12• VIKTOR KIREEV (POV)

A mischievous smile curls on my lips the moment I get close enough—her scent floods my lungs like a slow, sweet, intoxicating poison. Harper has a kind of perfume all her own, the kind you can’t bottle. It’s the scent of warm skin, of restrained anger, of unintentional temptation.

She’s facing away ...

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