"Arion, wake up."
There was no answer.
Not a flicker of lashes. Not a tightening of awareness behind closed eyes. If anything, the prince appeared to fall deeper into sleep as Dean's voice broke the silence, as if the sound confirmed rather than disturbed something.
Dean tried again to lift himself, bracing his palms against Arion's chest.
Arion's grip only tightened, a reflexive, unbreakable hold. Dean's chest vibrated with a low growl of pure, territorial possession. It was the sound of a dominant claiming its anchor in a storm, a beast clinging to the only thing that could save it from drowning.
Dean's own instincts screamed at him to fight, to struggle, to get away from the overwhelming dominance pinning him down. But beneath the panic, a cooler, calmer part of his mind took over.
This wasn't an attack. It was a frantic, unconscious plea for safety.
