The Last Howl
His bright blue eyes were dark, intense, and locked entirely on me.
"Ashford," he said, his voice dropping to a smooth, resonant baritone.
"Atlas," I said awkwardly, slowing to a stop and clutching my backpack strap, wondering what he wanted from me.
Atlas took a step forward. He closed the distance between us so fast it made my breath catch as I stumbled back, my back touching the wall. He leaned one hand against the stone wall right beside my head, effectively trapping me in the alcove. The scent of pine and warm summer rain rolled off him, heavy and intoxicating.