Chapter 1

Chapter One

L ila

The sun bears down on Devil's Peak, its rays bouncing off the jagged rocks and shimmering in the ripples of the Phantom River below. I balance on a boulder, struggling to keep my footing as I aim my camera at the climber scaling the massive granite face. The air is cooler here, crisp with the mountain breeze, but there's a tension in my chest that has nothing to do with the altitude. My hands shake as I zoom in, steadying the lens just enough to capture the figure clinging to the rock.

He moves like the mountain belongs to him—confident, controlled, every muscle working in tandem as he ascends. His back is to me, but I can see the way his shoulders flex beneath his faded T-shirt, the fabric pulling taut with each calculated movement. For a moment, I lose myself in the rhythm of his climb, the raw power in every stretch and shift of his body. I snap a few photos, each click of the shutter echoing in the stillness.

But then he turns. My breath catches as his head swivels in my direction, a sharp, assessing look pinning me from across the distance. I freeze, the camera still pressed to my face, feeling like I've been caught doing something I shouldn't. His eyes, a piercing blue that seems to cut through the mountain air, lock onto mine through the lens, and I swear I feel the impact like a punch to the gut.

He doesn't break eye contact as he finishes his climb, leaping down with a smooth, easy grace that sends a shiver racing through me. His boots crunch against the gravel as he stalks over, each step deliberate, the muscles in his arms and chest shifting beneath his shirt. There's a dangerous energy in his stride, like a coiled spring, and my pulse kicks up a notch despite my best efforts to stay calm.

"You got a permit for that?" His voice is rough, gravelly, and he gestures to my camera with a jerk of his chin. He's close enough now that I can make out the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his dark hair falls messily across his forehead. There's a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth, but it's not friendly. It's challenging, like he's daring me to make a move.

Heat creeps up my neck, but I refuse to let him see how flustered I feel. I lift my chin, forcing a smile that I hope looks more confident than I feel. "I'm a travel blogger. I'm featuring the adrenaline culture around Devil's Peak," I explain, trying to keep my voice steady even though my heart is racing. "I thought you might appreciate a little free publicity."

His smirk deepens, but there's no warmth behind it. He steps closer, and I can't stop myself from leaning back slightly, the edge of the boulder digging into my spine. "I don't need any publicity, sweetheart," he says, his tone dripping with condescension. "And you've got no business pointing that lens at me without asking first." The growl in his voice sends a jolt of something dangerously close to excitement through me, but I stamp it down.

My embarrassment flares into irritation, and I plant my hands on my hips, standing my ground. "Maybe you should be thanking me instead," I snap, feeling a surge of defiance. "I'm trying to capture the spirit of this place, and you seem to think you own it."

He takes another step closer, until there's barely a breath of space between us. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, mingling with the cool mountain air, and it takes everything in me not to back away. His eyes bore into mine, sharp and unyielding, and I swallow hard, suddenly hyperaware of how isolated we are out here. "You've got a lot of opinions for someone who looks like they belong in a library, not out here in the wild," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, mocking drawl. "What, you think you can come up here, snap a few photos, and get your adrenaline fix?"

The patronizing tone sets my teeth on edge, and I meet his gaze head-on, refusing to let him intimidate me. "Maybe I'm not as predictable as you think," I shoot back, even though my cheeks flush hotly under his scrutiny. "Just because you get your kicks risking your life doesn't mean the rest of us have to be reckless."

He arches an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement breaking through the irritation in his eyes. "Predictable, huh?" He lets the word hang between us, then leans in, close enough that I catch the scent of soap and pine on his skin, mixed with the earthy smell of the river. My mouth goes dry as his breath brushes against my cheek, and I clench my hands at my sides to keep from shoving him away. "You want a real story, princess? Stick around long enough, and you might learn what it's like to actually live a little. If you think you can handle it."

His words hang between us like a challenge, electric in the air. For a moment, I can't find my voice, torn between the urge to slap him and the confusing pull of whatever this is—this tension that crackles like a live wire between us. My heart thuds against my ribs, and I force myself to take a breath, pulling my shoulders back.

"Maybe I will," I manage, my voice sharper than I feel. "But don't think I'll be hanging around waiting for lessons from a man who thinks he's the king of the mountain."

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through my chest. His mouth quirks into a slow, infuriating grin, his gaze tracking every movement I make as I step back. "We'll see about that, city girl," he drawls, his voice like gravel rolling over smooth stone. He doesn't turn away as I pivot on my heel and march off, and I can feel his eyes on my back, a physical weight that makes my skin tingle.

The sound of the river fades as I put distance between us, my steps crunching over the uneven ground. I fight the urge to look back, telling myself that he's just another subject—just a stubborn, arrogant climber who happens to have a nice face. But the memory of his challenging smirk, the way his voice wrapped around me like rough velvet, lingers in my mind longer than I'd like.

I round a bend in the trail, the sun dipping lower in the sky and casting long shadows over the rocks. My heart is still racing, my palms damp against the strap of my camera, and I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of irritation—and something else—that he's left behind. I don't like the way he got under my skin, the way he made me feel so...off-balance. But there's no denying that he's stirred something up in me—something restless and wild that I thought I'd buried long ago.

I pause at a bluff overlooking the river, catching my breath, and lift my camera again, aiming it at the way the light dances over the water. As I click the shutter, I tell myself that this man is just part of the scenery here, like the mountains and the river. A challenge, maybe, but nothing more. Still, as I lower the camera and turn back toward the lodge, I can't help but feel like I've just stepped into something I'm not quite ready for.