Well… Sylvia had to deal with it that day.
Dean was in her—and Thomas's—room, pacing beside the narrow windows with his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
He had been there for several minutes without sitting.
His movements were measured, almost silent, but the control made his distress more obvious. His scent filled the hospital room in restrained waves, clean and cold beneath the warmth of his natural omega pheromones.
He was not angry with her.
Sylvia understood that almost immediately.
He was frightened.
Frightened for her. Frightened for Thomas. Frightened by how close the breach had come to swallowing both of them before he could reach the corridor.
"You are stupid," Dean said, turning toward the bed.
Thomas growled.
The sound vibrated through his bandaged chest and ended in a faint hitch of pain.
Dean stopped.
For a moment, the two dominants watched each other across the room.
