Dean froze.
Not the dignified kind of stillness one achieved through discipline and maturity. No. This was the full, catastrophic freeze of a man whose brain had just realized that opening the door might release a pheromone situation into the imperial living room.
And outside that door was a dominant alpha.
A seven-foot-three dominant alpha.
A seven-foot-three dominant alpha who already had an unfortunate amount of emotional leverage over Dean's nervous system.
Dean stared at the door like it had personally betrayed him.
Another knock. Slightly firmer this time.
"Dean?"
Arion's voice was calm, but there was a thread of attention in it now, as if he had noticed the silence and was starting to consider the possibilities.
Dean opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Because if he spoke, Arion would hear it immediately: the shift in his breathing, the tightness in his throat, the subtle changes that alphas with obscene sensory equipment always noticed.
