Page 10 of The Alpha's Runaway Mate
I press my fingers to my mouth like I can still hold the kiss there. “Get a grip,” I tell myself, voice husky and not helping, it doesn’t sound like me. It sounds wrecked. It doesn’t change the way my body answers, throbbing with a need that feels older than reason. My whole body’s humming. Throbbing. Wanting. It’s like my cells remember him even if my mind doesn’t want to admit it. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the dream floods back,his hand on my hip, the weight of him, the way the wordminedetonated through me like something holy.
Heat surges through me again, and I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling of the tent like maybe it can explain why my heart feels like it’s synced to someone else’s. It can’t. I drag in a shaky breath that tastes like pine and dirt and something warmer, something alive. My pulse skips, like it’s trying to match a beat I can’t hear.
A long, low sound drifts through the trees. Not close. Not far. A howl. It slides over my skin, right through the place the dream left raw, and settles low in my belly. “This is insane,” I whisper, but it sounds more like confession than denial.
I sit up too fast. The tent tilts. My hands shake. I grab my water bottle and chug, then splash some on my face. It doesn’t help. Nothing helps. The heat under my skin is stubborn, coiled tight, waiting for something I don’t understand.
I should be scared, about the town, the weird looks, the creepy almost-electric energy in the bar. About this connection that feels like a lifeline and a leash at the same time. But I’m not scared. I’m wired. Desperate. Starving for hands I barely know. For a man whose kiss I might’ve dreamed but whose scent is still clinging to me.
I curl my knees to my chest and rest my forehead there, breathing slow. It doesn’t put out the fire. It just teaches me the shape of it.
By the time the sun starts bleeding pale light through the tent, my nerves are a live wire. Sleep’s a lost cause. My phone blinks 6:32 a.m. at me like it’s taunting. I kick free of my sleeping bag, shove my feet into my beat-up sneakers, and duck out of the tentinto air that smells like rain and pine needles. It’s cool enough to make me shiver, but the heat under my skin won’t quit.
I tell myself I’m just going for a walk to clear my head, but my body moves like it’s already decided. The campground’s quiet, mist curling low, the trees thick and shadowed. My breaths come sharp, my palms sweaty. Every step crunches soft on the damp path. It feels like stepping into the dream again, only this time the forest is real, the ground solid, and the hum in my blood stronger than ever.
The farther I go, the more alive everything feels. Birds aren’t singing yet. No wind. Just the faint drip of last night’s rain off the branches and the low, rolling beat of my own heart. It’s too quiet, like the woods are holding their breath. My stomach flips. I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, but my pace slows anyway.
I crest a small rise and stop dead. There, on the path ahead, maybe thirty feet away, is a bear. Not just a bear. Huge. Massive shoulders, dark fur gleaming wet in the early light, head low, eyes fixed on me. He’s close enough that I can see his breath puff white into the cool air. Every instinct in me goes wild. My heart jumps to my throat. My pulse slams hard enough that I feel it in my fingertips. For a second I can’t move. I don’t even breathe. I’ve seen bears before, sure, but not like this. Not this big, not this still, not looking at me like that.
He isn’t growling. He isn’t charging. He’s just…watching.
And the strangest thing, my fear isn’t clean. It’s tangled up with something else. Heat. Recognition. The same low hum from the dream, now vibrating up through my feet and out through my chest, a pull like an invisible thread connecting me to the massive animal on the trail.
My breath comes out shaky. “Oh my God,” I whisper, though my voice barely exists.
The bear lifts its head slightly. Its eyes, dark, deep, lock on mine. The world tilts. A strange calm spreads through me, warm and heavy, so at odds with the panic I know I should be feeling that it makes me dizzy. The bond. It has to be. The same electric tug from the dream is here, coiling between us, making my body ache in ways that have nothing to do with fear.
He takes a single slow step toward me. Not threatening, but careful.
I swallow hard, my fingers trembling. Part of me wants to back away. The other part, the part burning under my skin, wants to reach out.
“What are you?” I whisper, not sure if I’m talking to him or myself.
The bear’s ears flick. Another step. His breath fogs between us, warm and real. My heart trips and stumbles. I should be terrified. I should be running. Instead, I stand rooted to the spot, staring at the largest predator I’ve ever seen, my pulse syncing to some rhythm I can’t hear, my body leaning forward like it already knows him.
The bond tightens, hot and insistent, pulling me toward the bear on the path. The bear steps closer, one slow, deliberate stride at a time, until he’s right in front of me. His sheer size blots out the rising sun. My breath is ragged, my heart hammering against my ribs. I expect teeth. Claws. A roar. Instead, he lowers that massive head and nudges my hand.
My palm lands against him automatically. His fur is thick and warm, coarse at the surface but soft beneath, like nothing I’veever touched. The moment I feel him, something inside me ignites. It’s the same pull from the dream, only stronger, realer, like a live wire between us. Heat floods my chest, races down my arms, pools low in my belly. My knees nearly give out. This isn’t fear. Not exactly. This is…something else. Something older.
The bear’s breath rolls over my wrist, warm and wild. He makes a sound, low, rumbling, a growl that vibrates up through my fingers, but it isn’t threatening. It’s deep, almost like a purr. The sound curls around me, soothing and claiming all at once. I should be terrified. Instead, I press my fingers deeper into his fur, sliding up between his ears, a trembling laugh slipping out of me. “You’re not supposed to be here,” I whisper. “You’re huge. And you’re… God, you’re beautiful.”
His head lifts slightly, and for a heartbeat his eyes catch the light. Blue. Not animal brown. Not a trick of the sun. Blue, the same impossible, electric blue I’ve been thinking about since I left Snarl. My stomach flips. The bond inside me yanks so hard I almost gasp.
He lets out another sound, longer now, rougher, and steps back a half pace. His fur ripples. The air shifts. A shimmer runs across him like heat above asphalt. My breath catches. The bear lowers himself onto his front paws, muscles bunching and flexing beneath his coat. Then he starts to change.
It happens in a rush and in slow motion at the same time. Fur recedes like water draining. Bones shift and crack, reshaping. Claws retract. His chest narrows. His hands, because they’re hands now, press into the ground as his spine rolls, and his head lifts last. Where there was a massive bear a heartbeat ago, a man rises from the mist, dark hair damp, bare skin glistening in the pale morning light.
He stands there barefoot on the path, broad shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths, his chest bare, his muscles taut under a sheen of sweat. His eyes find mine, those same impossible blue eyes from the dream, and the world tilts. The bond flares so hot I have to grab my own arms to keep from reaching for him.
“Nolan…” My voice breaks. I don’t know if it’s a question, a plea, or both.
He takes a slow step toward me, still breathing hard from the shift. Every inch of him radiates power and heat, but it’s not just the animal anymore. It’s him. All of him. The man I dreamed about. The man I wanted. The man who just turned from a bear into a man in front of me.
“Jessica,” he says, voice rough and low, like gravel and honey. “Don’t be afraid.”
I’m trembling, but it isn’t fear. My whole body feels like it’s on fire, the bond wrapping tight, dragging me closer to him with every heartbeat. My breath comes short. My fingers twitch. Every cell in me wants to go to him. “What…what are you?” I whisper.
His mouth curves, half smile, half warning. “Exactly what you think.”
