Arion never intended to take Dean to Draxil.
He simply stopped saying so.
The distinction was not particularly honorable, but it was practical, and Arion had accepted that Dean could be angry with him after he came home alive.
The argument had ended a month earlier with Dean sitting across his lap, one hand over the small curve of his stomach and absolute certainty in his expression as he announced that he was going with him to Claudia's palace.
Arion had looked at his pregnant mate, remembered Snake Island, the corrupted pheromones, the hidden laboratories, and the black pathways that had recently appeared across his own skin, and decided there was no version of reality in which Dean entered Draxil while carrying their son.
So he had kissed him and said they would discuss it once Amaru confirmed the situation.
Dean had heard negotiation.
Arion had meant postponement.
It worked remarkably well.
For almost four weeks.
