Where the Ice Sings

Safe and Sound

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

The fire crackled low between them, casting soft light over their joined hands. Their fingers were loosely intertwined—not clinging, just… resting. The pull between them hadn’t vanished. If anything, it had settled, becoming something quieter and more constant, like a low hum beneath their skin.

Atlas was the first to shift, not pulling away, just angling himself so he could look at her properly.

“We should head back to my place,” he said gently. “Before the light starts to go.”

Dax’s gaze flicked toward the trees, then back to him. “Today?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s not far. And you shouldn’t stay out here longer than you have to.”

She considered that, then him. With how they were settled into this warm and cozy space, the thought of getting up and going back out into the elements was not ideal. She still felt worn down from the plunge, but she knew they couldn't stay here forever. The idea of staying in a cabin did sound nice. She breathed out a little noise in response.

“That sounds like we take it slow,” he countered. “And we stop whenever you need to. No pressure.”

Something in her shoulders eased.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go then.”

Only then did he gently release her hand.

Atlas moved with practiced efficiency, packing what little he needed and leaving the rest behind. The shelter stayed standing. It was okay to leave everything up, he would be back at some point. Supplies were tucked where he knew he’d find them again. He brought her clothes next.

“They’re dry,” he said, handing them over. “I kept them close to the fire.”

With a polite thank you, she took them, fingers brushing his briefly, and then hesitated.

“I’ll turn around,” he added immediately, sensing her apprehension.

She changed quickly, the warmth of the fabric sinking into her bones. When she finished, Atlas shrugged out of his jacket before she could protest and stepped closer to her, holding it open.

"Arms out," he ordered.

Dax blinked at him. "Atlas, you don't have to-"

"I know, I want to. I'll be fine, I promise. It's okay," he assured.

She let him guide her arms through the sleeves. The jacket swallowed her hands, the fabric still warm from his body. He tugged the zipper up, careful not to catch the material, his knuckles brushing her chin. She looked down at the jacket and then back up at him.

"What about you?" she asked, genuinely concerned for him.

He gave her a small crooked smile.

"I run hot, I'll be fine. Besides, this will protect you a hell of a lot better than what you have on. I can't let you walk all the way back to my place freezing like that," he said, his voice low and firm.

Dax's breath caught at the way he said it, not demanding but like he really cared about her well-being.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Atlas adjusted the collar of his jacket around her neck, making sure no skin was exposed to the wind. He then cleared his throat and stepped back.

He offered her the canteen next. “Small sips, you don't want to catch a cramp midway.”

She did as told, throat working slowly. Her phone came next. She checked it, thumb pressing the screen.

“Dead, of course,” she murmured.

Atlas watched her face carefully. “That worry you?”

She shook her head. “Not really. Luckily I had my Bluetooth headphones in while I was skating. If I didn’t, I probably would’ve lost this too when I fell.”

“We’ll get it charged later,” he promised.

They started walking soon after, Atlas deliberately setting an easy pace. He didn’t hover, but he stayed close—close enough that if she swayed, he’d be there.

They talked as they walked. About her teaching skating classes when she wasn’t training. About how she loved being on the ice alone—how lakes were where she’d learned, when skating felt like hers instead of something demanded of her.

A few minutes later, she slowed down. Her step faltered. Atlas caught her instantly.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said too quickly.

“You sure?” he asked gently.

Dax gave him an obvious fake smile and nodded. He could see she was a little out of breath, the way her chest rose and fell and he was concerned. They had been hiking for about an hour and they were close to their destination, so Atlas made a decision that would help them both out.

He slung his pack forward and walked over to her, turning around and motioned for her to get on his back.

When he crouched, she resisted..

“Oh no. I don’t want to slow you down, you are not carrying me and all your stuff.”

“You’re not slowing anything,” he said firmly. Then softer, “I’m an alpha shifter. I’m strong. Let me help. We are actually most there. It's not much further.”

She still hesitated for a moment, but Atlas wouldn't budge, and she could tell he wasn't going to take no for an answer on this.

So, she gave in.

He lifted her easily, settling her against his back. Her arms slid around his shoulders, fingers curling into his jacket. The trust in that small movement hit him harder than anything else had.

“You comfortable?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Surprisingly I am.”

He smiled to himself and kept walking. It felt good for both of them being this close. Their bond hummed at the physical contact as he walked with her.

When the trees thinned and the cabin came into view, Dax let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“That’s home,” Atlas said finally.

Perched on Atlas's back, Dax spotted the cabin through the trees, dusted with snow and bathed in the afternoon light. The quiet clearing looked inviting and Dax could practically feel the warmth on the inside.

Atlas didn’t carry her all the way to the door. When the cabin was close enough to touch, he slowed and gently lowered her back onto her feet, keeping his hands on her waist a second longer than necessary—steadying, not claiming.

Up close, the cabin looked even sturdier. Dark wood, solid lines, a porch worn smooth from use rather than neglect. There was nothing lonely about it. It felt… held together. Like the man who lived inside it.

