Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 392: Collar, Bribes, and Peace Treaties
"You brought the bribes," Chris said, trying to sound unimpressed and failing.
Dax didn’t answer right away. He let his gaze slide past Chris, the tablet, the pencil, and the scattered layouts, landing on the two men who were still standing there as if they had any right to see what happened next.
Sahir straightened slightly, already sensing it.
Killian didn’t change his expression at all, but his eyes sharpened in that resigned way that meant he understood exactly what kind of room he’d walked into and exactly how quickly he was about to be removed from it.
Dax’s voice was mild.
"Leave."
It was simply a king’s order declaring that the room belonged to his mate.
Sahir inclined his head, diplomacy wrapped around obedience like silk. "Of course, Your Majesty."
Killian nodded once. "Sire."
Chris didn’t argue. He didn’t even pretend he wanted them to stay. He just watched them go with the calm satisfaction of a man about to get what he’d actually been waiting for.
Sahir paused at the door, not quite brave enough to look amused, but not quite able to hide it either. "I’m glad you’re home," he said, perfectly polite and perfectly timed.
Dax’s eyes didn’t move. "So am I."
Killian took Sahir’s elbow with efficient finality and ushered him out before anyone’s dignity suffered further.
The door closed.
And Chris’s composure broke.
Not in the ugly way he had been trying to avoid for eight hours. Not in a panic way. In the simple, unguarded way his body had been holding back since the moment Dax left.
He crossed the room in two fast steps and went straight into Dax’s space.
Chris was five foot eight on a good day, and Dax was a problem the gods had created at seven foot three, all long limbs and quiet violence, but Chris didn’t hesitate as if size was important.
He wrapped his arms around Dax’s waist and pulled.
It was, objectively, ridiculous.
It also worked because Dax met him halfway without hesitation, hands coming down firm and sure, one settling at Chris’s back, the other at the nape where the bond lived like a pulse.
Chris pressed his face into Dax’s coat and breathed in like the scent was medicine.
"You’re home," Chris said, voice tight in a way that made it clear he wasn’t pretending anymore.
Dax’s mouth softened against the top of his head. "I’m home."
Chris didn’t let go. He didn’t do the proud thing. He didn’t do the sarcastic thing. He simply held him with the kind of possessiveness that felt almost unfair coming from someone who complained about Dax being territorial.
Dax stood still for a moment, letting it happen, letting Chris take what he needed without commentary.
Then he kissed Chris’s hair once, carefully and slowly. "You missed me."
Chris made a sound that was half a scoff and half a confession. "Obviously."
Dax’s arms tightened around him, just enough to make the bond hum warm and satisfied.
When Chris finally drew back, his eyes were bright, not crying, but very close to doing it. He looked up at Dax like he was trying to memorize him in case the universe tried something stupid again.
Dax brushed his thumb along Chris’s cheek. "Now," he said, his tone shifting with practiced ease into something lightly smug, "about your bribes."
Chris’s gaze snapped to the bags on the table like a man remembering priorities.
Dax opened the first bag and placed the gift inside: a folded robe, dark and soft, with fabric that looked expensive even without trying.
Chris touched it once, then pretended he hadn’t.
Dax opened the second and placed a small, weighty box beside it.
Chris’s attention sharpened immediately. "That one’s mine."
Dax hummed. "Everything here is yours."
Chris’s mouth twitched, pleased despite himself.
Then Dax reached into the bag again and pulled out a collar.
Chris’s brows lifted, revealing only the faint, indulgent exasperation of a man who had been married to a collar collector for long enough to have material preferences.
"Another one," Chris said, tone fond in spite of the words.
Dax’s eyes gleamed. "It matched my mood."
Chris gave him a look. "Your moods have a whole wardrobe."
Dax didn’t deny it. He simply stepped closer, lifted the collar with one hand, and Chris reached back with the other, unfastening the one he was already wearing like it was routine.
The leather slipped free, warm from his skin. Chris placed it on the table without hesitation, then moved his hair out of the way with practiced ease, tilting his chin slightly as he offered Dax the back of his neck.
