Dax’s expression softened, just a shade, as though he’d been expecting that question.
"Christopher’s not going anywhere," he said simply. "He doesn’t know it yet, but... he won’t get to escape from me."
Trevor caught the note beneath those words, the quiet conviction, and arched a brow, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Careful," he said, his tone warm with teasing. "You sound exactly like me at my first wedding with Lucas."
Dax’s laugh was low and incredulous, his violet eyes narrowing playfully.
"First wedding," he repeated, pushing off the wall to pace a slow step closer. "You mean that little stunt you pulled in the chapel at dawn? Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you blindsided me with that."
Trevor’s grin widened, entirely unrepentant. "It wasn’t a stunt. It was... strategy. You weren’t exactly subtle about circling him back then, Dax."
"You could’ve let me fight fair," Dax said, though there was no real bite in his voice, only old humor wrapped around the faintest trace of that long‑ago bruise to his pride. "Instead, you drag him off, rush the vows through, and smile like the cat that got the cream while I’m left wondering how I lost without ever stepping onto the field."
Trevor laughed, a rich, genuine sound that rolled easily into the cool morning air. "You’d have done the same, and you know it. Besides, he asked for it. I couldn’t possibly say no."
Dax let out a mock‑offended huff, eyes narrowing in that playful way only he could manage. "That’s only because you and Serathine presented me like some demon."
Trevor’s smirk turned shameless, not even pretending to soften. "But you are."
Dax spread his hands in exaggerated agreement, a grin flashing. "Of course I am. But not to my future partner..." He let the words hang for half a beat before adding, with a pointed look, "like you."
Trevor chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped past him toward the holding room door. "Oh, don’t start rewriting history now. You’d have scared him off within an hour."
"Maybe," Dax said, falling back against the wall with an easy shrug, violet eyes gleaming with mischief. "But I’d have done it with pastries."
Trevor barked another laugh over his shoulder, pausing with his hand on the latch. "And that’s exactly why I didn’t give you the chance."
Dax’s grin widened, a low laugh chasing Trevor’s words. "You always did know how to play dirty, brother."
Trevor pushed the door open, glancing back one last time, that familiar fondness flickering in his storm‑dark eyes. "You taught me."
Dax’s laughter followed him inside, warm and unbothered, as Trevor stepped into the dimmer light of the holding room where Jason Luna waited, ready now to settle debts that had nothing to do with weddings or pastries, but with far older promises.
The door closed behind Trevor with a muted click, the sound muffled by the thick walls of the converted carriage house.
The holding room was spare but clean, the light slanting in through high windows that let in the cool of the morning. A single table sat in the center, iron legs fixed to the floor, and opposite it... Jason Luna.
Jason didn’t stand when Trevor entered. He sat with his wrists resting on the edge of the table, fingers loosely laced, his posture calm in a way that spoke of a man who had decided to wait out the storm. His dark jacket was still immaculate despite the night spent here, and when he finally looked up, it was with the kind of measured gaze that once would have unnerved lesser men.
Trevor crossed the room slowly, each step even, the soft sound of polished shoes against old stone echoing in the stillness. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he pulled out the chair across from Jason and lowered himself into it, resting his forearms casually on the table.
Through the glass pane set into the far wall, a simple thing framed in dark wood, the sort that let guards observe without intruding, Dax was already there. He leaned one shoulder against the frame, arms folded, his posture deceptively relaxed. Violet eyes watched everything, sharp as ever, though the faint curve of his mouth suggested he was enjoying this more than he probably should.
Trevor didn’t acknowledge him. They both knew Dax would watch without interfering.
Jason tilted his head a fraction, breaking the silence first. "I expected a cell, not... conversation."
"Oh, you don’t get anything even close to that," Trevor replied evenly, leaning forward just enough that his presence seemed to press across the table. His voice was calm, but there was a weight in it, a quiet authority that made the room feel smaller. "Now, who gave the order?"
Jason’s jaw flexed, his tone flat. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Trevor exhaled slowly, almost indulgently, as though he’d heard the same line too many times before. Most people didn’t really understand what it meant to sit across from a dominant alpha. They whispered about their stamina, their speed, their sharpened instincts, but those were only the surface. The truth was far darker, far less comfortable.
A dominant alpha’s pheromones weren’t just scent; they were a weapon. They could calm, twist, or crush the will of those weaker than them. They could make a man’s pulse stutter in terror, could burn through his mind like fire, unraveling thought after thought until nothing was left but obedience or pain. With the smallest flex of intent, they could control, destroy, and torture... without ever lifting a hand.
Trevor and Dax were no exception to that. The only difference was that they knew how to leash it, how to keep that violent, possessive edge tucked neatly away where their partners would never feel it.
Trevor’s gaze stayed fixed on Jason, steady and unblinking. He didn’t raise his voice or move suddenly; he simply let a thin ripple of his pheromones bleed into the air, sharp and clean like the scent of cold iron and rain‑soaked earth. It was subtle at first, a shift in pressure, a tightening in the lungs.
On the other side of the glass, Dax tilted his head, watching with mild interest, as if observing a craftsman at work. His own aura hummed faintly against the panel, amused and quiet, a silent reminder that Jason was outnumbered in ways he couldn’t even begin to grasp.
Jason’s fingers twitched against the table. He blinked rapidly, breath catching like he’d suddenly forgotten the rhythm of it. The silence between them became heavy, suffocating, the air itself pressing down.
Trevor leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something calm and unhurried.
"You feel that?" he asked softly, almost kindly. "That’s the smallest taste of what you walked into. Now..." His smile was faint, edged with steel. "Try again."