Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Dean had discovered that maternity leave was largely theoretical when one happened to be the crown consort of Alamina.

Officially, he had been removed from the majority of his schedule until Theodore was at least a year old, with only voluntary appearances, essential family events, and whatever responsibilities Dean personally chose to retain remaining on his calendar.

In practice, Dean had answered three ministerial questions before breakfast, reviewed a proposal from the social development office during Theodore’s morning nap, and spent forty minutes approving revisions to a charitable foundation’s winter program while his son slept facedown against his chest with one tiny fist tangled in his sweater.

Dean considered that perfectly manageable.

What he did not consider manageable was the fact that he had barely seen his husband for four consecutive days.

Arion left shortly after breakfast, returned after dinner, disappeared into calls with Victor and Hendrik, reviewed Dominic’s records after Theodore was asleep, and somehow still found time to check the nursery several times during the night as though their son might have developed an entirely new biological anomaly between midnight and two in the morning.

Theodore objected too.

At least Dean assumed that was what the increasingly offended noises meant whenever Arion appeared, held him for twenty minutes, and then attempted to leave again.

Today had been particularly offensive.

Arion had kissed Dean at seven thirty in the morning, picked Theodore up from his cot, spent approximately twelve minutes telling a three-month-old child that he would return later, and disappeared into the administrative wing.

It was now almost nine at night.

Dean had enough.

He sat in their bedroom with Theodore asleep against him, one hand resting across the baby’s back while his tablet balanced on the arm of the chair beside an unfinished report.

The room was warm, the curtains drawn against the cold November night, while the low fire beyond the sitting area cast enough amber light over the dark wood and cream fabrics to make the entire suite feel considerably more inviting than Arion’s office deserved to be.

Dean looked down at Theo.

"You understand that your father is being ridiculous."

Theo slept.

"Exactly."

Dean closed the report without finishing it.

He had technically been working too.

That was different.

His work happened with their son drooling into his shirt.

Arion’s happened somewhere else.

Dean glanced toward the clock, then moved his eyes toward the door.

His pheromones sharpened slightly without his permission.

He missed Arion.

Not in the dramatic sense, because his husband still slept beside him every night, usually arriving late enough that Dean was already half unconscious, but Dean missed having him present rather than physically occupying the same mattress while his mind continued reorganizing infected-human rehabilitation policies.

He missed dinner without a tablet nearby.

He missed Arion stretched across their sofa with Theo on his chest.

He missed touching him without wondering whether Victor would call halfway through.

And, after months of pregnancy, emergency surgery, recovery, neonatal care, and both of them functioning primarily as exhausted new parents, Dean missed his mate in another considerably less innocent way.

Preferably naked.

Preferably in their bed.

Preferably on top of him.

Dean looked at Theodore.

"You heard nothing."

Theo’s mouth twitched in his sleep.

Traitor

The bedroom door finally opened twenty minutes later.

Arion entered wearing charcoal trousers and a black shirt with the first button undone, his jacket folded over one arm and his dark hair slightly disordered from what Dean assumed had been repeated attempts to drag his hands through it during meetings.

He looked tired.

He also looked unfairly attractive.

Dean’s irritation survived approximately three seconds before developing additional complications.

Arion noticed him immediately.

"You’re still awake."

Dean stared.

"That is your opening?"

Arion stopped.

He knew that tone.

His gaze moved from Dean to Theodore and back again.

"What happened?"

"You."

"That narrows it down very little."

Dean almost smiled.

Arion placed his jacket over the back of the sofa and approached, bending first to kiss Theodore’s hair before pressing another kiss to Dean’s temple.

Dean caught the front of his shirt before he could straighten.

Arion paused.

"Hello."

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Do you remember living here?"

"I was here this morning."

"For twelve minutes."

"Twenty-six."

"You timed it?"

"I was holding Theo."

Dean stared at him.

Arion wisely stopped speaking.

Theodore shifted between them, making a soft noise before settling again.

Dean lowered his voice.

"You have barely spent time with us all week."

Arion’s expression softened.

"I know."

"No, I don’t think you do, because every evening you tell me you will finish one thing and then another century-old infected soldier suddenly becomes administratively fascinating."

"That is not entirely inaccurate."

"Arion."

His husband sighed and crouched beside the chair, bringing them eye to eye.

"I’m sorry."

Dean had prepared at least six additional complaints.

That answer damaged most of them.

He stroked Theodore’s back slowly.

"I know this is important."

"But?"

"But the forest waited ninety-nine years. It can survive one evening without you."

Arion’s mouth curved.

Dean leaned closer.

"And your son misses you."

Arion looked immediately toward Theo.

Dean continued before he could become distracted.

"So do I."

That pulled his attention back.

For a few seconds, neither spoke.

Dean watched something in Arion’s face change from tired amusement into something warmer.

"I miss you too."

"Good."

Dean caught his collar and tugged him closer until their mouths nearly touched.

"And I am considerably less patient than Theodore."

Arion’s eyes darkened.

Dean had missed that too.

Not crown prince Arion calculating security risks, not the strange controller of infected creatures, not a new father checking neonatal reports.

His mate.

Arion’s hand settled against Dean’s thigh.

"What exactly are you demanding?"

Dean smiled slowly.

"For tonight?"

"Yes."

"No Dominic."

"Reasonable."

"No knights."

"Fine."

"No Victor unless someone is actively dying."

"That may be difficult to enforce."

"I will block him."

Arion laughed softly.

Dean moved closer and kissed him, slow enough that the amusement disappeared halfway through.

When they separated, Arion remained close, his forehead resting against Dean’s while familiar vetiver deepened around them.

Dean inhaled.

God, he had missed that.

"And after Theo is asleep," Dean murmured, "I want my husband back in this bed."

Arion’s thumb moved along his thigh.

"I sleep here every night."

Dean gave him a look.

"Preferably on top of me."

Arion became very still.

Dean smiled.

Understanding arrived beautifully.

"You recovered months ago," Arion said, his voice lower now.

"Yes."

"Seven cleared you."

"Also months ago."

"I know."

"Then why do you sound like you need medical authorization?"

Arion’s mouth curved.

"Habit."

Dean kissed him again.

Theodore chose that exact moment to wake.

A small dissatisfied noise appeared between them.

Both parents froze.

Theo opened gold eyes and stared upward as though personally offended by whatever had interrupted his sleep.

Dean closed his eyes.

"Of course."

Arion started laughing against his shoulder.

Dean looked down at their son.

"You have terrible timing."

Theo yawned.

Arion carefully lifted him from Dean’s chest, settling the baby against his shoulder while Dean stretched muscles stiff from sitting beneath him for nearly two hours.

Dean watched Arion immediately soften, one hand spreading over Theodore’s back while the baby tucked his face against his father’s neck.

The irritation inside Dean finally disappeared.

This was what he had wanted too.

Dean rose, stepped close, and wrapped one arm around his husband’s waist while resting his cheek against his shoulder beside Theodore.

Arion turned his head and kissed Dean’s hair.

"Tomorrow I work from home."

Dean smiled.

"Tomorrow you are taking the morning off."

"I have—"

Dean lifted his head.

Arion stopped.

"The morning off," he agreed.

"Excellent."

Dean kissed his jaw.

"And tonight, once your son decides we are permitted privacy, you are mine."

Arion’s eyes warmed.

"I thought I already was."

Dean smiled against his skin.

"Then act like it."