Chapter 67: Chapter 67: There is no ‘we.’
Steam rolled off the tiles in soft clouds, sliding down the glass door and blurring his reflection. Chris braced his palms against the cool marble of the shower wall and let the water beat against the back of his neck until his skin stung.
He didn’t need to see Dax to know the man was furious. The change in the air had been enough. That brief, velvet tone in the wardrobe had been a lid on something deeper. ’Glass under pressure,’ he thought. ’If I’ve learned anything about him, it’s that calm is the moment before he decides what to break.’
His stomach tightened. ’And what do I do? Stand here clutching a bottle like some rookie?’ He squeezed his eyes shut, water streaming down his face. ’My whole life got turned upside down overnight. New country, new wing, new rules. And he wants me to just slide into it as if I was born for this.’
He ran a hand through his wet hair, exhaling hard. ’I like him. I like the way he looks at me, the way he’s gentler than he has to be. But liking someone is not the same as wanting to be the second most important person in their kingdom. It’s not the same as being ready to shoulder a palace and an empire on your back because an alpha decided you fit.’
The water hissed louder as he turned the handle a notch hotter, trying to burn the confusion out of his muscles. Behind the door, the suite was quiet now, but he could still feel the echo of Dax’s presence like a dark-spice stain in the air.
’I need time,’ he thought, forehead resting against the marble. ’Time to think, to breathe, to decide what I can live with. Not just to adapt because he wants me to.’
He stayed there a few more minutes, letting the spray drum against his shoulders until his pulse slowed. ’One shower,’ he told himself, ’one breath at a time.’
Chris shut off the water and stood there for a second, steam curling around his ankles, before dragging a towel over his hair and shoulders. The marble floor was cool under his feet when he stepped out, the mirror above the sink already fogged into a blank sheet. He wiped a small circle clear with the heel of his hand and caught a flash of his own face, damp hair clinging to his forehead, eyes a little too sharp for someone who’d just showered.
When he opened the bathroom door, the smell of dark spice hit him first, warm and oddly comforting now. Dax was there, leaning one hip against the edge of the low dresser as if he’d been waiting the whole time. In one hand he held a tall glass mug whose pale contents steamed softly; in the other, a sleek black tablet glowing with muted notifications. He’d changed into a dark, soft button-down and tailored trousers, his hair damp but combed back, a single pale strand falling loose across his forehead.
Chris froze in the doorway for a beat, towel slung low on his hips. The coffee was light and creamy, exactly the way he took it. ’He remembered.’ More milk than coffee, the way it looked back home when he made it himself.
"Latte," Dax said, voice low, not quite a question. He lifted the mug a fraction, violet eyes flicking over Chris as if to check every inch of him for cracks.
Chris’s throat went dry. ’He’s dangerous. He’s tired. And he still remembers how I take coffee after five days.’ He stepped forward to take the mug, careful not to let his fingers brush Dax’s more than necessary. "Thanks," he managed, eyes dropping to the pale swirl of milk and espresso instead of the man holding it.
From the corner of his vision he saw Dax’s mouth curve slowly, like a big cat pleased to have its prey step closer. "You’re welcome," the king murmured. "Now sit. We’ll talk."
He crossed to the sofa by the window and sat, the latte warming his palms, the gold lattice of the morning light striping the floor between them. ’Here we go.’
Dax stayed where he was for a moment, one hip still propped against the dresser, tablet balanced loosely in his hand. He didn’t look like a man who’d just spent the night without sleep. He looked like someone who’d come in from a storm, shed his armor, and found exactly what he wanted waiting. The faint curve of his mouth hadn’t faded; if anything, it had deepened as he watched Chris drink.
"So, when does the lecture start?" Chris asked, aiming for dry and landing somewhere between sardonic and wary.
"Hmm..." Dax only hummed and crossed the space to sit down across from him. He set the tablet aside on the table and leaned back into the sofa like he had all the time in the world. The light caught in his hair, making the pale strands look almost silver; his violet eyes stayed fixed on Chris with the same patient, predatory amusement.
"Not quite a lecture," he said finally, voice velvet but edged with warmth. "But information."
Chris raised a brow over the rim of his mug. "Sounds like a lecture."
Dax’s smile flickered, a hint of teeth under it. "John Bird will run a full panel on you. Everything. Endocrine, pheromone, neurological. Not just the bloodwork he did two days ago. Until that’s finished, you’re not to take another suppressant." His tone stayed low and even, but each word landed with the finality of a seal pressed into wax. "Then, and only then, we’ll decide if suppressants are even in the equation for you."
Chris lowered the mug slightly, heat curling under his ribs. Not a request. An order dressed in soft vowels. "You’re serious," he said.
Dax tilted his head, violet eyes glinting. "I’m serious about your safety. Those pills are inconsistent, and they’ve been masking you for years. You’ve already been through enough damage. We’re going to stop, take a breath, assess, and then decide." He leaned forward just enough for his scent to brush Chris’s skin, still dark spice but no longer suffocating. "You don’t poison yourself blind, little moon. Not on my watch."
Chris stared down into the pale swirl of milk in his cup, his pulse steady but quick under his skin. "You keep saying ’we,’" he said at last, voice low but firm. "But there isn’t a ’we’ here, Dax. There’s you telling me what I’m allowed to do. I’m an adult. I was independent until the day you pulled me into this, and I can decide what to do with my own body. Even if it’s damaging."
The corner of Dax’s mouth curved, a small flash of the predator underneath the charm. A flash that sends a shiver down Chris’s spine. He didn’t pull back, only shifted his weight so his knee almost brushed Chris’s, the pressure of his presence filling the space between them.
"I know you’re an adult," he said softly, violet eyes glinting. "I know you built a life without me. But you’re not out there anymore. You’re in my palace, under my name. And while you’re here, you will not be left to ruin yourself because no one stopped you."
His thumb traced an idle circle on the rim of the coffee table, the small, almost absent movement at odds with the weight in his voice. "And I will do it," he went on, voice dropping lower, "even if I have to force it."