Atlas stepped ahead of her to open the door. Warm air met them instantly.

Not overheated, not stuffy—just right. The scent of wood, pine, and something faintly herbal wrapped around her, and Dax felt her shoulders drop without her permission. It all smelled like him and that was putting her at ease.

He noticed.

“Come in,” he said quietly. She did.

The space inside was simple but intentional. A table built by hand. A couch layered with thick blankets. Hooks along the wall holding coats, gloves, tools—everything with a place. A small stove sat off to one side, embers still glowing faintly beneath the iron.

“You can sit,” Atlas said, already moving to shrug off his pack. “Anywhere you want.”

She dropped her stuff by the door and chose the couch.

"Do you need any help with anything?" She asked, feeling weird just sitting there as he ran around, doing stuff as if he was going through a mental checklist.

"No no, I'm fne. Just relax. Feel free to get comfortable. Sorry, I'm not the best host. I don't usually have guests over."

"Oh, okay" Dax responded awkwardly.

She sighed and sank into the couch, stretching her legs a little. She took another look around while he ping-ponged around the cabin, putting stuff away and getting things ready for the night.

"It's really cozy in here," she said.

"Thanks, it's not much, but it works for me. Feel free to grab a blanket if you want. It should warm up more in here soon once the fire gets going."

Once she was settled, wrapped in blankets that smelled faintly like him, he moved again—adding a log to the stove, checking the latch on the door, setting her bag closer within arm’s reach instead of tucking it away.

“You hungry?” he asked softly.

“A little,” she admitted.

"I think I have some stew in the freezer...shouldn't take long to thaw once I get it on the stove. Does that sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," Dax replied, wanting whatever was easiest for him to prepare.

He brought her the stew, sitting on the edge of the end table so he wouldn’t loom. Watched quietly as she took a few careful bites. He then joined her, sitting next to her with his own bowl. He put the news on his TV, just to fill in the noise so it wasn't so quiet. When she slowed, he didn’t scold—just nudged the bowl closer later, like a reminder instead of a demand.

It was absolutely delicious and definitely the most hearty meal she had in a long time. It filled her up fast.

“You don’t have to finish it,” he said. “Just try. Your body needs it after everything."

She sighed and took a few more bites. Atlas was pleased and offered to take her bowl from her, urging her to grab more if she got hungry again later.

They fell into an easy silence after that.

Dax became acutely aware of how close he was—how safe it felt to be here with him, wrapped in his space, breathing him in. That strange comfort from earlier followed her inside the cabin, settled deeper now, like it had found a place to rest.

Atlas leaned back in his spot, glancing at her without staring.

“You can stay as long as you need,” he said eventually. “No timeline. No expectations.”

Her chest tightened.

“That...That actually sounds nice, getting some downtime. I'll probably need to go get my car at some point. Not now, of course, but eventually. I don't want it to get towed. ”

“I figured,” he replied, glancing at the TV news. “Looks like the weather is going to be like this for the next few days. Once it thaws a bit and the roads are safe, we will go look for it. I doubt any tow trucks will be out scouting for vehicles in all this.”

In the dim light, Dax really looked at him. Strong jaw dusted with stubble, slightly tousled dark hair, and broad shoulders that made the couch seem smaller than what it was. The ruggedness to him seemed worn in and authentic, which contrasted with the soft and gentle gazes he had when he looked at her. And there was something steady in the way he carried himself, even at rest.

Handsome, yes... but it was the quiet strength in his features that made it hard for her to look away.

“Thank you,” she said, voice small.

He nodded once. “You’re welcome.”

Another pause.

Then, softer—more vulnerable than before—“You’re safe here, Dax.”

And she believed him.

The cabin settled around them as the fire caught fully, warmth radiating outward in steady waves. Dax hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until her body finally started to let go. The ache in her muscles dulled to something manageable, exhaustion sinking in now that she wasn’t fighting the cold anymore.

Atlas noticed the shift.

He moved quietly, giving her space while still being present—refilling the kettle, straightening the blanket where it had slipped from her shoulder.

“There’s an outlet over there,” he said casually, nodding toward the wall near the table. “If you want to charge your phone.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug in her hands.

“That’s okay,” she said after a beat. “Maybe later.”

Atlas didn’t miss it.

He nodded like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean anything at all. But something thoughtful passed behind his eyes. She did not want to go back to her life. Not just yet.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said simply.

They sat in companionable quiet again, the kind that didn’t demand conversation. The fire popped softly. The wind brushed against the cabin walls, muted now, distant.

Eventually, Atlas stood and ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“Alright,” he said gently. “We should figure out sleeping arrangements.”

She looked up at him, suddenly self-conscious. “I can take the couch. I don’t want to—”

“No,” he said immediately, not harsh, just certain. “You’re taking the bed.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. She could tell it wasn't a question or up for debate.

“I just changed the sheets before I left,” he added, softer. “They’re clean. Comfortable. You need real rest.”

“And you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Couch’s fine for me.”

She studied him for a second, clearly torn. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said. “I want to.”

