

"Diplomatic gifts, which I maintain is an abuse of your authority."

"If another government sends you one hundred miniature ducks, I will reconsider."

Dean picked up his fork.

"Sebastian would do it."

Arion paused.

Dean regretted saying that aloud.

"You are not involving Sebastian."

"I didn’t say I would."

"You thought about it."

Dean cut into the fish with great concentration.

Arion stared at him.

Dean eventually looked up.

"My thoughts remain outside your jurisdiction."

Arion’s mouth curved faintly.

He let the subject go, although Dean suspected his brother might receive a preemptive security warning before morning.

Dinner continued without interruption.

That alone felt strange.

No secure tablet lay beside Arion’s hand. Neither of their phones rested on the table. No military map waited beneath the plates, and nobody had mentioned Amaru, Draxil, or infected beasts since they left the palace.

Dean had forgotten how much he missed eating with Arion without work becoming an invisible third person at the table.

The second course arrived.

Arion barely touched it before his attention settled on Dean again.

Dean noticed immediately.

"What?"

Arion rested one forearm along the edge of the table.

"Did you mean what you said in the store?"

Dean knew exactly what he meant. He put his fork down.

"Yes."

Arion watched him.

Dean waited for the question.

"You want a child with me?"

"Yes."

There was no hesitation this time.

Something changed in Arion’s face. For years, Arion’s instincts had wanted exactly that.

Dean knew the difference because Arion had made certain Dean always knew it.

The biological urge had become stronger after they married and stronger still as their bond settled, but Arion had never allowed instinct to become pressure. Whenever the subject came too close to something Dean was not ready for, Arion stopped.

Six months ago, Dean had stopped it very clearly.

They had been in bed after a family dinner where someone had made the mistake of mentioning heirs. Arion had asked later, carefully, whether Dean ever imagined children.

Dean had answered that he preferred not to imagine anyone depending on them when half their lives seemed devoted to preventing disasters.

Arion had never asked again.

Apparently that history was exactly why he now looked confused.

"What changed?"

Dean reached for his wine.

"I don’t know."

Arion’s brows drew slightly together.

"That is your answer?"

"Yes."

"Six months ago you didn’t want to discuss it."

"I know."

"You practically threatened me for continuing the conversation."

Dean took a sip.

"I threatened everyone that week."

"You threatened me specifically."

"You were available."

Arion’s expression suggested this did not explain enough.

Dean sighed and lowered his glass.

"I really don’t know what changed."

"The baby clothes?"

"Maybe."

Dean looked toward the window.

The imperial gardens stretched below, their bare winter trees outlined by narrow path lights. Beyond them, the city continued toward the mountains, dense towers giving way to lower neighborhoods and eventually darkness.

He tried to find some dramatic reason.

There wasn’t one.

Nobody had convinced him.

He had not suddenly developed some powerful concern about succession.

Their lives had not magically become safer.

The infected beasts were still sleeping inside Alamina’s forests. Amaru still had an entire country to reclaim before they could reach Claudia’s Palace. There would always be politics, danger, and obligations waiting for them.

None of that had changed.

Dean simply had.

"It happened," he said.

Arion remained silent, letting him work through it.

Dean turned his wedding ring slowly around his finger.

"I saw that coat, then I looked at you, and suddenly there was a child in my head."

Arion’s eyes warmed.

"With my personality?"

Dean smiled.

"Unfortunately."

"You remain determined about that."

"I like your personality."

"You complain about it constantly."

"That is part of liking it."

Arion accepted that strange logic with the resignation of a man married to Dean for three years.

Dean rested his elbow against the table.

"I imagined someone with your hair and your eyes. Maybe my nose, because yours on a baby might look intimidating."

Arion stared.

Dean laughed softly.

"And then I kept thinking about it."

His humor faded into something gentler.

"I wanted that child."

Arion’s fingers tightened once against the tablecloth.

Dean saw it.

Arion’s control had always been formidable, but Dean knew what was beneath it. The instinct that wanted to build a family with his mate had not disappeared because Dean said he was not ready.

Arion had simply placed Dean above it.

That realization made Dean reach across the table.

Arion turned his hand immediately and laced their fingers together.

"You really want this?" he asked.

Dean nodded and rubbed his thumb slowly across Arion’s knuckles.

"I’m not saying yes for you." He said as he knew his husband would worry about Dean being forced into it.

Arion’s shoulders eased slightly.

Dean looked down at their hands.

"I think before, whenever I imagined having a child, I imagined responsibility first."

That had been the problem.

"But today I didn’t think about any of that first."

"What did you think about?"

"You."

Arion went very still.

Dean smiled faintly.

"Then me. Then someone who was both."

The words felt embarrassingly sentimental when spoken aloud, but he did not take them back.

"I wanted to see what our love looks like when it becomes something more than just us."

Arion’s gaze stayed on him.

Dean shrugged, suddenly self-conscious beneath the intensity of it.

"That’s it. I don’t have a better explanation."

"You don’t need one."

"It feels like I should."

"Why?"

"Because six months is apparently enough time for me to go from refusing the conversation to imagining your face on an infant."

"My face?"

"Approximately."

Arion smiled.

Dean squeezed his hand.

"I just want one now."

The simplicity of it seemed to affect Arion more than any elaborate argument could have.

His instincts reacted before his expression did. Dean caught the subtle deepening of vetiver around them, warm and rich but immediately controlled as Arion pulled it back before anyone else in the restaurant could notice.

Dean’s own scent responded anyway, mint and lemon lifting softly along his throat.

Arion looked at him.

"Sorry."

Dean’s smile widened.

"You are absolutely not sorry."

"No."

That honesty made him laugh.

Arion lifted Dean’s hand and kissed the inside of his wrist, right beside the faint scent gland there.

"We don’t have to decide anything tonight."

"I know."

"Or this month."

"I know."

"We can talk to Seven when we’re ready."

Dean tilted his head.

"You have thought about this extensively."

Arion’s expression became suspiciously neutral.

"How extensively?"

"Dean."

"Oh, no."

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