Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Dean stared at the bathroom door.

That question had stripped away the last of the humor.

Arion had noticed something changing for two weeks.

Dean had not.

He looked toward the drawer where the three tests were hidden, then back at his own reflection. His damp blond hair curled slightly around his ears, his cheeks were still flushed from laughing, and nothing about the rest of him suggested his body had already begun rearranging itself around another life.

Outside, Arion tried the handle again.

"Dean."

The concern in his voice settled the matter.

Dean unlocked the door.

He still did not open it immediately.

Apparently that responsibility belonged to Arion.

The door swung inward, and Arion filled the entrance in dark trousers and a black shirt, his winter coat still folded over one arm. He must have returned directly from the administrative complex. Cold air clung faintly to the fabric, mixing with the vetiver already thickening around him.

His eyes moved over Dean immediately.

Face.

Throat.

Hands.

Lower, checking for blood or some injury Dean had somehow neglected to mention.

Dean almost laughed again.

"I told you I’m fine."

Arion stepped inside.

"You locked yourself in the bathroom."

"I panicked."

"Why?"

"I don’t know."

That answer did nothing useful.

Arion dropped his coat over the nearby bench and crossed the remaining distance between them. One hand settled against Dean’s forehead while the other closed around his wrist.

Dean stared up at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking."

"With your hand?"

"You said you’re fine while behaving like this."

Dean opened his mouth to object.

Arion’s fingers shifted to his throat, resting briefly near the scent gland beneath his jaw.

His expression tightened.

Dean knew what he was noticing.

That subtle sweetness beneath the mint lemonade that Dean could no longer distinguish because it belonged to his own body.

Arion could.

"I’m calling Seven."

"No."

Arion was already reaching for his phone.

Dean caught his wrist.

"Arion."

"If something has been changing for two weeks and you’re now hiding in a bathroom—"

"I know what changed."

That stopped him.

Arion slowly lowered the phone.

Dean immediately regretted phrasing it that way.

The gold in Arion’s eyes sharpened.

"What?"

Dean looked toward the empty counter.

He had hidden the evidence because apparently his first response to life-changing news was to behave like a criminal.

He walked past Arion and opened the drawer.

Three pregnancy tests lay among spare razor cartridges, unopened soap, and a packet of cotton pads.

Dean gathered them into his hand.

When he turned back, Arion was watching him with the expression of someone trying very hard not to imagine catastrophic possibilities.

Dean suddenly understood why his own nerves had gone strange.

He held out the tests.

"I took one because Seven’s office included it in the preparation for my checkup."

Arion looked down.

For several seconds, he did not take them.

His gaze moved from the tests to Dean’s face.

Dean could practically see the calculation beginning.

Then Arion took the first one.

Two lines.

He looked at the second.

Then the third.

His entire body went still.

Dean shifted his weight.

"I thought the first one might be defective."

Arion said nothing.

"So I did another."

Still nothing.

"The third was mostly because I apparently stopped trusting statistics."

Arion lifted his eyes.

Dean swallowed.

"They’re all positive."

The vetiver changed.

It deepened so quickly that Dean felt it against his own glands before Arion could pull it back, warm and dense and instinctively possessive without ever becoming oppressive.

Dean’s own pheromones answered.

Mint lemonade softened through the bathroom.

Arion looked at the tests again.

"You’re pregnant."

"Yes."

The words sounded different in Arion’s voice.

Dean gave a small, helpless laugh.

"Apparently."

Arion remained motionless.

Dean had expected something else.

A smile. A question. Possibly Arion becoming insufferably pleased with himself.

Instead, his husband looked almost stunned.

Dean stepped closer.

"Say something."

Arion’s eyes lifted to him.

"When did you take these?"

"Ten minutes ago."

"And you haven’t spoken to Seven?"

"My appointment is this morning."

Arion frowned immediately.

"We’re going now."

Dean almost smiled.

"Seven is not going to confirm a pregnancy faster because you glare at the laboratory."

"I’m not glaring."

"You are already planning to."

Arion placed the tests carefully on the counter.

Then both hands came to Dean’s waist.

Not his stomach.

Dean noticed.

Arion had always been deliberate about that. Even now, with instincts practically humming through the room, he did not touch Dean anywhere that might imply ownership over something Dean had not fully processed yet.

Dean closed the small distance between them himself.

"I’m happy."

Arion’s expression shifted.

Dean smiled faintly.

"I think that’s why I panicked."

"That makes no sense."

"I know."

He rested his forehead against Arion’s chest.

"One minute ago, it was just me knowing."

Arion’s arms came around him.

"And now?"

"Now you know."

Dean felt Arion exhale above him.

"And somehow that makes it much more real."

For a while, Arion simply held him.

The bathroom remained warm around them, morning light catching on pale stone and the polished metal fixtures while the three positive tests sat abandoned on the counter.

Dean listened to Arion’s heartbeat. It was faster than he expected.

That made him smile against his shirt.

"You’re nervous."

"No."

Dean lifted his head.

Arion looked down at him.

"You are."

"I am not nervous."

"Your heart disagrees."

Arion’s mouth tightened.

Dean’s smile widened.

"This is wonderful."

"You were hiding behind a locked door thirty seconds ago."

"That was different."

"How?"

"I have recovered."

Arion stared at him with profound disbelief.

Dean laughed quietly.

Then Arion’s hand finally moved.

He looked at Dean before placing his palm against the flat plane of his lower abdomen.

The touch was so careful that it stripped the humor out of Dean immediately.

Nothing could be felt there yet.

Dean knew that.

Arion knew it too.

Still, his hand remained.

Dean covered it with his own.

Arion’s eyes dropped toward where their fingers overlapped.

"How far?"

"I don’t know yet."

"When did—"

He stopped.

Dean saw the moment several memories rearranged themselves.

The change in pheromones.

The fatigue.

That morning.

Dean’s face heated.

"Don’t."

Arion looked back at him.

"I said nothing."

"You were thinking about the bed."

"I was thinking about timing."

"The bed was included."

Arion’s mouth curved.

Dean pointed at him with his free hand.

"Absolutely not."

"You brought it up."

"I am setting boundaries around your smugness."

"I’m not smug."

Dean stared.

Arion failed to look innocent.

Then the smile finally appeared, but not the teasing one Dean had expected.

Something warmer that transformed his entire face and made Dean’s chest tighten.

Arion bent and kissed him.

One hand remained beneath Dean’s on his stomach while the other slid behind his neck.

Dean kissed him back.

When they separated, Arion rested his forehead against his.

"You wanted one that looked like me."

Dean closed his eyes.

"I knew you would use that against me."

"I remember everything."

"Unfortunately."

"With my personality."

"Now I’m reconsidering."

Arion kissed him again.

Dean laughed into it.

Then Arion reached for his phone.

Dean caught his hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling Seven."

"My appointment is in an hour."

"It is now."

Dean stared at him.

"You cannot reschedule my doctor by imperial decree because you discovered I’m pregnant."

Arion was already unlocking the screen.

Dean sighed.

There he was.

The man Dean had apparently decided should reproduce.

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