Runt [ManxMan]

Chapter Seventeen

Mason was feeling much better when he woke.

Not normal, per say, but the pain in his throat had dulled, and he no longer felt somehow both too hot and too cold at the same time. He was comfortably warm, and he snuggled closer to the man holding him, until he took a deep breath in and realized... this was not his brother. But he still felt safe here, protected. Even his brother made him anxious on occasion, something about his aura that put the omega on edge.

He took another deep breath in and was able to place the scent as the big man Chase referred to as brother. He knew little of Dax, and a lot at the same time. His brother had told him all about the alpha—around the same time he explained what alpha meant—but the brother described by the hunter and the alpha Mason had met did not seem like the same person.

Still, Mason had seen glimpses of the affectionate, protective big brother Chase had assured him the big man was, and found he trusted the man. Even after he forced the omega to drink that disgusting liquid. It did seem to have made him feel better, so he supposed he could forgive him.

Mason opened his eyes to look up at the man. Dax's eyes were still closed, and his face was more relaxed while he was sleeping than it was when he was awake. His dark hair was falling into his face, not pushed back like it usually was. It made him look younger, less like the big scary alpha Mason had seen on first glance when he'd arrived at the pack, or when he'd tried to attack the rogue. Mason decided he liked this version of the man better than the closed off, emotionless alpha he presented to the world while he was awake.

He was startled from his thoughts when the door flew open hard enough to slam into the wall. The arms that had been loosely laying around his waist tightened, and he was pulled protectively against the bare chest of the no longer sleeping alpha, and the man was growling too.

Mason, for his part, had jumped at the sudden loud sound and also pushed closer to the alpha, his arms tightening around the man's neck. He had to pry his face away from the alpha's neck to see what had caused the disturbance, which he did with much reluctance.

Tala stood in the doorway wearing a red dress—this seemed to be a common occurrence to Mason, who couldn't remember her wearing anything else—and an annoyed expression, though it softened a bit when she saw the alpha on the bed with the omega curled up in his lap. After a moment of studying them, she shook herself and turned a glare on the alpha.

"Daxy!" she said. Mason felt the alpha flinch at the nickname or the sound of her voice, he couldn't be sure. "I've been looking everywhere for you! I was worried when I went to wake you this morning and you were gone, your bed wasn't made, and drawers were hanging open from your dresser. I knew something must have happened, are you alright? Why are you in the infirmary?"

Mason blinked up at her. Had she not seen him? He was rather small, but also very clearly curled up with the alpha, but she had addressed only Dax. He didn't miss her brief glances down at him, though, the way her expression softened a bit every time she did.

"Mason got sick last night," Dax said, inclining his head to the omega, who decided he was done with this interaction and tucked his head back against the man's shoulder. "We were worried, so we brought him to the infirmary and stayed with him overnight." He inclined his head again, this time to the side of the bed where Chase sat, slumped in a chair having somehow slept through Tala's entrance. Mason felt a pang of guilt; Chase had been very worried the night before, he must have struggled to sleep for him to be so difficult to rouse now.

Mason watched Tala study them from the corner of his eye, watched as her gaze passed from him to the alpha and then lingered on the places they touched, on Dax's arms around his waist and Mason's head on the man's shoulder. Instead of commenting, she asked, "What do you mean he got sick? Werewolves don't get sick."