Chapter 54: Chapter 54: Hovering alpha

Chris leaned back against the chest of the alpha, breath still shaky, the burn in his throat fading to a raw ache. His hands trembled faintly as he dragged them down his face. “Don’t bark at staff,” he muttered hoarsely, his voice rough but steady. “They didn’t know. Hell, even I forgot.”

Dax’s violet gaze cut to him, sharp and disbelieving. “You forgot you almost die from a seed?”

Chris winced, pressing his tongue to the sore roof of his mouth. “It’s not common in Palatine food. Barely ever comes up. Not exactly top of mind.” He glanced toward the attendants, pale and stiff at the far end of the cabin. “They were just doing their job. Don’t… don’t make them pay for something that wasn’t their fault.”

For a heartbeat Dax didn’t answer. The weight of his stare shifted from the trembling omega in his arms to the frozen staff at the back of the cabin and back again. His fingers stayed at the nape of Chris’s neck, thumb still moving in small, grounding circles. The old reflex, snap, order, and purge, was still there under his skin. But Chris’s voice, hoarse and shaky, pushed against it.

“They nearly killed you,” he said finally, voice low enough to be for Chris alone. “By accident or ignorance, it’s the same result.”

Chris’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile under the exhaustion. “And you nearly scared them to death. Call it even.”

Dax exhaled through his nose, a soundless release of air. The violet eyes softened by a fraction, the edge of the predator sheathing itself. “Fine,” he murmured. “They keep their jobs. But poppy is gone from my kitchens. Non-negotiable.”

Chris sagged a little more against him, the tension draining from his shoulders. “Good compromise,” he muttered. “You get your ban and they don’t get executed.”

Dax’s mouth curved, a dangerous, wry flicker that never quite became a smile. “You make it sound like I’m unreasonable.”

“You are,” Chris rasped, eyes sliding shut again. “But at least you listen.”

Dax’s arm tightened fractionally, drawing him closer as the engines hummed on. He tilted his head so his words brushed Chris’s ear. “Only to you, little moon,” he said softly. “Only to you.”

The door at the rear of the cabin whispered open. Tyler stepped through from his section, eyes flicking once from the cleared table to the empty pastry tray to the pale omega in the king’s arms. He didn’t ask what had happened; the look in Dax’s face told him everything. Instead, he held up a small tablet. “I’ve already sent a directive to Internal Security,” he said quietly. “They’re combing the manifests for where the poppy came from and who signed off on it. We’ll know before we land.”

“Good.” Dax didn’t look at him, thumb still moving at the back of Chris’s neck. “Send word ahead to Saha. My physicians will meet us on the tarmac. I want a full allergen panel. Every test.”

“Already in progress,” Tyler said. “The medical wing is on alert.”

Dax inclined his head once, the only outward sign of approval, then shifted Chris more upright, pressing the water glass back into his hand. “Sip,” he murmured. “Small sips. We’re nearly halfway there.”

Chris obeyed without opening his eyes, the faintest tremor still in his fingers but his breathing steadying. “You’re bossy,” he muttered, voice raw but wry.

“I’m alive because I’m bossy,” Dax said softly. He brushed a thumb across Chris’s temple again, the dark-spiced scent steady and warm now instead of sharp. “And so are you.”

Tyler lingered a moment longer, then retreated silently, leaving them in the hush of the cabin. Dax stayed where he was, the predator in him pacing behind his ribs but leashed, every order already sent, every consequence already in motion.

—

Chris hated how heavy his body felt. The adrenaline from the injection had his hands trembling, his heart thundering too fast in his chest. Every breath came shallow, as if his ribs didn’t trust the air yet. His mouth was dry, his tongue thick, and his legs jittery with leftover sparks of energy he couldn’t burn.

He should’ve been pacing. He should’ve been swearing. Instead, he was in Dax’s arms.

The king hadn’t moved since hauling him close, one broad hand braced at the back of his head, the other steady against his spine. The leather seat was beneath them both, but Chris felt anchored only by the press of muscle and heat around him, by the rhythm of Dax’s chest rising and falling.

“Your pulse is still too fast,” Dax murmured, low against his temple. The words were calm, but Chris could feel the steel edge under them.

“I’m fine,” Chris mumbled, though his voice came out hoarse and thin. His fingers flexed once against the king’s chest as if to prove it, but they trembled instead.

Dax’s hand slid a little higher up his back, palm flattening between his shoulder blades. “You’re not fine yet. You’re still shaking.” His thumb stroked once more over the damp skin at Chris’s temple. “Just breathe. Let the adrenaline burn off. You’ll feel heavy for a while.”

Chris huffed out something that might have been a laugh. “Who knew that the mad king was so dependable?”

Dax’s mouth curved, a flicker of teeth rather than a smile. “Mad kings are only unpredictable to people who don’t belong to them,” he said quietly. “I plan. I prepare. And I’m confident that I can protect what belongs to me.”

Chris blinked up at him, still pale but clearer now. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” Dax replied, thumb brushing once more across his temple. “You step into danger without thinking. You hide your strength until you need it. And you forget you’re allergic to poppy seeds.” The last came out dry, but his hand never stopped moving at Chris’s back.

Chris gave a rasp of a laugh, then winced at the ache in his throat. “Not exactly a glowing character reference.”

“It’s honest.” Dax shifted just enough to grab the blanket from the adjacent seat and drape it over Chris’s legs, then settled him more securely against his chest. “And honesty is rare enough.”

Chris let his head fall back against the Sahan suit, eyes half-closed. The scent of him, dark and spiced, like rum cut with smoke, had steadied back into a low, warm curl. “You don’t have to hover,” he muttered again.

“I’m not hovering.” Dax’s voice dropped, more a vibration than a sound. “I’m making sure you don’t crash before we land.”

Chris’s lips twitched. “Sounds like hovering to me.”

This time Dax did laugh, low and brief. “Then I hover. Deal with it.” He adjusted his hold so that Chris’s head rested more comfortably against his shoulder. “Close your eyes. We’ll be in Saha soon, and my physicians will take it from here.”

Chris exhaled slowly, eyelids lowering. “Bossy,” he murmured.

The engines hummed beneath them, the cabin dim and quiet. Dax let his palm rest at the back of Chris’s neck, feeling the pulse under his fingers finally begin to ease, and for the first time since the incident, he allowed himself a single, silent breath of relief.

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