Chapter 53: Chapter 53: Fear
Dax felt the omega’s weight shift just before the sound left his throat. One heartbeat Chris was muttering about catering, the next his pupils flared wide and his fingers twitched, the bitten-off pastry falling to the plate. The burn of poppy hit his own nose a second later and every calculation in his head went white.
He moved before he thought. The tablet hit the table, his arm slid around Chris’s back, and he hauled him out of the chair and against his chest. Small body, hot, already trembling, his airway closing under his hands. He kept his face carved into calm because everyone was watching; inside, the old violence was already prowling for somewhere to go.
"Epi," he said, low and even. His own voice sounded like someone else’s.
One attendant swept the tray away; another came running with the case. Dax shifted his grip, anchoring Chris against his chest with one arm while snapping the injector open with the other. He could feel the omega’s heart hammering under his palm, feel the tremor of muscles fighting for air. Dark spice and rum, his own scent, thickened around them as he forced it to stay steady.
"Stay with me, little moon," he murmured, thumb brushing the damp hair at Chris’s temple. "I’ve got you. Just breathe."
The cap came off the autoinjector with a hard twist. He pressed it to Chris’s thigh through the soft fabric and counted the heartbeat between the click and the rush of adrenaline. The omega jerked once in his arms, a choked gasp tearing from his throat.
"That’s it," Dax said, voice still level though his pulse was a drum in his ears. "That’s it. Come back."
He held him there, steel around a small, convulsing frame, until the attendants melted back and the only sound left was the hiss of the engines and the uneven drag of Chris’s breath. Outwardly he looked composed, a king handling a minor emergency. Inside, every thought was a blade, already reaching for names, lists, and punishments.
’Why it wasn’t on his file?’ He wondered, as his men never missed anything.
He bent his head closer, violet eyes fixed on the paling face in his arms. "Don’t you dare leave me," he whispered in Sahan, words no one else in the cabin would hear. "Not like this."
Chris’s lashes fluttered, his breath catching again. Dax adjusted his hold, ready to force another dose if the first wasn’t enough, every muscle coiled.
The jet hummed on toward Saha, and for the first time in years, Dax Altera felt truly afraid.
Chris’s lashes fluttered again, a faint tremor running through his eyelids. His breath snagged, then dragged in a little deeper. Dax felt it against his chest first, the smallest shift of ribs trying to expand, the faintest wheeze turning into a thin pull of air.
"Good," Dax murmured, the word a thread of sound. "That’s it. Again." He kept his thumb moving at Chris’s temple, slow circles, the way he’d seen field medics ground soldiers in shock. "In. Out. Stay with me."
Another shudder went through the omega, then a coughing gasp. His fingers twitched weakly at Dax’s lapel, catching fabric. The violet eyes dropped to that hand, and only then did his own breath hitch, silent but sharp. Color was returning to Chris’s lips, faint but there.
"That’s it," he said again, voice still low but rougher at the edges now. "That’s it, little moon. Don’t stop."
Chris managed a ragged inhale, then another. His lashes lifted a fraction, black eyes unfocused but open. "Dax..." It was barely a sound.
"I’m here." The answer came out before he thought about it. He tightened his arm around Chris’s back, holding him upright with one hand at his nape, thumb stroking once across damp skin. "You’re all right. You’re all right."
The attendants hovered a few feet away, silent, eyes down. They could see the king’s posture, carved from calm, but they couldn’t feel what Chris felt under his palms: the hammering of Dax’s heart, the subtle tremor in the muscles holding him.
Dax’s jaw clenched, his hand still steady at Chris’s jaw as if to anchor him to this world. His violet eyes flicked to the attendants, cold and lethal. "Who authorized poppy in the pastry?"
No one dared breathe. The youngest steward stammered, "It’s... it’s standard garnish, Majesty..."
"Not anymore." His voice cut like a blade, low but final. "Every kitchen under my authority will scrub it from their recipes. Destroy the stock, and retrain the staff. I don’t care if you burn the fields."
Silence fell again, thicker this time, the attendants bowing and retreating without another word. Only the hum of the engines and Chris’s uneven breathing filled the cabin.
Dax lowered his gaze back to the omega in his arms. Chris’s lashes fluttered, and a faint sound caught at the back of his throat. His hand was still weakly fisted in Dax’s lapel, but color was beginning to return to his lips. The king’s thumb traced one more slow arc along his jaw, voice dropping back to a murmur meant for him alone.
"You’re safe," Dax said softly, a dark-spiced scent curling around them both. "Breathe. Stay here."
’Mine,’ the thought came like a brand. ’Barely mine. And I nearly lost him to something as pathetic as a garnish.’
The surge of adrenaline faded, leaving behind a raw edge in his chest. He hated it. Hated the reminder of fragility, of how easily the world could try to steal what belonged to him.
And yet, seeing Christopher breathe again, watching his throat work as he dragged air back into his lungs, it steadied him in a way nothing else ever had.
Dax leaned closer, his voice low enough that only Chris could hear. "You don’t get to leave me that easily."
Chris’s black eyes fluttered open, hazy but sharp enough to glare weakly at him. "You’re... insane," he rasped.
Dax’s mouth curved, not a smile so much as a baring of teeth. "Possibly," he murmured, thumb still tracing lazy circles at the back of Chris’s neck. "But I’m the one who just dragged you back from the edge, little moon."
He felt Chris try to shift, a weak push of fingers against his lapel, and let him; the omega was still trembling, but the fight in his eyes made Dax’s chest ease for the first time since the pastry hit the plate. The predator in him wanted to snarl at the staff, to tear apart kitchens until there wasn’t a poppy seed left in Saha. The man in him only tightened his arm a fraction, holding Chris steady until his breathing evened out.
"Easy," he said, softer now. "You’re still full of adrenaline. Sit. Don’t fight me."
Chris let his head fall back against the leather seat, eyes slipping shut again, but his mouth twitched. "You... banish pastries now?"
Dax huffed out a quiet laugh, low and dark. "You nearly died on my jet and still found a way to tease me."
"Only way to survive you," Chris muttered, voice rough but steadier.
Dax reached for the water the attendants had left, holding the glass near Chris’s lips until he drank a few sips. "Good," he said quietly. "That’s better."
Then, leaning in just enough for Chris alone to hear, violet eyes glinting, "Don’t scare me like that again."