Olivia Anderson
The pasty crumbled between my fingers as I froze mid-bite.
Mendoza’s scent hit me like a sudden wind off the ridge—pine sap, wood smoke, and that faint, steady trace of iron that always clung to him after a long patrol. It wasn’t overpowering, just… there. Close.
Too close. I turned my head before I could stop myself.
He stood at the edge of the overlook, half-shadowed by the pines, a fresh bottle of red wine dangling from one hand. Moonlight caught the glass and turned it the color of spilled blood. He wasn’t intruding—not yet. Just watching. Quiet. The way he always watched when he thought no one noticed.
My pulse kicked hard against my ribs.
Benjamin felt the shift in me instantly. His arm, still draped around my shoulders, stiffened. The easy warmth in his body va
