Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 261: Not trusting it.

Chapter 261: Chapter 261: Not trusting it.
The days following the gala passed in a hushed silence that felt curated.
Chris didn’t trust it.
Quiet, in his short experience as a newly important person, was rarely accidental, especially not after the kind of attention the Maleks had shown. Plans were being prepared. The pieces were moving, just not towards him, or at least not yet. That, more than anything, made his instincts itch.
For now, though, the palace breathed softly around them.
Chris woke to the dim, early light filtering through the curtains and the steady warmth beside him. He turned his head and froze in something closer to reverence.
Dax was still asleep.
That alone felt like a minor miracle.
Chris had learned, over the past two months, that Dax didn’t truly need sleep. Four, maybe five hours at most, and even that was more habit than necessity. Dax had slept deeply for the first few months they’d shared a bed because exhaustion had finally caught up with him: overwork, responsibility, and the constant tension of holding a decaying mind together without rest. Dax had a strong, stable bond with Chris, and the side effects of using his combat pheromones were almost negligible.
Now, he was rested.
Which meant he slept because Chris insisted on it. Because Chris refused to yield on that one small, human thing. And Dax, infuriatingly, listened.
So seeing him like this, unarmed by consciousness, with lashes resting against his cheeks and the sharp lines of his face softened by sleep, felt intimate in a way that no waking moment could.
Of course he looked unreal.
That was unfair. It should have been illegal.
Chris lay there, propped slightly on one elbow, watching the slow rise and fall of Dax’s chest. The scent hit him then, unguarded and rich: spiced rum, warm and dark and unmistakably Dax. It lingered in the sheets, in the air, wrapped around Chris’s senses with the quiet confidence of something that knew it belonged there.
Chris inhaled without meaning to.
His own scent answered instinctively: fresh rain, clean and sharp, the kind that followed a storm and left everything feeling newly claimed. The contrast made his pulse stutter. The pairing always did. Dark warmth and water, a balance that made his body lean forward even as his mind tried to behave.
Dax shifted in his sleep, brow creasing faintly as if chasing something just out of reach. The movement dragged the sheet lower along his shoulder, exposing skin that Chris knew far too well by now.
Chris swallowed.
It wasn’t just the pheromones. It was the face. The unfair mouth, relaxed and soft when no one was watching. The strong line of his jaw that had terrified entire councils and yet tilted ever so slightly toward Chris even in sleep, like his body knew where it belonged before his mind caught up.
Chris’s thoughts went traitorous.
He leaned in without realizing it, drawn in by the warmth and scent, as well as the quiet intimacy of being able to see this version of Dax, unguarded, unarmored, not a king or a threat, just a man who had chosen him.
Chosen him loudly. Repeatedly. Without apology.
Heat coiled low in Chris’s stomach, slow and insistent. He pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to do something reckless, something that would wake Dax and shatter the moment.
As if sensing him anyway, Dax stirred, a soft sound escaping his throat, deep and rough even half-asleep. His arm shifted, draping over Chris’s waist and pulling him closer with unconscious precision.
Chris sucked in a breath.
"Unfair," he murmured under his breath, more to himself than to the sleeping alpha.
"Mm," Dax rumbled, voice thick with sleep and entirely too aware. "Are you going to do something... or just think very loudly?"
Chris stilled. "You’re awake?"
"If you touch me," Dax said, eyes still closed, mouth curving faintly, "no. I will remain perfectly still."
Chris laughed softly, the sound barely more than breath, and let himself settle against Dax’s chest, rain and rum blending into something that felt dangerously like home.
"This is your first thought in the morning? Sex?"
Dax’s chest vibrated under him, a low, amused sound that never quite made it to a laugh.
"Not sex," he said lazily. One eye opened, violet and sharp even through sleep. "You."
Chris huffed, shifting just enough to press his forehead against Dax’s collarbone. "That is not the reassuring distinction you think it is."
"It’s a very reassuring distinction," Dax replied. His hand slid up Chris’s back, warm and unhurried, stopping between his shoulders as if anchoring him there. "You wake up thinking. I wake up aware of you thinking about me."
"That’s not..." Chris started, then stopped when Dax’s thumb traced a slow, absent line along his spine. "That’s unfair."
"Yes," Dax agreed easily. "You’ve already established that this morning."
Chris sighed, the sound dissolving into something softer as he settled more fully against him. The scent was stronger this close, spiced rum deepened by warmth, by sleep, by the quiet certainty of possession without pressure. It made his thoughts blur at the edges.
"You’re supposed to be groggy," Chris muttered. "Disoriented. Maybe confused about what day it is."
"I know exactly what day it is," Dax said. "And exactly where you are."
Chris tilted his head just enough to look up at him. "And that doesn’t lead to... certain conclusions?"
Dax’s mouth curved, slow and knowing. "It leads to patience."
That caught Chris off guard.
"Patience," he repeated.
"Yes," Dax said, brushing a brief, unhurried kiss to Chris’s hairline. "Because I like this. You’re here. Warm. Awake. Not running from your thoughts."
Chris swallowed, heat coiling again, steadier now. "You’re being dangerous."
Dax closed his eye again, pulling Chris a fraction closer. "I haven’t even started."
Chris let out a quiet laugh, half exasperated, half helpless, and stayed exactly where he was, contemplating the idea of starting intimacy when his personal phone vibrated once.
The sound was soft, and still it cut cleanly through the warmth of the moment. Chris stilled, the coil of heat in his stomach tightening. He didn’t reach for it immediately.
Dax felt the change at once.
He didn’t loosen his hold, but his breathing shifted, attention sharpening beneath the languid posture. One eye opened again, fully this time.
"Message," Dax said, not asking.
Chris nodded, already stretching his arm out of Dax’s loose hold to grab the phone. The screen lit up dimly in the early light.
Ethan.
’A priest here, asking about you.’
The warmth drained out of Chris’s chest in a slow, controlled way.
Dax watched his face, the way the amusement slipped out of it like a tide going out, leaving calculation behind.
"Talk to me," Dax said quietly.
Chris exhaled through his nose and tilted the phone so Dax could see. "Ethan," he said. "At the dam site. A priest came looking for me."
Dax read the message once. Then again. His expression didn’t change much, but the air in the room did, the spiced rum edge sharpening into something darker, alert.
"The Church," Dax huffed. "Seems like a purge wasn’t enough for them." He tugged Chris back into his arms and kissed the top of his head. "I will deal with it."