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I hid my smile, lifting the hot tea to my lips and blowing the steam away as I watched the man swipe the coils of his dark brown hair covered in ice and plant himself at Atlas’ table near the door. The barkeep didn’t need an order from him. The mug was waiting by the time he scooted in his chair and reached into his pocket, pulling out a few coins.
I nearly choked when a piece of burning, black parchment drifted down from the ceiling, landing on the table before Atlas. He shot a wary glance at his friend before lifting the paper to read the message.
Atlas furrowed his scarred brow as the message turned to ash. “Aw. Come on. Can’t someone else do this?”
The other man’s low voice was alluring. Deep in a soothing way. “Everyone knows you’re avoiding magic, Atty. He says you can do it the old-fashioned way. Go on foot.”
Atlas’ eyes narrowed before he lifted his cup. “The old-fashioned way is gone. A foot is hardly a replacement for a paw. We both know I’ll never run as a wolf again.”
I didn’t need magic to pick up on the sadness, the utter devastation of those words. Still, the room's cacophony hid his friend’s response; the volume returned to a normal degree as the rest of the witches and shifters returned to their conversations, and these men did the same.
Time passed with easy giggles from the surrounding tables as Atlas entertained those around him. Though, the strix checked the door far more than his friend seemed to realize.
I’d spent a lot of time lurking in crowds and hiding amongst strangers. If not to escape the man that hunted me, then simply to do my job. It was nothing to sit in a room and take in a crowd, reading each person as if their lives, emotions, histories were written like novels, translated into their mannerisms and hidden feelings. Everyone wore a mask; some were just better at the camouflage.
When Atlas laughed, his gaze would cut across the tavern to me. And fuck, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the man. I recognized his brokenness. More than those around him likely, but there was something else there. The victims of my magic were typically growly and miserable and nothing I told them came as a shock, but that wasn’t the case for Atlas. There was joy and genuine happiness, if not a sliver of desperation to keep his friend’s attention.
Below all of that, though, as I slowly pushed power through him, reading him and releasing some of the building tension within me, I felt the damning gash in a way I rarely did. Atlas was scarred beyond the physical mark that cut down his forehead and through his brow.
The small bit of sun illuminating the frosted windows had long since faded when the man that used to be the strix shifter stood heavily from the table, clamping a hand down on Atlas’ shoulder. “Another time, my friend. This old man is tired.”
And he was tired, but he was also not being fully honest. There was sadness in those words, too, even if he didn’t say it aloud. His heavy retreating footfalls were hardly audible as the patrons, far more drunk than when I arrived, grew louder.
Sweat formed on my brow, fingers trembling as I continued to push away the threat of exposure. I wouldn’t be able to sustain much longer. I’d either have to coax Atlas out of the tavern or somehow cause a distraction while warning him, hoping I didn’t glow like a beacon in the night when I lost control.
A wave of loneliness crashed over me as the door snapped shut. Atlas. I didn’t have to look to know he was watching me. I could feel him. And I wanted his attention, though I shouldn’t. I tried to convince myself it was part of the role I played as I unbuttoned my coat with shaking hands and nodded again to Anna, who sent a fresh cup of steaming tea.
Before I could draw him in, someone else sat down at his table. The beautiful witch easily enraptured him as he shared the same friendly smile he had with me. Still, as she ran lithe fingers over his chest, leaning in to whisper, I couldn’t help the ping of jealousy. Which was completely out of line and absolutely a problem.
This was simply a job. I would have my moment with him, one way or another, and then I’d never have to see him again. I had to be close but not seen. Which was mostly fine, except he was so nice to look at.
“I wouldn’t bother with that one.” Anna had crossed the room to wipe a table behind me, and I hadn’t even noticed. “He’ll come home with you, for sure. Just won’t be there in the morning.”
Wringing my hands below the table to stay the pressure, I forced a smile. “Fear of commitment, huh? I know the type.”
She snorted. “Not like this one. The wretched ones are easily forgotten. Atty’s lovable.”
“It’s fine. He’s not my type.”
She leaned over my table, looking at me with a grin. “I’d believe you if you’d taken your eyes off of him for more than thirty seconds since you got here.”
“I’m not… It’s not… I’m working.”
“Not my job to judge you; only warn you,” she said, throwing her hand towel over her shoulder and walking away.
“Imagine if you had to do both,” I grumbled, reaching for my tea as I twisted in my chair, determined to look anywhere but at Atlas and the woman practically crawling onto his lap.
Disgusting.
I counted. Actually fucking counted up to five minutes in my head, staring at the floor, the door, the snow blowing so hard outside it looked like a white sheet covering the window, lit behind by the moon.
There was absolutely no way I was going to get away with doing this discreetly. Too many people, too little space. I convinced myself the strange draw to him was the blizzard outside, amplifying my Storm Coven power. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t even that handsome. His laugh was irritating.
The heavy groan from a chair sliding across from me caught me off guard. I glanced up to those eyes that might have been my undoing if the situation had been different. Maybe it was self-preservation. The power jolted within me, and I gripped the edges of the table to steady myself. He had no idea who he was approaching.
“You never told me your name, Frostbite.”
“You never asked.”
