By the time Arion finished explaining everything Matthias had told him, Dean had stopped pretending to read the document open on his tablet.
Theodore was asleep across his chest, one cheek pressed against the soft fabric of Dean's dark-blue sweater while a tiny hand rested beneath his chin. The fire had burned low enough that the family sitting room was mostly illuminated by the lamps beside the sofa, and outside the tall windows, November rain streaked across the glass in narrow silver lines.
Dean remained quiet for several seconds.
Arion knew that expression.
His mate was organizing the information into categories, separating what was immediately dangerous from what was merely horrifying and ancient.
"There is something older than Matthias," Dean finally said.
"Yes."
"Possibly older than Dominic."
"Yes."
"Sleeping somewhere in the northern forest where even the elders refuse to go."
"That is approximately all we know."
Dean glanced toward him.
