The suite was quiet again, soft afternoon light spilling through the tall glass doors and cutting across the pale sheets in slow, lazy patterns. Somewhere beyond the balcony, the gardens hummed faintly with life.
Inside, Dax sat at the edge of the bed, the same way he had since dawn.
Chris was still asleep, half-curled against the pillow, his breathing even but shallow. The mark on his neck had already faded from deep red to pale rose, the skin beneath it clean and warm. The faint pulse of their bond lingered in the air, a quiet frequency that settled somewhere under the skin rather than around it.
"You know, Killian would be back with the physician soon." Dax said while lounging by his omega. The bond did more than he ever imagined. The relentlessness, rage, and madness that he had to fight every day, and that had been dimmed by Chris's presence, was now entirely quiet.
