"You did things with Thomas."
Dean looked at Sylvia with a mix of surprise, pleasure, and slight disturbance.
"Sexual things."
Sylvia's smile, which had survived Minerva's office, two palace corridors, and the emotional aftershock of being politely removed from an intelligence-risk pipeline, fell into a very flat expression.
"Hello to you too."
"You do not understand." Dean took one step back from her, purple eyes widening with the offended sensitivity of a dominant omega whose nose had been personally attacked. "He pheromone-showered you. You reek of Thomas Lancaster."
Sylvia stared at him.
Then down at herself, she sniffed but felt nothing more than her usual perfume.
Then back at him.
"I do not reek."
Dean pressed one hand lightly to his nose. "You absolutely do."
"I bathed."
"Not enough."
"Dean."
"You smell like a very large military commander decided to mark the air around you as private property."
