Chapter 37 Where the Storm Rests #2
Warmth rushed out to meet us, along with the sound and motion and the press of bodies moving without apology.
The tavern was full but not crowded. Tables were pushed close, people standing where chairs had been abandoned earlier in the night.
Someone laughed loudly near the bar. Someone else clapped in time with the music.
Maren didn’t hesitate. She caught my hand and pulled me forward, already laughing as threaded through the room.
“Come on,” she said. “Before they start betting on how long it’ll take you to dance.”
“I wasn’t planning to…”
Too late.
The space near the musicians had opened naturally, bodies shifting to make room. Maren spun once, skirts flaring, and dragged me with her, laughter bubbling up before I could think better of it.
The music took hold.
At first, I moved carefully. Conscious of where my feet landed, of who was nearby. Then Maren laughed again, bright and unrestrained, and something loosened inside me. The rhythm found me. The beat settled into my bones.
I laughed too.
Around us the night carried on. Voices rose. Glasses clinked. Someone shouted encouragement to no one in particular. The world narrowed to motion and sound and the feel of the floor beneath my feet.
When I glanced back toward the bar, Atlas was watching.
He hadn’t joined us, standing where the light was lower. He had one arm rested against the counter. His attention was fixed on me with an expression I felt rather than saw. The heat was still there, the hunger still banked. But now it was threaded with something softer.
Approval.
Maren caught my gaze and followed it, then laughed. “He’ll crave,” she said. “They always do.”
“I’m not waiting,” I said breathless and smiling, and turned back into the music. And for the first time, I danced without thinking about what came next.
The music surged and the circle widened as others joined.
Joren was the first, clapping in time and spinning through with a grin that dared anyone to keep up.
Fenix followed with less enthusiasm but better rhythm, earning a sharp laugh from Calder when he misstepped and recovered without missing a beat.
Kade hovered near the edge at first, watching with the faintest smile. Until someone tugged him forward and he gave in with a resigned shake of his head and a laugh.
Maren danced like she belonged everywhere at once, weaving through the space with easy confidence. At one point she brushed past me, breathless and grinning. “See,” she said. “Told you.”
The air was warmer now, the floor vibrating beneath my feet as the drum found a deeper rhythm. I turned, laughing and nearly collided with Joren as he swept past.
“Careful,” he said. “I bruise easily.”
“That’s a lie,” I shot back with a smile.
“Rude,” he replied, already gone.
And then the space shifted. Hands fell away. The music slowed, the fiddle dipping into something smoother. When I turned again Atlas was there.
“May I?” he asked.
“Yes,”
His hand found mine, war and steady. The other settling at my waist with careful restraint. We moved together without thinking, the rhythm slower, grounded, intimate.
The world narrowed again, but differently this time. His gaze never left mine. The hunger no longer banked but held carefully in check and threaded with something that felt like reverence.
He guided me back a step, fingers loosening just enough to give me space. Then, with a subtle shift of his hand, he turned me out, the motion smooth and practiced.
My skirt flared as I spun, the lights blurring, laughter lifting out of me. When he drew me back in, steady and sure, it felt like being caught rather than claimed. Like the dance itself had carried me safely home.
“Careful,” he said, close enough that only I could hear. “If you keep smiling like that, I’m going to forget how to behave.”
My breath caught. Something warm and quiet settling low in my chest.
He smiled then, those dimples flashing again, raw and real. When I shifted closer, his grip tightened just enough to register before easing.
Around us the tavern carried on. Someone cheered. Someone clapped. Someone else started a new song entirely.
For the length of the dance, none of it touched us.
When the music finally broke and the space filled again, his hand was still in mine.
I chose not to let go.
The space filled around us again, bodies pressing back in as the next song struck up. The tavern reclaimed its rhythm without apology.
Maren slipped in beside me and bumped my shoulder with hers, a wordless check-in more than an interruption. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s sit before Joren starts spinning someone into the furniture.”
As if summoned, Joren laughed too loudly, halfway through an animated explanation. We moved off the floor together, the noise and motion easing as we speed back into the press of tables and bodies.
Atlas’s hand was still in mine, our fingers reluctant as the space narrowed, neither of us quite ready to be the one to let go. When we finally did it was slow, deliberate. A shared resistance that lingered longer than necessary.
We found a table near the wall, chairs pulled close, drinks appearing without anyone needing to ask.
Conversation flowed easily. Joren launched into stories that grew more ridiculous by the minute, encouraged enthusiastically by Fenix.
Calder laughed and Kade offered dry corrections just enough to make it worse.
Maren caught my eye across the table and smiled, satisfaction beaming.
I laughed and talked in equal measure, cutting in when Joren’s stories veered too far into fiction and earning a dramatic protest for it. Atlas joined in with quiet precision, delivering perfectly timed remarks that dismantled entire exaggerations in a single sentence.
The effect was immediate and catastrophic. Joren accused him of betrayal. Fenix encouraged it relentlessly. Calder laughed until he had to wipe his eyes. Kade shook his head, clearly reassessing several life choices.
At some point, Atlas’s arm came to rest along the back of my chair, not touching, but close enough to register. When I glanced his way, he was already watching me, amusement still lingering in his eyes, his expression easy.
The night blurred gently after that. Music shifted. Glasses emptied and refilled. The tavern warmed around us, holding laughter and light without asking anything in return.
When we finally stepped back into the cool night air, the city had softened, lanterns burning lower, the sea breathing steadily beyond the streets.
As we walked back, the echo of music still in my bones, I realized what wasn’t there.
No stares had followed me, no whispers when I passed. No careful distance opening around me or quiet calculations in the eyes of strangers. The city moved on as if I belonged in it, as if my presence required no explanation at all.
The realization didn’t strike like lightning. It settled, slow and sure, in the spaces that had been braced for so long they’d forgotten how to soften.
The quiet weight of belong settling in my chest.