Dean made the entire operation easier by refusing to hear about it.
Arion should probably have felt worse about how relieved that made him.
Three mornings after Dax suggested deliberately approaching one of the infected beasts, Arion found Dean stretched across the chaise near their bedroom windows with a tablet balanced against his thighs and Boreas occupying enough of the rug beside him to make walking through the room unnecessarily complicated.
Late-spring sunlight poured through the glass, warming the pale floor and catching against Dean's loose blond hair. He wore soft black trousers and an oversized cream shirt that no longer completely disguised the curve of his stomach when he shifted.
Arion stopped near the dressing table to fasten his watch.
"I'm meeting Hendrik this afternoon."
Dean looked up.
There was a brief narrowing of violet eyes, followed by the expression of someone actively deciding whether curiosity was worth the consequences.
