Runt [ManxMan]

Chapter Twenty-One

Dax didn't seek out his father often, at least not in the last year or so. They had never been close, the older man having spent most of Dax's childhood too busy running the pack to concern himself with his young son. They'd spent a lot of time together when he was learning how to be an alpha, but he'd officially taken over the position a couple of years before and rarely needed his father's help anymore.

That's not to say they had a bad relationship. Dax loved his father, and his father loved him as much as he'd ever loved anyone. He'd just always been busy, and after Dax's mother died... well, he'd had Chase, his new adopted son, to look out for, and he'd thrown himself into trying to fix the broken beta-born rogue and put the pack back together after the rogue attack that had taken his mother's life.

Dax had been twelve years old and already knew what was expected of an alpha. He wasn't allowed to break down and grieve for his mother, wasn't allowed to rely on his father to hold him together. He had to do it himself.

But he could always rely on his father for advice. So, with his turmoil over the situation with Mason and Tala, he felt now was the time to seek out his father, to update him and see what he thought of things.

He found the former alpha right where he thought he would, on the training ground with the warriors. It was where Dax would be most of the time if he didn't have so many responsibilities. Besides, someone had to keep an eye on the recruits, and Mav was too lazy to do it on a regular basis. If he wasn't so good at his job—when he could be bothered to do it—Dax would have demoted him by now.

It still felt strange to see his father in casual clothes, only a pair of shorts hanging from his hips. The man wasn't as built as he had been in his youth; the muscles on his chest and abdomen were still defined, but had a thick layer of fat beneath.

Dax had gotten a lot of his features from his father, from his caramel skin and hazel eyes to his height—he had passed his father, but not by much—to the aura of power they both exuded. His father's hair was coppery, unlike Dax's shock of dark hair, and also unlike Dax, the former alpha kept his hair short, leaving no question of his widow's peak or how it was graying in the front.

He was sparring with one of the recruits when Dax approached. The boy was a beta-born, younger than Mason, but not by much, and still growing into his long limbs. Dax didn't recognize him, but he couldn't have been training long. Poor kid was coated in a sheen of sweat, and his movements were sloppy, barely keeping up with the former alpha, though the older man was moving effortlessly.

Dax stood on the edge of the ring, arms crossed as he watched the fight. The young beta-born wasn't doing terribly, considering his age and opponent. He managed to more-or-less deflect almost every blow the former alpha sent his way. He would be a talented warrior by the end of his training, Dax had no doubt. There was some instinctual edge to his movements that couldn't be taught, and reminded Dax of Mav, the most skilled fighter the alpha had ever met.

It didn't take long for his father to notice his presence, and the fight took a fast turn as the former alpha flipped the young recruit over his shoulder so he landed flat on his back on the mat with an oomph, looking stunned. The former alpha didn't bother to check on the kid, striding to the edge of the mat where Dax stood.

With the extra height of the mat, the two men stood eye to eye. Though Dax had been taller than his father for years and had been the alpha of their pack for two, he still felt small next to the other man. Dax was a confident man, but he still felt his father had been a better alpha than he would ever be, and he wasn't sure when that feeling would go away, if it would at all. He knew he was a good alpha, but some part of him thought, if given the choice, his people would prefer his father over him, that they respected the older man more.