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... than it had any right to.

It was only one word. A smug one. A possessive one. A word delivered by a man currently attached to him like a decorative curse and smelling like an entire forest had decided to move indoors.

And yet.

Dean’s breath caught.

That was the first warning.

The second was subtler: a sudden weakness in his knees, not pain exactly, but that dangerous, liquid instability that came when Arion’s pheromones stopped being merely oppressive and ...

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