Dean took in the events as they unfolded with a certain (for him) degree of Zen acceptance. Everything was beautiful, from Aza to the General. Even Donovan had his place, all ignoble and mildly resentful and intrigued – like a teenage boy led to his first orgy by a helping hand. The only thing that felt off was the energy inside Aza; that roiling miasma of darkness, that buttery decadent smoothness – it was familiar. It was Dean. But it wasn’t, too. The expulsion that Dean had channeled through Aza’s collar had been informed by Dean’s Shadow nature, true, but it had been propelled by something ancient and mischievous. It seemed that the girl had taken some of that mixture into herself, become influenced by it.<br/><br/>The too-handsome Shadow wasn’t certain whether to be attracted in an almost incestuous way, or ignoble. He was the only Shadow here, damn it! Not this foxy upstart.<br/>But then she had the gall to mouth off at him. There she was, perched between beautiful thighs, on the cusp of a distant horizon filled with pleasure, and she told *him* to fuck off?<br/><br/>Donovan vanished, as did the General (well, maybe not so much her), as Dean’s eyes narrowed, making a dangerous expression in those lean features of his. That too-generous, sensual mouth pursed, then peeled back, revealing sharp white teeth as the Shadow streaked forward, leaping, lunging, flying into a meteoric tumble aimed directly at Aza.<br/><br/>“It’s on bitch!” he snarled as he flew, lithe body rippling into an arc that somehow expressed both his frustration and his bemusement at her words.<br/>