Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 132: Negotiation

Christopher’s brow furrowed, suspicion flickering beneath exhaustion. "You’re negotiating now?"

"I’m protecting what’s left of my sanity," Dax said. "And yours."

Chris said nothing, though the look in his eyes was equal parts defiance and hesitation.

"First," Dax continued, "you never lie to me again. Not about being fine, not about what you’re feeling, not to protect my pride or yours."

Chris blinked, frowning. "You think I lie to you about that?"

"I know you do," Dax said simply. "You think control means silence. It doesn’t."

The omega’s breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t argue.

"And second," Dax said, his tone low and measured, "if anything feels wrong, anything at all, you come to me. Directly."

Christopher hesitated. "Even if it’s about you?"

"Especially if it’s about me," Dax said, meeting his eyes again. "If something ever makes you doubt me again, you tell me first, not after you’ve already decided I’m the enemy."

"You are my enemy." Chris snapped back.

Dax’s jaw flexed once, then he moved. The space between them vanished in a breath. Christopher barely had time to inhale before his back met the sheets, the press of the mattress catching him as Dax leaned over him, one hand braced beside his head, the other flat against the bed. His weight never touched him, but the air itself seemed to close in, thick with heat and pheromones.

The omega’s pulse jumped. Dax’s knee slid between his thighs, with a slow drag over the sheets, not touching enough to cage but enough to remind him that he could.

Christopher’s fingers twisted in the blanket. "Dax..."

"So this is what you think about me." Dax’s voice was low, rough, almost a growl that sent shivers down Chris’s spine. "Well..." he drawled, "you breathe just because I allow it, so maybe you are right."

"You bastard!"

Christopher’s hand flew up, shoving at his chest, but Dax caught his wrist mid-motion, his fingers closing around it with enough force to still him without bruising.

"Careful," Dax murmured, voice calm in a way that wasn’t calm at all. His breath ghosted over the omega’s fingers. "You don’t get to throw that word at me and expect me not to catch it." And he kissed Chris’s knuckles slowly. "Plus, I heard everything you yelled at Hanna. You like me enough to care."

Christopher went rigid, his pulse stumbling. Dax’s lips lingered against his knuckles just long enough to make it impossible to mistake the gesture for mockery. It was purposefully low, intimate, and maddeningly sure of its effect.

"Let me go," Christopher managed, though his voice betrayed him, a thin edge of breath cutting through the words.

"I will," Dax said softly, brushing his thumb along the inside of his wrist. "But first, you’ll listen."

He shifted his weight slightly, bringing his face level with Christopher’s. The scent of him, spice, smoke, and heat, folded around them until the air itself felt charged.

"I’ve never pretended to be good," Dax murmured. "You were right to call me a bastard. I am one. Arrogant, possessive, and territorial to the point of sickness. But don’t mistake that for not knowing what I’m doing."

His knee pressed a little higher into the mattress between Christopher’s thighs and the air between them hummed like tension strung too tight.

"You think I put that collar on you to own you?" Dax asked, voice low enough to almost sound like a growl. "You think I liked the idea of you walking through my halls wearing something that screamed my name?"

"Didn’t you?" Christopher shot back, his words fast and trembling, like the only way to stay upright was to keep fighting.

Dax’s smile widened. "Well..." he traced his teeth with his tongue "I do, but I hate it at the same time." He leaned closer, violet eyes burning. "Because it reminded me every day that you didn’t want to wear my mark instead."

The words hit harder than anything else.

Christopher’s breath caught, his fingers curling helplessly against the sheets. "You... what?"

Dax exhaled slowly, the sound rough, his voice dropping lower still. "If I’d been who I am with anyone else, I would’ve marked you that first night in Palatine. You remember when you walked into my room and I kissed you?" His tone softened, almost fond. "You didn’t even realize what you were doing to me. You were pure temptation. And for the first time in my life, I wanted something I couldn’t take."

He let the words hang there, dangerous and raw in their truth.

"So I waited," Dax continued, his gaze locked on Christopher’s. "I gave you the collar instead of the mark. It does what my bite would have done: ties your pheromones to mine and tells me when you’re hurt or afraid. But it doesn’t cage you. It was supposed to be protection, not punishment."

Christopher’s chest rose too fast, his throat tight. "Then why didn’t you tell me?"

Dax’s hand tightened briefly around his wrist. "Because I... Made a mistake leaving that matter in the hands of others... But the collar was supposed to be delivered to my office, not to you. Hanna interfered with that too." He said, grazing his teeth against Chris’s wrist.

"If you are done talking, take it off and let me decide if I want it." Chris spoke, his gaze piercing Dax’s.

Dax’s laughter was a low, dangerous sound that did not reach his eyes; he was finished pretending to be civilized. It rolled through the space between them, dark and rough, brushing against the edges of heat and something almost feral.

"You think I can just take it off?" he murmured, his lips curving faintly against the omega’s skin. "You think this is just metal, a clasp, a trick?"

Christopher glared up at him, jaw tight, though his pulse betrayed him. "You put it on, you can take it off."

"I can," Dax said quietly. "But only if you give me what I asked for."

Chris’s eyes narrowed. "You’re serious?"

"Deadly." Dax’s tone was steady, but his thumb was still brushing slow circles over the inside of Christopher’s wrist, grounding him, soothing him even as he pinned him. "You promise me the two things I asked for. You don’t lie about being fine when you’re bleeding inside, and you come to me if something’s wrong. Every time. No exceptions."

Christopher stared at him, defiance flickering with exhaustion. "You’re still negotiating my freedom."

"No," Dax said, leaning closer until their breaths collided. "I’m making sure you stay alive long enough to keep it."

The words sank deep. Christopher didn’t look away, but something inside him faltered. "And if I don’t promise?"

Dax smiled. "Then it stays."