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“Oh, I have a lot to say, you bossy king,” I growled at him, but neither of us took it seriously. But the smile tugging at Atlas’s mouth immediately made me suspicious.
“You see?” he said, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“There it is.”
I frowned and walked straight into another trap by asking, “What?”
“That look,” he replied, and my eyes narrowed automatically before I feigned ignorance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He leaned down closer, keeping most of his weight off me with his free hand by my head.
“The one that appears right before you make a terrible decision,” Atlas whispered in my ear, and an outraged scoff escaped me.
“I make excellent decisions, thank you very much.”
The laugh that answered me was low and warm, and completely as addictive as the rest of them.
“You threw a king onto the floor,” he reminded me, making me smile at the memory.
“You deserved it.”
The fact that he wasn’t even attempting to deny it made me instantly suspicious again. Then his smile widened.
“I probably did.”
The admission caught me off guard long enough that I forgot to argue back. This was for two reasons, the first was the moment his mouth found my throat. He lingered there, his teeth grazing the tender skin before closing just enough to send a shiver through me, the gesture feeling less like a bite and more like a warning. The second was when something started to stir beneath my skin, and my breath caught.
The sensation was familiar now, yet no less startling. A warmth spread through the marks on my wrists, not painful, not overwhelming, but alive somehow. It felt like standing in sunlight after weeks of rain, like recognition and comfort and home woven together into something impossible to explain.
Atlas felt it too.
His amusement faded as they seemed to link directly to him. No longer just a key to open the Rift, but something more profound.
A tether that anchored him to me.
Slowly, his gaze dropped to where his hand held my wrists, witnessing for himself the way my scars had begun to glow under his palm.
Softly at first.
Then brighter, as if reaching out to him.
Silver light traced the familiar patterns etched into my skin, pulsing gently beneath his touch, responding to his presence. The room seemed to fall away around us as we watched the marks awaken, answering something ancient and unseen that existed between us.
Atlas’s eyes darkened before gold flickered through them. It wasn’t the sharp burn of anger or power; it was something deeper.
Something hungry.
Heated.
His thumb brushed lightly across one of the glowing lines, and another pulse of warmth spread through me. His gaze lifted to mine, and the look on his face made me forget to breathe.
There was wonder there.
Possession. Absolution. Relief.
A thousand unspoken emotions tangled together beneath the surface before he then whispered, “My anchor.”