He led her down the short hall, stopping just inside the doorway of the bedroom. The space was simple—wooden frame, thick blankets, pillows fluffed and waiting. Nothing fancy. Just solid, warm, and cared for.

“This is yours tonight,” he said. “Bathroom’s right there. Feel free to shower, there are towels in the closet. I’ll be in the main room if you need anything.”

She hesitated, then stepped inside.

As she sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight, something in her chest softened. The sheets were cool but clean, the blankets heavy in a way that felt grounding.

Atlas lingered in the doorway, watching her as she took the space in.

“If you wake up needing anything,” he said quietly, “or cold, or just… need someone—don’t hesitate.”

She nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

He smiled at her, turned to go, then paused.

“Oh,” he added, almost sheepish. “Door stays however you want it.”

She watched him retreat back down the hall, listened to the quiet sounds of him settling on the couch—moving a blanket, shifting a pillow, deliberately not making it feel like he was nearby but not gone either.

Dax decided that she really needed a shower. After being out in the wilderness for almost two days, she felt gross and her hair defiantly needed a wash if she was going to stay in some else's bed. She grabbed a towel from the closet just like Atlas said where to find them and got to it. Now that they were separated and out of sight from each other, she really felt the bond they shared kick up a notch. It stirred softly, like a warmth beneath her ribs. She had no desire to fight it. She wondered if Atlas was feeling it too.

After her shower, she quickly towel-dried her hair and sat on the bed in a baggy shirt Atlas left out for her. Giving it a comb over, she felt much better getting all that debris off her skin from the last two days. Now that she had a moment to herself and by herself, all she could think about was Atlas.

The hot water from the shower had cleared the remaining cold from her bones, but her mind felt like a storm all on its own. Everything that had happened over the last few days was spinning around inside her like a snow storm that she couldn't escape.

She kept thinking about him, the way he moved, how steady he felt next to her. The pull to go to him, to crawl onto the couch and just be near him, was almost overwhelming, but… She didn't feel it would be appropriate. He’d saved her, taken care of her, been everything she needed—but she wasn’t sure she could just let herself lean on him like that. Even though he was in the next room, it wasn't good enough. Being away from him made her skin itch, but she didn't want to come across as clingy.

Besides… he was probably passed out on the couch anyway.

Dax remembered what he said about the door. Leaving it closed felt like she was closing off her emotional door to him, so she walked over and opened it wide. Something about that just felt better and put her more at ease that their access to each other was not blocked off, even if he was just in the other room.

She laid down on the bed and her thoughts drifted to her life, and a heavy weight settled on her chest. She didn’t want to go back—not yet.

Not to the endless training and way too early mornings, not to the coaches and sponsors who saw her as nothing more than a medal, not to her mom, whose love came wrapped in pressure and expectations.

...The hands that lingered on her body longer than approved...

She remembered all the messages that were probably on her phone she’d ignored, the ones she didn’t want to see, the ones that would demand answers she wasn’t ready to give. Atlas had offered her a place to charge it, and she had declined—maybe later, she’d tell herself—but right now, she needed silence to process this curve ball life had thrown at her.

Her relationship with her mom was complicated. She loved her, she really did, but her mom didn’t understand. She never had. Every choice had been dictated by routines, by schedules, by expectations to skate harder, train longer, win more. Dax wanted to live, not just perform. The thought of all that waiting for her outside the cabin made her stomach twist. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.

She knew she had her qualifying rounds coming up soon. There was lots of prep that needed to be done. She knew she wanted to be there and still wanted to compete this season, she was just hoping it was on different terms, and she was hoping she could mentally figure it out before it was really time to go back to it all. She didn't want to run away forever, it was just a break to clear her head and regain her focus on what was important.

There was no way her mom would approve of Atlas. She didn't think she would even hear her out that this was her fated mate. She probably wouldn't believe her. That was an argument Dax didn't want to think about.

And somewhere deep inside, beneath the fear and fatigue, the pull toward Atlas persisted. Her body and her mind both whispered the same thing.

" Stay close. "

Atlas leaned back against the couch, one arm draped over the armrest, eyes half-closed but alert. Noises now filled the usual quiet—the soft pitter-patter of her feet in the other room, the hum of the shower, the little movements she made he could hear even through the walls. It was a contrast to the stillness the cabin usually had, and he liked it.

She was here. She was alive. She was… real.

He knew she needed a break from her life—the way she didn't want to charge her phone was all the proof he needed. Messages, demands, expectations—they could wait. For now, she had this space, and he’d give it to her. When she was ready, he would follow her anywhere. If Dax permitted, he would go back with her to her life outside his existence here, they would figure it out.

To the ends of the earth, he would follow, and he’d make sure she never had to face anything alone.

Part of him knew this was crazy. He didn’t even know her fully, and yet every instinct in his body screamed that he needed to protect her, to be near her, put her needs before his own. It was disorienting, unnerving, but… good. Terrifyingly, impossibly good.

For the first time in a long while, the thought of being alone didn’t feel right...