Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 138: Mad (3)

Dax didn’t answer. His mouth opened, then closed again, words dying in the space between them. The air had turned sharp enough to hurt.

Chris’s pheromones flared again, ice spreading in fine fractals across the terrace floor, the scent of ozone cutting through Dax’s lungs like cold smoke. The wind picked up, carrying a hiss that wasn’t quite natural.

His body reacted before his mind did.

"Chris." The name came out rough, his voice barely steady.

Chris’s shoulders rose, breath shallow, every exhale leaving a cloud of vapor in the air. His hands were shaking, fingers flexing as though trying to contain the cold bleeding from his own skin.

"Stop," he whispered, though it wasn’t clear if it was meant for Dax or himself. "I can’t..."

Dax didn’t wait for the rest. He moved.

In two strides he crossed the distance, his pheromones flooding the air. The heat of him hit first, rich and heavy, cutting through the frost like a slow-burning fire.

Chris tried to pull back, but his knees buckled instead. The shock of warmth meeting his skin made him shiver violently. Dax caught him before he could fall, one arm sliding around his waist, the other bracing the back of his neck.

"Easy," Dax murmured, closing the space between them. "You’re freezing."

"I’m fine," Chris managed, though his voice betrayed him. His body wasn’t listening to him anymore; the cold he’d summoned was rebelling, spiraling out of control.

Dax wrapped his arms around him, his heat permeating the layers of clothing, ignoring the half-hearted struggle that ensued. "You’re not," he said quietly. "You’re shaking. This... is not right."

Dax’s breath came harsh against the side of his neck, each exhale warm enough to sting where the cold clung to Chris’s skin. The frost had crept up his wrists and the side of his throat in fine, glittering lines that faded the moment Dax’s body pressed against him.

"Stop fighting me," Dax murmured. His tone was no longer sharp, but rather strained and low, instinct and concern tangled together.

Chris made a small sound, too weak to pass for defiance. His fingers, still trembling, found the fabric of Dax’s shirt and clenched. "Let me go."

Dax ignored the words. The cold radiating from Chris was unnatural, too deep for the warmth of the terrace to chase away. "You’re not fine," he said again, firmer now, his voice closer to command than comfort. "You’re burning yourself out."

"I said I’m..."

Whatever protest he’d meant to make vanished into a sharp breath when Dax lifted him off the ground. It wasn’t graceful, Dax’s hands slid beneath him in one decisive movement, one arm beneath his knees, the other steady around his back.

"Dax!" Chris’s tone carried a mix of shock and reluctant indignation.

"Don’t," Dax said, already walking toward the open doors that led back inside. "You’re half ice, and I’m not watching you pass out on my terrace."

The cold clung to them as they crossed the threshold, like the air itself was reluctant to let go. Inside, the silence was broken by the soft echo of Dax’s boots on marble and Chris’s breathing against his chest.

The omega’s body had stopped resisting the heat; instinct was stronger than pride. His cheek brushed Dax’s collarbone, a small, involuntary movement, as if the warmth was something he’d been chasing without realizing it.

"See?" Dax murmured, adjusting his hold as he made for the nearest couch. "Is not that hard."

Chris made a faint sound, somewhere between a huff and a weak laugh, muffled by the dark fabric of Dax’s shirt. "You sound very proud of yourself."

"I am," Dax said, lowering his voice. "You’re not trying to freeze me alive anymore."

"That was never the goal," Chris muttered, though his words were soft, slurred by exhaustion. "You just make it easy to lose control."

Dax’s chest rose and fell once, sharply. "That’s not a compliment."

"It wasn’t meant to be."

He didn’t bother replying. The tremor still running through Chris’s body said more than words could. Dax shifted his grip, careful, mindful of the way the omega’s body tensed when the movement stirred the last trace of cold between them. He sat down on the couch with Chris still in his arms, one broad hand splayed between his shoulder blades to feel the fine, trembling rhythm of breath returning to normal.

The warmth returned slowly, creeping up through fabric and skin until Chris’s shivers began to fade. Dax let out a slow breath through his nose, finally allowing his body to relax enough to feel the ache of adrenaline ebbing.

"There," he murmured. "Better."

Chris, half-buried in the fold of Dax’s shirt and scent, only made a quiet noise of protest. "You’re overreacting."

"I carried you inside before you turned into frostbite," Dax said. "That’s not overreacting. That’s basic survival."

Chris huffed again but didn’t move. His head rested against Dax’s shoulder, breaths evening out, eyes unfocused in that dazed, post-flare stillness. "You always make things sound like they’re life or death."

"They usually are," Dax said, with no hint of humor in his tone.

Chris shifted, the faintest edge of warmth creeping into his scent now. "You don’t have to guard me every second."

Dax looked down at him then, at the damp hair clinging to his forehead, the faint flush of skin returning to color, and something unreadable flickered across his expression. His hand rose instinctively, brushing the cold from Chris’s cheek with the back of his fingers.

"You are right," he said quietly. "I know you can handle anything, but allow me to be the possessive bastard that I am."

Chris blinked up at him, exhaustion softening the sharpness that usually lived in his eyes. "That’s not an excuse," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

"It’s not meant to be," Dax said. His thumb brushed along Chris’s jawline, tracing the last trace of chill still clinging there. "It’s just the truth."

Chris tried to scowl, but the expression faltered halfway through. His body was too tired to keep up with the argument. "You can’t just admit you’re unbearable and expect that to fix things."

Dax’s mouth curved faintly, the ghost of a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "No," he agreed, "but I can hope it buys me a minute of peace while you stop shaking."

Chris’s lips parted as if to retort, but the warmth had sunk too deep, his body surrendering inch by inch to the calm pulsing from Dax’s scent. The tension that had wound him tight since the terrace began to unravel. His head tipped forward, resting against the steady line of Dax’s throat, breathing in slow, measured pulls.

"See?" Dax murmured, voice dropping into something softer, almost reverent. "That’s better."

"You talk too much," Chris mumbled, but the words were slurred, his lashes lowering.

"Maybe." Dax adjusted his hold, keeping Chris anchored securely in his lap. "But if I stop talking, I’ll start thinking about how close you were to collapsing, and I’d rather not remember that."

Chris’s breath hitched once before evening again, the stubborn defiance fading beneath exhaustion. "You worry too much."

"I know," Dax said simply. He leaned back into the couch, the heavy silence of the room settling around them. His hand moved in slow, absent circles along Chris’s back, coaxing the last of the cold from his body.

He looked down at him, at the way Chris’s fingers still clutched weakly at his shirt, at the faint color blooming back into his cheeks and something tight in his chest finally eased. The argument was still there between them, unresolved and waiting, but not now. Not while the omega’s body was still trembling with the aftermath of power and exhaustion.

Dax exhaled quietly, the sound almost tender. "You drive me mad," he whispered, though the words carried no anger now.

"Mutual," Chris murmured, his voice barely audible.