Chapter 41: Chapter 41: First argument (1)
Dax didn’t flinch at the outburst; if anything, the corner of his mouth ticked as though he’d been expecting it. He set his wine down and cut into his steak with slow precision. "I’m the king of Saha," he said. "What did you expect?"
Chris stared across the table, fork still in his hand. "Basic decency? Manners?"
Dax’s knife slid cleanly through the steak. "From a man who rules a country?" he asked, one brow lifting. "You’re setting the bar very high."
Chris stabbed a piece of vegetable a little harder than necessary. "From a man who drags someone halfway across the continent without asking? Yes. Basic decency."
Dax chewed, swallowed, and set his utensils down with a soft clink. "I did ask," he said mildly. "Just not in a way you liked. You’re not a prisoner, Christopher. You’re a problem I intend to solve before anyone else turns you into a headline."
Chris’s mouth tightened, but he couldn’t quite meet his gaze. "So you’re solving me."
"I’m keeping you alive," Dax corrected quietly. "And giving you a place where you won’t have to hide."
The words landed heavier than the tone. For a moment Chris looked down at his plate, the steam rising from the food, the clean sea air sliding across the terrace. His fingers loosened a little on the fork.
Dax watched him for a beat longer, then picked up his glass again, the faintest trace of humor sliding back into his eyes. "But if it makes you feel better," he said, "I can work on my manners between now and Saha."
Chris huffed, half-laugh, half-sigh, and took another bite of steak. "That’d be a start."
For a while there was only the click of cutlery and the sound of the wind moving across the terrace. Chris forced himself to chew, swallow, and chew again. Just enough to look polite, not enough to show how tight his stomach had gone at the thought of leaving. A country so far away it would take nearly five hours by plane from this little city on the Colt Sea to Altera, Saha’s capital.
He set his fork down for a second, fingers tightening around the stem of his water glass. ’Five hours. A different language, a different sky.’ The food on the plate blurred a little in his vision.
Across from him, Dax was still eating, but his eyes kept flicking up from his plate. He saw the way Chris’s shoulders had crept up, the way his fingers tensed around the glass, and felt the shift in the air between them. Another thin thread of his scent slid out into the space, nothing heavy, just the same steady calm he’d used inside.
"Altera isn’t as far as you’re picturing," Dax said at last, his voice low, almost conversational. "Different sea, different streets, but still a city. You’ll have your work. Your sister and brother can visit. It isn’t exile."
Chris blinked at him, caught between surprise and irritation. "You read minds now?"
"No," Dax said. "Faces. Hands." He nodded toward the glass in Chris’s grip. "You’ve become tense after I told you about leaving. It isn’t that hard to imagine what is in your head."
Chris glanced down, loosened his hold a fraction. "I don’t want to leave."
Dax leaned back on his chair, his purple gaze watching Chris with possessiveness. "I understand, but unfortunately I can’t do it."
"Why not? I’ve been safe until you." Chris jabbed, furious.
Dax’s fingers stilled on the stem of his glass. He didn’t look away from Chris. "You think you’ve been safe," he said quietly. "You’ve only been hidden. There’s a difference."
Chris’s jaw tightened. "Hidden worked just fine."
"For a while," Dax agreed. He set his glass down and folded his hands loosely on the table. "But you’re not a beta with a clean paper trail anymore. Clara proved that this morning. If she could find you, others will too, faceless names, family looking for leverage, people who don’t care what they do to get it."
Chris’s eyes went wide. "Clara? What the fuck does she have to do with anything?"
"Language," Dax said quietly. He didn’t raise his voice, but the rebuke was there. He didn’t even know why it grated on him when Chris cursed, only that it did. "She found your apartment and wrecked the living room and kitchen. My men have already cleaned it."
Chris’s fork slipped from his fingers and clattered against the plate. "You’re telling me Clara was in my place?"
Dax nodded once. "Early this morning. Drawers pulled out, frames smashed. She was looking for something to use against you."
Chris stared at him, pulse thudding. "And you’re just telling me this now?"
"It wasn’t a subject of discussion until now," Dax said, still calm, lifting one shoulder in a small shrug as if to keep the moment from expanding.
Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, trying his best to calm down, to rationalize with the man in front of him. "First, if you were at my apartment, I would want to go. Second," he gestured vaguely at everything around them, "this. This is not normal."
"I know," Dax said quietly. He didn’t lean back, but the weight in his gaze shifted from command to something closer to explanation. "But walking you through a wrecked flat while we’re trying to keep you hidden isn’t normal either. My men swept it, packed what mattered, and erased the mess so you wouldn’t have to stand in it."
Chris lowered his hand, eyes flicking up. "You decided that for me."
"Yes." Dax didn’t try to soften the word. "Because you’re already under enough strain, and because it’s my job to stop the next threat before it reaches you."
For a heartbeat the only sounds were the wind and the quiet scrape of cutlery. Chris’s fingers tightened on his fork, then loosened again. "This strain is only because of you," he said finally. "I’ve never wanted any of this. I could have lived the way I did until the end. I have no urge to be an omega in the open. Hell, I didn’t even have a heat."
Dax’s knife paused halfway through a slice of steak. He set it down slowly and leaned back in his chair, violet eyes fixed on Chris. "What?"