Caught by the Mad Alpha King Chapter 133: Something to count

Silence stretched between them, thick and almost palpable. Christopher’s pulse jumped under Dax’s thumb, his breathing uneven, but the sharpness in his gaze never dulled.

"Fine," he said at last, each word bitten out. "I promise."

Dax’s voice dropped to sothing softer, quieter. "Say it again."

Christopher’s throat bobbed. "I promise."

For a long heartbeat, Dax didn’t move. Then, slowly, he released his wrist and reached for the collar.

"Don’t move," he said, his voice a low command.

He traced the back of Christopher’s neck with his fingers until he found the faint seam hidden beneath the tal. The collar was cool to the touch and faintly humming with his and Christopher’s tangled pheromones. Dax pressed his thumb against the lock point, exhaled slowly, and let his pheromones pulse once.

The tal ward under his touch, responding to the signal of a living bond that recognized the alpha’s will. A faint click followed, and the collar loosened, unfolding like sothing alive that had finally decided to sleep.

Christopher gasped quietly, a sharp intake of breath that wasn’t quite relief. Dax caught the collar before it fell, his hand steady as he drew it away from the oga’s throat. The pale skin beneath was flushed, faintly marked from the pressure.

For a long mont, Dax just looked at it, the symbol of everything that had gone wrong between them, before setting it carefully on the nightstand.

He moved his eyes to Chris’s neck only to see the red marks that the collar had left on the pale skin; his brows furrowed in annoyance.

"What now?" Chris asked, his voice still trembling. He was praying that Dax wouldn’t change his mind and escalate the conflict.

"You have red marks..." He said while reaching for his neck and touching the marks with soft, reverent moves of his thumb.

Chris groaned. "Please tell you are not thinking about killing anyone."

Dax’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second, not because Christopher’s words stopped him, but because they were too accurate.

His thumb lingered at the curve of the oga’s throat, brushing over the faint reddened skin with a touch that was too gentle for the fury darkening his eyes.

"I’m trying not to," he said finally, voice low and restrained with a calm that only existed on top of sothing dangerous.

Chris got up and sat on his buttocks, his back against the bed rest. "You and ... we need to talk and we need sleep. You need to sleep. You look and talk like shit."

Dax’s mouth curved faintly in that slow, dangerous way that suggested he was barely restraining himself. The faint glow from the bedside lamp painted gold against his pale hair, catching the violet in his eyes and turning them into sothing almost unreal.

"Charming as always," he murmured, voice low and rough at the edges.

Chris, barefoot, dressed in a soft grey shirt and drawstring pants he got from Nadia in the morning, gave him a flat look. "How much sleep have you had in the last three weeks?"

Dax’s eyes flicked toward him, assessing. "Define sleep."

"Dax."

The word ca out quiet but sharp, the kind of tone that didn’t need authority behind it to land. Dax’s jaw flexed, and for once, he didn’t try to deflect.

"Three nights," he admitted finally. "And a few hours here and there."

Chris exhaled through his nose, incredulous. "And here I am thinking you broke , and you are also breaking yourself. You truly are sothing else."

Dax’s lips twitched, a shadow of sothing that might have been a smirk if it hadn’t looked so tired. "You say that like it’s a complint."

"It’s not." Chris rubbed at his temple. "You look one bad decision away from keeling over. Do I need to call Nadia?"

That got Dax’s full attention. His eyes narrowed slightly, violet brightening with faint alarm. "You wouldn’t."

"Oh, I absolutely would." Chris leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice calm but carrying that dangerous edge of patience running out. "And you know she won’t hesitate to sedate you now. You have no excuse for what happened and what you did to . She is kind of mad at you for it... and so am I."

Dax blinked slowly, the faint flicker of guilt crossing behind his expression before he masked it again with that well-trained imperial calm. "I unlocked the collar," he said at last, his tone controlled, like a man building his own defense brick by brick. "That counts for sothing."

Chris’s brows shot up. "Oh, really?" He leaned back, folding his arms. "You think I should be grateful you unlocked sothing you never had the right to put on in the first place?"

"I was trying to protect you..."

"No," Chris cut him off, his voice sharp but steady. "You were trying to control what you didn’t understand. Don’t stand there and pretend it was so noble act of love. You negotiated for that collar, didn’t you?"

That made Dax pause. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. The silence that followed was answer enough.

Chris’s mouth curved in sothing that wasn’t quite a smile. "Exactly. You negotiated for it. You may call it strategy, safety, or whatever you want, but you planned it. You built this whole damn ss."

Dax’s hands clenched once at his sides, the gold in his hair catching the lamplight as he lowered his gaze. "You think I don’t know that?" he asked quietly. "You think I haven’t replayed it every hour since it happened?"

"Then stop pretending you’re the victim here," Chris said, softer now but no less firm. "We’ll talk about it properly when we’ve both slept. Like adults. Not like a half-dead king and a furious oga in pajamas."

For a heartbeat, Dax looked ready to argue, to draw another line in the sand and dare Chris to cross it. But then he exhaled, long and quiet, the tension draining from his shoulders.

"Fine," he said at last. It was not surrender, but it was close enough to peace.

He stepped forward, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. Chris expected another argunt, maybe a parting quip, but instead Dax simply reached out. Without a word, he sat at the edge of the bed and lowered himself until his head rested in Chris’s lap.

Chris froze. "What the hell are you..."

"Resting," Dax murmured, eyes already closing. His voice had softened, stripped of both command and edge. "You said like adults. Adults sleep, don’t they?"

Chris stared down at him, speechless. The king’s pale hair spilled like silk across his thighs, catching faint threads of lamplight; his long lashes cast quiet shadows over skin that had seen too little rest.

"You’re ridiculous," Chris muttered finally. "Completely, irredeemably ridiculous."

"Probably," Dax mumbled, barely audible. "But I unlocked the collar."

Chris rolled his eyes and sighed, his hand hesitating before finally, instinctively, brushing a strand of hair away from Dax’s face. "You’re impossible."

"Mm," Dax humd in quiet agreent, already half-asleep.

Dax’s breathing relaxed, and Chris did not push him away. He just leaned back against the headboard, one hand resting loosely in his hair, and whispered under his breath, "You could at least change."