Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Taylor was waiting beside the aircraft when the second helicopter landed.

Boreas was waiting considerably less patiently.

The private section of Veyra’s airport had been cleared before they arrived, leaving only their aircraft, two security vehicles, and a small ground crew that knew better than to approach until Hunter gave permission. The afternoon had turned brighter while they were inside the western residence, although the wind coming off the sea remained cold enough to pull at coats and send rotor wash whipping across the concrete.

Dean climbed down first.

Taylor lifted one hand in greeting from beside the stairs.

Boreas saw him.

The enormous dog surged forward so abruptly that Taylor had to tighten both hands around the reinforced leash.

Dean barely had time to brace himself before Boreas reached him, enormous head pushing against his chest with enough force to make him take a step backward.

"Yes, I am alive."

Boreas investigated him thoroughly anyway.

His nose went over Dean’s coat, hands, and trousers before pressing against his stomach as though checking that every relevant piece had returned from the mountains.

Dean rubbed both hands through the thick fur around his neck.

"You stayed here because you would have been a disaster."

Boreas looked unconvinced.

"He was fine," Taylor said. "Mostly."

Dean glanced at him.

Taylor’s expression remained professionally neutral.

That meant Boreas had almost certainly been insufferable.

Hunter descended from the helicopter behind them, carrying two equipment cases and looking considerably more tired than he had that morning.

"Aircraft ready?"

"Fueled and cleared. Nero’s left eleven minutes ago."

Dean stepped aside as Arion climbed down.

Boreas changed instantly. The dog’s head came up. His ears shifted forward.

Then a low growl rolled through his chest.

Everyone stopped.

Arion remained beside the helicopter, one hand still against the doorframe.

Boreas stared at him.

Dean slowly released the fur beneath Boreas’s collar.

"Boreas?"

The growl deepened.

Taylor shortened the leash.

Arion frowned.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Then Boreas took one cautious step forward, nose working rapidly in the cold air. His posture was not the explosive aggression Dean had seen when he identified an immediate threat. It was something more similar to distrust.

Arion looked down at himself.

His clothes had survived the morning badly. His sweater carried blood from the knife wound at his upper arm, antiseptic from the field dressing, and traces of whatever medical environment had surrounded Amaru. The coat he had put back on before leaving the villa was worse, contaminated by wet forest, the dead alpha’s blood, and the pheromonal residue from the central facility.

And then there was the discharge outside.

Dean looked toward Arion’s coat.

"You still smell like the backyard."

Arion nodded.

That explained enough.

It was not the first time Boreas had reacted badly to corrupted-beast scent.

Months earlier, after Arion returned from direct contact with one of the infected territories, Boreas had refused to approach him until he had showered and changed. The dog apparently distinguished corrupted pheromonal residue with considerably more enthusiasm than most laboratory equipment.

Arion stepped toward him.

Boreas growled again.

Dean caught Arion’s wrist.

"Maybe don’t."

Arion looked at the dog.

Boreas looked back.

Neither appeared especially impressed with the other.

Hunter shifted the equipment cases into Taylor’s hands.

"He was directly inside the discharge."

"I know," Dean said.

Arion glanced at him. "And nothing happened."

Dominants did not react to corrupted beast pheromones.

Everything they knew supported that.

Amaru had required an engineered cocktail precisely because infected-beast pheromones alone were not enough to control a dominant alpha. Whatever Claudia had released behind the residence might have been unpleasant, but Arion had shown no physical response during the helicopter flight and none now.

Still, Boreas was growling.

Dean disliked unexplained variables.

Arion apparently disliked smelling like an experimental medical facility.

"We shower on the aircraft," he said.

Dean looked at the blood on Arion’s sleeve. "You were doing that anyway."

Taylor handed the leash to Dean long enough to carry Hunter’s equipment aboard.

Boreas immediately pressed himself against Dean’s leg while continuing to watch Arion.

"You are being dramatic," Arion told him.

Boreas showed the edge of one canine.

Dean looked between them.

