Dean laughed under his breath. "Of course."
"Dean."
"No, say it." Dean's voice was flat now. "We already knew he was trying it. There is not much damage it can do now." He shrugged, though Arion saw the strain beneath the motion, the way his fingers remained sunk too tightly into Boreas's fur. "You are my mate and, let's be honest, I won't go down without a fight."
Arion looked at him for a long moment.
That was one of the things he loved most and hated most about Dean: his instinct to stand with blood in his mouth and call it strategy before admitting anything hurt. Dean could be wounded, furious, humiliated, cornered, and still his first impulse was not collapse, but retaliation. Not because he was fearless. Arion knew better than that now. Dean had fear. He simply considered surrender more offensive.
"No," Arion said quietly. "You won't."
Dean's mouth curved without warmth. "So? Say the rest."
