Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 135: Breathe

Chris waited until the silence stretched again long enough that he could almost believe Dax had drifted into the kind of sleep even palace alarms wouldn’t break.

He counted to five. Then to ten.

Slowly, he slid a hand beneath the arm around his waist, inching toward freedom. It wasn’t easy. The weight that held him down wasn’t just the arm itself, but the solid, immovable presence of a man who stood well over seven feet tall. Dax’s hand spanned nearly the width of his rib cage; even in sleep, his grip carried the authority of someone who didn’t let go unless he chose to.

Chris sighed softly. "You really don’t do half measures, do you?"

No response.

He tried again, this time rolling his shoulder carefully, managing to slip free enough to sit upright. The sheet whispered down his back, cool against skin still warm from shared heat.

He’d just swung one leg over the edge of the bed when something grabbed his wrist.

"Going somewhere?" The voice came low, still rough with sleep but unmistakably alert.

Chris froze. "You’re awake."

"I’ve been awake," Dax murmured. The mattress dipped under his weight as he pushed himself up, the movement slow but heavy with effortless strength. "Since Nadia walked in. Hard to miss when someone’s talking about my blood pressure."

Chris turned, craning his neck to meet his gaze. The height difference was always disorienting, and it was especially noticeable up close. Sitting up, Dax’s shoulder already reached above his own eye level; when standing, he’d have to tilt his head back to look him in the eye. "Then you let me believe you were asleep," Chris said flatly.

Dax’s mouth curved faintly, the edge of a smile shadowed by fatigue. "You were peaceful. I didn’t want to ruin it."

"Creep," Chris muttered, tugging at his wrist.

It didn’t budge. Dax’s hand enveloped his easily, fingers long enough to wrap past his pulse.

"Dax..."

He didn’t finish. In one fluid motion, Dax pulled him back. It wasn’t even a real effort, just a lazy, unavoidable tug that undid all of Chris’s careful escape preparations. He landed against Dax’s chest, making a startled sound.

"Hey!"

"Easy," Dax murmured, voice low but calm, the vibration of it humming through Chris’s back. His arm settled around him again, anchoring him with infuriating ease. "Where are you going?"

"To... the bathroom?" Chris said, raising a brow and daring Dax to ask why.

"Stay with me a little longer," Dax said, closing the space between them until the air thinned to nothing.

Chris blinked, half-caught between disbelief and an instinct he refused to name. His palms automatically pressed against Dax’s chest in an attempt to balance himself. The solid warmth beneath his hands was unreal, as was the slow thrum of a heart that didn’t seem to rush despite everything else around it.

"Dax," he said again, lower this time. "You are being clingy."

Dax’s mouth twitched, amusement flickering behind his still-heavy gaze. "I’m allowed," he murmured. "I’ve been unconscious for fifteen hours. I think that buys me a few minutes of being unreasonable."

Chris stared up at him, unimpressed. "You were unreasonable for the last days. C’mon, let me go and get showered; we need to talk."

Dax didn’t move. If anything, the arm around his waist tightened, with a hold strength that comforted Chris in an odd way.

"In a minute," he said, his tone somewhere between request and command. "You’re still unsettled."

Chris frowned. "I’m fine."

"It took you one night to forget about your promise," Dax murmured, and the way he said it made it sound more like an observation than an accusation.

Chris groaned and tried to find his words to tell him what he tried to mask. "I’m... not fine, but I don’t know what I’m feeling."

"Your pheromones are wild in the room; we should help you control them."

Dax’s voice stayed low and patient, the same tone he used when trying to soothe storms that refused to listen. "You’re leaking through every breath, Chris."

Chris froze, his pulse stuttering before frustration took its place. "I can’t just stop it," he said, sharper than he meant. "It doesn’t work like that."

"I know." Dax’s hand didn’t move from his waist, but the pressure gentled. "That’s why you’re not supposed to fight it."

"I’m not fighting it," Chris said, despite the fact that every nerve in his body was tense, his scent thick in the air and electric at the edges. "I’m just..."

"Trying to think your way out of it," Dax finished for him.

The words hit harder than they should have. He wasn’t wrong, and that was the problem. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Chris exhaled, jaw tightening. "You don’t get to act like you know what’s best for me. Not after what you pulled."

"I’m not," Dax said quietly. "I’m saying you don’t have to know what you’re feeling to stop running from it."

Chris gave a humorless laugh. "You’re really bad at making a point without sounding like a sermon."

That earned the faintest twitch of a smile, but it didn’t last. Dax leaned in slightly, his voice lowering until it brushed against the side of Chris’s neck. "You’re trembling," he murmured. "Breathe with me."

"I’m not..."

"Breathe," Dax repeated, the word a quiet order.

It wasn’t just his voice. There was also a subtle shift in alpha pheromones in the atmosphere. The spice-scented warmth of his presence spread slowly, threading through the sharper note of ozone and rain that belonged to Chris. Dax simply steadied the air around them, coaxing the chaos into rhythm.

Chris’s hands, still pressed against Dax’s chest, rose and fell with each measured breath. His resistance wasn’t melting so much as faltering, one thread at a time.

"Good," Dax said softly when Chris’s breathing evened out. "That’s better."

"You sound like a damn therapist," Chris muttered, but the edge in his tone was gone.

"I’ll take that as progress."

"It’s not progress," Chris said, though his voice had lost most of its fight. "It’s me trying not to accidentally flood the room with pheromones and make a scene."

"Exactly," Dax said, unfazed. "You’re aware. That’s the first step."

Chris groaned, tipping his head back just enough to glare at him. "You don’t have to make everything sound like a training exercise."

Dax smiled faintly. "Habit."

Chris sighed after a moment of peace, shoulders dropping. "You’re not getting out of that talk. You know that, right?"

"I know."

"And don’t think this counts as an apology."

"I wasn’t offering one," Dax said, eyes still on him. "Not yet."

Chris blinked, taken aback by the honesty. "Good," he muttered after a beat. "Because you still owe me that too."

"I know," Dax repeated, and this time it wasn’t a deflection, but a quiet admission, plain and simple.

The tension in the air thinned, though the mix of spice and rain lingered in the room.

After a long silence, Chris finally pushed against his chest again, gentler now. "Let me go before I start thinking you might actually mean half of what you say."

Dax’s mouth curved, just barely. "I always mean it."

Chris didn’t dignify that with an answer. He stood, bare feet brushing the cool marble as he crossed to the adjoining door.

When the door clicked softly behind him, Dax leaned back against the headboard, eyes half-closed. The faint trace of rain in the air refused to fade, and for the first time in days, the scent of the palace didn’t feel empty.