"You are the death of me," Arion said with a deep sigh.
Dean clutched the sheet higher with all the dignity left in the ruins of his life. "You counted at me."
"You locked me out."
"You threatened the door."
"You were nesting alone."
Dean opened his mouth.
The argument should have come easily. Usually, words arrived for him like weapons offered by a loyal armory. Unfortunately, the moment Arion stepped inside, the room changed.
Not visually.
The blankets were still in disarray. The stolen shirts were still visible. The pillows still looked like evidence of a siege conducted by a half-feral omega with too much pride and no reasonable blood circulation.
But Arion was inside now.
That was the problem.