Dax’s fingers brushed the mark on the nape first - brief, possessive, almost gentle - before he replaced the old collar with the new one. The buckle clicked shut, clean and final.
Chris exhaled, the smallest sound of satisfaction leaving him before he could pretend he hadn’t made it.
Dax’s thumb lingered at the clasp, as if confirming the shape of his claim. "Better," he murmured.
Chris rolled his eyes on instinct, but he didn’t step back. "Of course you think so."
"I’m correct," Dax said, unbothered.
Chris’s hand rose to the collar, fingertips tracing the edge, and this time he didn’t bother hiding the pleased warmth in his eyes. It was ridiculous how something so simple could settle him so quickly, yet it did, the bond humming in quiet approval like it agreed with Dax’s arrogance.
Dax watched him for a beat, then leaned in and pressed a kiss just behind Chris’s ear, where the skin was thinner and the reaction was immediate.
Chris stiffened, then melted, betrayed by his own body.
"Gods," he muttered, voice low and dangerous in the way only a spoiled consort could manage, "continue to do that and I will drag you to bed."
Dax hummed, amused, mouth still near his skin. "Tempting."
He pulled back just enough to look at Chris’s face, then let his gaze slide to the last bag on the table - still upright, still innocent, still very obviously not.
"But there’s something more for you," Dax said.
Chris followed the look, eyes narrowing. "If it’s another collar, I’m going to start billing you."
Dax’s smile went slow. "Not this time."
"Then what?"
Dax reached for the bag and opened it, like he was unwrapping a peace offering meant to survive an interrogation.
Warm, sweet air puffed out butter, sugar, and something faintly spiced, the kind of scent that made the human brain lose all dignity.
Inside were neatly packed pastries and cookies. Not one sad, token treat - an entire assortment, as if Dax had walked into the bakery and decided ’yes’ was a complete sentence.
Chris stared at it for half a heartbeat.
Then he forgot Dax existed.
It was an instant, complete reprioritization, with pregnant omega instincts latching onto the concept of safe food like a sacred relic.
He reached in, pulled out the box that held the pastries and cookies, hugged it against his chest like it might be stolen, and walked straight past Dax without even looking up.
Dax stood there, motionless, watching his own consort abandon him for baked goods with the same calm he’d used in war councils.
Chris sat down on the sofa with absolute finality, planted himself like he’d been nailed there by destiny, and opened the box on his lap.
Tania appeared like a summoned demon and attempted to climb into the box.
"No," Chris said immediately, without lifting his eyes from the pastries. His hand blocked her, like he’d done this a thousand times.
Tania blinked, offended, and sat beside him anyway, tail flicking in silent judgment.
Dax walked over slowly, paused in front of the sofa, and looked down at Chris - the collar was new at his throat, his posture had relaxed, and his expression had softened into something almost content as he stared at the cookies like they were divine.
Dax’s mouth twitched.
"You just walked away from me," he observed.
Chris picked up a cookie and bit into it like it was the only correct response to anything. His eyes half-closed. His shoulders dropped another fraction.
"Mhm," he said around the bite, completely unrepentant.
Dax stared at him for a moment longer, then leaned down, braced a hand on the back of the sofa, and murmured near Chris’s ear, "So the bribes worked."
Chris didn’t even pretend to be offended. He extended the box a few centimeters... an offering.
Dax’s brows lifted. "Is that... sharing?"
Chris glanced up at him with the serene authority of a man who had found sugar and peace. "If you behave."
Dax’s smile widened, slow and dangerous. "Christopher."
Chris took another bite, then patted the space beside him on the sofa with the box still on his lap, as if he’d decided the world could stop being a battlefield for five minutes.
Dax sat down.
Tania immediately leaned into Dax’s leg like she’d planned it.
Chris ate in peace, collar warm on his throat, pastries on his lap, and Dax home, finally home, close enough that the bond hummed like it was purring too.
