Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

”Arion.”

”Nero.”

For several seconds they stared at each other through the screen with the absolute seriousness of two men discussing something considerably less ridiculous than the technical degree of their blood relation.

Nero broke first.

”You are still family, which means I remain an excellent candidate.”

”You are using genealogy to nominate yourself.”

”I am establishing eligibility. Those are different things.”

Arion rested one elbow against the desk and rubbed his forehead.

Nero looked delighted with himself.

”You are enjoying this far too much.”

”I am happy for you.”

The answer came without the slightest mockery.

It caught Arion enough that his hand stopped.

Nero’s expression softened, purple eyes warmer beneath the shifting light from the vehicle windows.

”You wanted this for years. You were simply sensible enough not to make that Dean’s problem until he wanted it too.”

Arion looked toward the partially open office door.

Dean’s mint-lemon scent remained faint in the corridor beyond it, wrapped in the remnants of Arion’s vetiver from breakfast.

”He does.”

”I gathered that from the pregnancy.”

Arion’s gaze returned to the screen.

Nero grinned.

”Sorry. That one was impossible to resist.”

”Apparently all of them are.”

”Correct.”

Nero shifted farther into the corner of the leather seat, his long braid sliding against the silver embroidery of his coat. Outside, the Sahan administrative district moved past in flashes of pale stone, glass, and winter-bare trees.

”So,” he continued, ”when Dean inevitably agrees that I am the superior godfather candidate—”

”He has not agreed to anything.”

”—I will be gracious about winning.”

”There is no competition.”

”That sounds like something said by someone whose candidate is losing.”

Arion almost ended the call.

Instead, he watched Nero for another moment.

The thought that had been sitting beneath the pregnancy announcement returned.

Nero had seen him at Sylvia’s wedding.

Before that, on Snake Island.

He had been close enough to Arion’s pheromonal output that, if something truly had changed, Nero was one of the few people who might have noticed without equipment.

His sensitivity was absurd even by dominant standards.

Arion’s amusement disappeared.

”Nero.”

The shift in his voice wiped the smile from Nero’s face.

”What happened?”

”When you were around me in Rohan, did I feel different to you?”

Nero blinked.

Then, because he was incapable of preserving seriousness for more than several seconds, his brows lifted.

”Are you pregnant too?”

Arion stared at him.

Nero laughed.

”I had to.”

”You absolutely did not.”

”I disagree.”

Arion leaned back in his chair.

”This is serious.”

Nero’s expression settled immediately.

”Alright. Different how?”

”My pheromones.”

That got his full attention.

Arion kept the explanation brief.

”Boreas started reacting to me after Snake Island. At first we assumed it was contamination on my clothes. After I showered, he was fine. Recently he started growling again whenever I release pheromones.”

Nero’s eyes narrowed.

”And when you suppress them?”

”He behaves normally.”

”Tests?”

”Everything is clear. Blood, glands, active output, and metabolic markers. Victor repeated the testing.”

Nero knew enough about Victor that his expression changed at the name.

”You called Victor?”

”Yes.”

”That is never comforting.”

”No.”

Arion glanced toward the window.

”Victor thinks Dean may be unconsciously neutralizing something through the bond. Every test has been done with Dean nearby, and when we compared the output closely, there may be something getting suppressed inside his range.”

Nero was quiet now.

”The Veyran discharge,” he said.

”Possibly.”

”The one you took directly.”

”For several seconds.”

”And Dean wasn’t exposed because you pushed him into the helicopter.”

”Yes.”

Nero’s gaze sharpened.

”But you’ve been beside him constantly since.”

”Almost.”

”And he’s pregnant.”

Arion’s jaw tightened.

”That is the problem.”

He explained the rest in as few words as possible.

Victor had wanted Dean removed from the room for another test.

Dean and Arion had refused.

Seven had supported them because the pregnancy was early, Dean’s regulation was already changing, and Arion’s pheromones had become the only thing consistently relieving the worsening nausea.

Separating them merely to force whatever might be hidden into the open carried risks nobody could quantify yet.

Nero listened without moving.

When Arion finished, he remained silent for several seconds.

Then Arion asked the question he had wanted answered from the beginning.

”Did you notice anything?”

Nero’s brows drew together.

He did not answer quickly.

Arion respected that.

Nero looked away from the screen, clearly searching his memory rather than offering reassurance for the sake of it.

”Snake Island first,” he said eventually. ”You smelled like blood, antiseptic, your own output, Dean’s, Hunter’s, and half that clinic by the time we regrouped.”

”That is useful.”

”You asked.”

Arion gestured for him to continue.

Nero thought for another moment.

”At Rohan, you were tired.”

”I know.”

”I mean, your body smelled tired. Stress, poor sleep, healing. Nothing unusual.”

Arion’s fingers stilled on the desk.

”Nothing underneath the vetiver?”

”No.”

”Nothing corrupted?”

”No.”

”Nothing unfamiliar?”

Nero shook his head.

”I would tell you.”

”I know.”

”And I was close enough to notice.”

That was precisely why Arion had asked.

Nero’s sensitivity to pheromonal changes bordered on unreasonable. He could separate layered profiles in crowded rooms, recognize instability before most people consciously understood what they were sensing, and noticed chemical shifts that ordinary alphas or omegas would dismiss as mood.

If Arion had changed enough for Boreas to consider him dangerous, Nero should have noticed something.

He had not.

Nero leaned closer to the screen.

”How subtle does Victor think this is?”

”He doesn’t know.”

”Then Boreas may not be smelling it as corruption.”

Arion looked up.

Nero continued.

”He may simply recognize it as wrong because he knows you better than any equipment does. That does not mean another person would perceive the same component as abnormal.”

Arion considered that.

It was not reassuring.

But it was possible.

Nero’s expression remained serious.

”For what it’s worth, you felt completely like yourself to me.”

Arion exhaled slowly.

Nero watched him.

Then, because apparently he had decided the conversation had become too grave for his preferences, the corner of his mouth lifted.

”Although if you somehow do become pregnant too, I expect to be told before Sylvia.”

Arion closed his eyes.

”Nero.”

”Yes?”

”You are still not the godfather.”

Nero smiled brightly.

”That sounds defensive.”

Arion ended the call.