Page 15 of Shadow of Misty Mountain

“Evening,” she says, like we didn’t nearly come to verbal blows last night.

I grunt in return. She takes a sip, then sets the mug down. “I was wondering if you’d left for good. You know, abandoned me to the wilderness.Saved by the Bears.We have a couple of paranormal romance authors that could have had a field day with that.”

I drop the bags on the floor. “And who would have told them? You wouldn’t have lasted a day.”

“Wow. Flattering.”

“You’d have walked in circles until something ate you.”

“I’ll have you know I got a B in orienteering.”

“And what? An ‘A’ in sarcasm?”

“Valedictorian,” she says with a quick grin. “But seriously, thanks for not leaving me up here to freeze and die alone. I know I’m a pain in the ass, but I do have survival instincts. Andapparently a dream-powered brother ghost who thinks you’re trustworthy.”

I straighten, eyes locking with hers. “You still dreaming about him?”

She nods slowly. “Yeah. Last night. Again.”

“Details?”

She shrugs. “Same as before. Wreckage. Chaos. Nick standing in the middle of it all like he’s holding the line against the end of the world.”

I grip the edge of the counter to keep from reaching for her. “You believe it’s more than just your subconscious?”

“I think he’s trying to tell me something.”

“You’re not wrong.”

She watches me carefully. “You’re going to tell me, aren’t you? Eventually.”

I don’t answer. Not yet. Instead, I turn and unpack the bags, setting each item on the counter with quiet precision. She doesn’t speak again, but I feel her eyes on me—watching, weighing, waiting.

And I know it’s only a matter of time before I stop pretending she’s not already inside my defenses, because she is, and it’s starting to feel like she’s not going anywhere… at least not anytime soon.

Her head lifts slowly, eyes meeting mine with a look that’s too easy, too casual. Like she’ssettling in.

“Hope you don’t mind,” she says, nodding toward the shirt. “I made myself at home and took a shower. Interesting choice in body soaps…”

“Yeah, someone at the market thought it would be funny.”

“I don’t know about that, but I did like the way it smelled. Everything else I have is either soaking wet or looks like I crawled here from a bunker. This was the only thing within arm’s reach that didn’t smell like diesel.”

I don’t answer. I can’t. Because all I can think about is how she looks sitting there, wrapped in my scent, the hem of my shirt falling down past her thighs, her mouth parted like she’s waiting for something I’m one bad decision away from giving her.

She shifts on the couch, and the shirt slips a little lower on one shoulder. My hands curl into fists before I can stop them. This is a problem. A full-scale, threat-to-mission, breach-of-discipline problem.

“You shouldn’t wear things that don’t belong to you,” I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.

She raises an eyebrow, flipping the page like she didn’t hear the warning.

“You said not to touch anything,” she says, “but you said nothing about wearing.” She shrugs one shoulder. “Besides, you seem like a ‘what’s mine stays mine’ kind of guy. You could’ve burned it if you were that protective.”

I take a slow step closer. She watches me the way you watch an approaching fire. Curious, cautious, fascinated.

“You think this is a game?” I ask.

Her eyes narrow, amused and bold all at once. “No. But I think you’re used to scaring people off, and I’m not one of them.”

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