Page 121 of The Ashpaw: Part One

Everyone quieted almost as quickly as they did for Alastair. He was magnetic, a presence so compelling that even after hearing only a few words, Fern had forgotten what they’d just been discussing, her attention focused solely on him.

“It’s been an honor performing for you so far this evening—and we only hope you feel the same in hearing us play!”

The wolfkin laughed, raising their drinks and thumping their fists on the tables.

His gaze roamed the room, as though he was personally meeting the eye of every one in turn. “Our next song is a lively dance, the Weaver’s Turn.”

Fern sat up straighter, her pulse pounding. It was her favorite dance, and she watched as several of the wolfkin were getting out of their seats, dragged by their mates.

Oh, she so wanted to join! But who to ask?

The musician took the tall, lidded basket he’d been sitting on, and opened it to reveal that it was full of brightly colored scarves, each around three feet in length. Grabbing the first one, he called, “And if you would all be so kind, I’d like to invite your loveliest she-wolf to lead the dance with me.”

They cheered again, and he turned around to face the table, heading right towards Kyntha.

Fern leaned over to whisper in Reinn’s ear, assuming he would be the most interested. “Will you—”

The room became silent, and she looked across the table to where the flutist now stood, his hand extended. “Beautiful little omega. Would you do me the honor?”

Her cheeks were aflame, and she checked not with Darion, but Reinn beside her, knowing he wouldn’t let her make a fool of herself with the wrong decision.

Reinn’s eyes darted between her and the musician, a smile growing on his face. “What do you say, sunbeam? Will you dance with the handsome wolf and make the room swoon with envy of the both of you?”

The flutist’s brown eyes sparkled, his smile wide, and his hand still outstretched. Tentatively, she took it, and he twirled her arm over Reinn’s head to maneuver her around the table to where he stood.

“Do you know it?” he asked.

“I know it well.”

The musicians struck up a fast rhythm, drums thundering beneath the pipes and fiddle as the dancers split into two long lines down the center of the hall.

Men on one side. Women on the other.

Fern stood opposite the flutist, a bright crimson scarf looped around one of her hands while he held the other end. The fabric was soft between her fingers, fluttering every time one of them moved.

“I’ll try not to step on your feet,” he said lightly.

Fern lifted her chin and the hem of her dress, sticking out her bare toes. “I hope you do more than try.”

His grin widened, and the drumbeat changed.

The lines surged forward, and Fern moved with the music automatically, muscle memory taking over before she could think about it. One step, two, pivot. The dancers intertwined like weaving threads on a loom, crossing between pairs in intricate patterns that shifted every few beats. Scarves tangled and slipped apart in flashes of color while boots hammered against stone.

The flutist blinked at her in surprise when Fern spun cleanly beneath their joined scarf without missing a step.

“Oh,” he laughed breathlessly. “I think you were lying.”

His comment caught her off guard, and she laughed back. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You said you knew it well, not that you knew it better than the whole room.”

Several wolfkin nearby were already stumbling through the more complicated turns, colliding with one another over joyous shouts. Fern, however, knew exactly where to go and what to do.

Their faces came briefly close during the next turn, their labored breaths mingling for a moment before parting again.

The scarf wound once around Fern’s wrist as he circled her, and she unwound it with a flick that made several nearby wolfkin cheer.

“Oh, she’s showing off now,” Reinn called from the table.