"He disagrees."

Hunter walked up the stairs without participating.

He had clearly reached his limit for family arguments involving animals.

They boarded several minutes later.

The aircraft was larger than Nero’s, configured for longer royal flights with a private bedroom and bathroom at the rear, a compact office beyond the main cabin, and enough floor space that Boreas could lie down without blocking every possible route.

The dog waited until Dean entered before following.

When Arion came through the door behind him, Boreas moved closer to Dean and watched him again.

No growl this time, but he was still looking at him suspiciously.

Arion removed his coat immediately.

"Better?"

Boreas sniffed.

Apparently not.

Dean pointed toward the rear cabin. "Shower."

Arion raised an eyebrow.

"Both of us," Dean added. "I was inside that building too, and I have no idea what is stuck to my clothes."

That argument Arion accepted without resistance.

Hunter had already taken one of the forward seats and opened his tablet, coordinating the last security arrangements for their arrival in Saha. Taylor sat across the aisle with Boreas’s travel equipment while the dog remained planted beside the corridor leading toward the rear cabin.

The engines began to rise beneath them.

Dean removed his jacket as they walked.

"I want everything bagged."

Arion glanced back. "Everything?"

"Clothes. Boots if necessary. I don’t care if Seven wants samples later; he can get them from sealed bags."

"He already has samples."

"He is getting more."

Arion gave him a look.

Dean ignored it.

The aircraft began taxiing before they reached the private suite.

Inside, the room was compact but comfortable, with dark wood cabinetry secured for flight, a bed fixed against one wall, and a bathroom large enough to contain an actual shower rather than the narrow compartment usually installed on smaller jets.

Dean closed the door behind them.

Only then did he look properly at Arion.

Blood had dried along the edge of the bandage beneath his sleeve. There were bruises beginning to form where the older alpha had struck him, and a shallow abrasion crossed one side of his neck.

Otherwise, he looked normal.

Annoyingly normal.

Dean stepped closer and touched his face.

"No dizziness?"

"No."

"Headache?"

"No."

"Nausea?"

"No."

"Anything strange with your pheromones?"

Arion’s mouth moved faintly. "You are standing inside them."

Dean studied his dark gold eyes. Perhaps slightly darker in the dim cabin light, but nothing that looked wrong.

He exhaled.

"Fine."

Arion caught the hem of Dean’s sweater.

"You first."

Dean looked down at his hand. "Why?"

"Because you still smell like that clinic."

"So do you."

"I am aware."

Dean stripped off the sweater.

Arion took it from him and dropped it directly into one of the sealable laundry bags stored beneath the cabinet.

By the time the aircraft lifted from Veyra, their clothes had been separated into sealed bags, and Dean was standing beneath hot water, scrubbing synthetic pheromones, antiseptic, and several hours of covert disaster from his skin.

Arion joined him a minute later.

There was nothing romantic about it this time.

Dean checked the wound dressing.

Arion washed dried blood from his shoulder and neck.

They shampooed twice because Dean insisted.

When they finally emerged, dressed in clean clothes from the aircraft wardrobe, Saha was already less than two hours away.

Boreas was lying across the center of the main cabin when they returned.

His head lifted immediately.

Arion stopped several steps away.

The dog sniffed. Once. Again.

Then his body relaxed.

No growl.

Dean looked at Arion.

"There."

Arion crossed the cabin and sat down.

Boreas watched him approach but made no objection when Arion reached down and rubbed one hand over his head.

Apparently whatever had bothered him had washed away.

Hunter glanced up from his tablet.

"Problem solved?"

"Residue," Arion said.

That was the obvious answer.

Dean sat beside him and leaned back as the aircraft settled into its cruising altitude.

Outside the windows, Veyra had already disappeared behind them beneath cloud and sea.

Ahead waited Saha, Amaru, Seven’s medical assessment, and the considerably larger problem of what Claudia had been doing with infected-beast pheromones.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment.

Beside him, Arion rested one hand over his.

Boreas stretched across their feet, finally content.