Dean woke up sore, caused by one possessive alpha prince currently asleep beside him with the expression of a man who had committed multiple crimes against morality and considered them emotional bonding exercises.

Dean stared at the ceiling for several long seconds.

Then at Arion.

Then back at the ceiling again.

The room smelled like vetiver, mint, sex, sleep, and enough pheromones to qualify as an atmospheric event. Sunlight spilled softly through the curtains across tangled blankets, discarded clothes, and Boreas, sprawled beside the bed like a guardian assigned to protect the scene of a very successful felony.

Dean attempted to move.

His spine immediately informed him that actions had consequences.

"...I hate you," Dean whispered weakly.

Arion did not open his eyes.

"Untrue."

"Mostly hate you."

A slow smile curved across Arion’s mouth.

The bastard looked pleased. Rested, even.

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"You should not look healthier after that."

"You’re glowing too."

"That is fever and structural damage."

Arion finally opened his eyes, gold still hazy from the remnants of rut, softer now without the feral edge from before. His gaze drifted slowly over Dean like he was reassuring himself his mate was still there.

Then, because apparently the universe hated Dean personally, Arion reached out and touched the collar still around Dean’s throat.

Dean shivered instantly.

Arion’s expression became unbearably smug.

"Oh, don’t start," Dean warned.

"You still like it."

Dean considered biting him. Unfortunately, that would require leaning closer.

Before he could formulate a proper threat, his tablet buzzed somewhere beneath the blankets.

Dean froze.

Arion noticed immediately.

"That reaction usually means Lucas."

"Worse."

"There is worse than Lucas?"

Dean found the tablet with the grim determination of a man uncovering classified military disasters.

The moment he saw the sender, he nearly stopped breathing.

"No."

Arion pushed himself upright slightly. "What?"

Dean stared at the message like it had personally declared war.

Then he read it aloud in the flat tone of a man witnessing the collapse of civilization.

"Lovely. Since apparently neither of you can be trusted to organize this properly alone, I will be arriving next week with Serathine and Mia. Minerva already agreed to coordinate schedules. Ethan may also join later depending on timing. Please do not attempt to disappear before then.—Lucas."

Silence.

Arion blinked once.

Then, very traitorously, his shoulders started shaking.

Dean looked at him with pure betrayal.

"You’re laughing."

"I’m trying not to."

"You are failing."

Arion buried his face briefly against Dean’s shoulder because the coward did not wish to die openly.

Dean stared into the distance.

"Serathine."

"Mhm."

"Mia."

"Mhm."

"Minerva is already involved."

"Yes."

Dean looked genuinely haunted now.

"That is not wedding planning anymore. That is a coordinated political occupation."

Arion finally lost the battle and laughed properly.

Dean pointed weakly at him.

"This is your family now too."

"And yet somehow only you look like you’re preparing for execution."

"Because I know them."

Boreas lifted his head sleepily from beside the bed and thumped his tail once in complete betrayal.

Dean looked at the dog.

"You are supposed to support me emotionally."

Boreas yawned.

Arion leaned down and kissed the side of Dean’s neck beneath the collar, entirely too relaxed for someone whose future mother-in-law coalition had just declared imminent arrival.

"It won’t be that bad."

Dean stared at him.

Then slowly lowered the tablet.

"Arion," he said with absolute seriousness, "I would genuinely rather return to the restricted infected zone."

Arion laughed harder.

"I mean it," Dean continued darkly. "The beasts at least try to kill you directly. Lucas smiles first."

"That’s fair."

"And Serathine enjoys chaos recreationally."

"Also fair."

"Mia is going to emotionally support everyone while making the situation worse somehow."

Arion’s mouth twitched.

"That is surprisingly accurate."

Dean looked toward the windows, toward freedom, toward perhaps climbing out and vanishing into the wilderness.

"The infected forests suddenly seem peaceful."

"You’re not escaping."

Dean ignored him.

"I could survive three more swarm breaches."

"You can barely walk."

"I don’t need to walk to use my pheromones."

Arion looked entirely unimpressed by that argument.

"You say that like I wouldn’t simply carry you away from the infected zone."

Dean opened his mouth and closed it again almost immediately.

Unfortunately, that was accurate.

"You’re unbearable."

"And yet," Arion murmured, dragging Dean back fully against his chest, "you continue keeping me around."

Dean huffed dramatically but settled there anyway, warm and sore and increasingly aware that his body currently felt like it had survived both a military campaign and Arion personally.

At least the rut had broken, and Arion was calmer now.

And, most importantly, at least Arion had not bitten his ass again.

Dean considered that a meaningful victory for civilization.

His expression must have shifted because Arion’s mouth twitched against his hair.

"What?"

Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Nothing."

"That is never true."

Dean debated lying but decided honesty cost him less emotional damage this time.

"I’m just grateful you limited yourself to one collar and a reasonable number of bite marks."

Arion laughed outright, the low sound filling the room in a way that did things to Dean’s mind.

"A reasonable number?"

"Yes."

"You counted?"

"I conducted an assessment."

"Mm." Arion sounded deeply unconvinced. "And what exactly qualifies as reasonable?"

Dean turned slightly in his arms, his expression perfectly serious.

"You didn’t bite my asshole this time."

Arion went completely still for one dangerous second.

Then his gold eyes slowly brightened with remembered possibilities.

Dean saw it happen in real time and immediately pointed at him.

"No."

"You brought it up."

"I brought it up appreciatively."

"That still sounds like encouragement."

"It was not encouragement. It was recognition of personal growth."

Arion looked delighted now.

"I’m evolving."

"You’re terrifying."

"And you like me anyway."

Dean muttered something deeply insulting into the pillow that sounded suspiciously affectionate.

Arion kissed the side of his head lazily.

"Enjoy your family when they arrive."

Dean groaned instantly.

"That sentence caused me physical pain."

"I mean it." Arion’s voice softened slightly. "You missed them."

Dean went quiet.

Arion knew him too well now. That was becoming a fundamental problem in Dean’s life.

The campaign had been exhausting. The season worse. Then the heat and rut swallowed nearly two full days of his existence whole. Somewhere beneath all the embarrassment and chaos and emotional ambushes, Dean had missed home more than he admitted aloud.

Lucas.

Mia.

Even Serathine and her terrifying brand of affectionate manipulation.

And the wedding too.

Arion nudged his shoulder gently.

"I’ll be there too."

Dean looked up at him immediately.

The reaction was instant and impossible to hide, his entire expression lighting up with sudden, dangerous interest.

Arion narrowed his eyes.

"That look concerns me."

Dean ignored that.

"You’re going to have fitting sessions."

"...Dean."

"You’re going to change formal suits multiple times."

Arion stared at him with growing suspicion as Dean visibly forgot ninety percent of his earlier panic.

Dean sat up slightly despite the protest from his abused muscles, now fully invested in a much more important issue.

"Wait. Lucas is bringing Serathine and Mia."

"Yes?"

"That means they’re absolutely going to force you into at least six different ceremonial outfits."

Arion’s expression shifted slowly into the realization of a man understanding he had accidentally armed his omega with new entertainment.

Dean looked almost radiant now.

"Oh, this changes everything."

"You were planning an escape five minutes ago."

"I’ve recovered."

"That quickly?"

Dean looked him directly in the eyes.

"You in formal black and gold could stabilize my mental health permanently."

Arion laughed helplessly while Dean, traitorous creature that he was, was already mentally planning fabrics, embroidery, collars, and exactly how unfair Arion looked in tailored clothing.

Perhaps the wedding preparations would not be entirely unbearable after all.