Page 21 of The Alpha's Runaway Mate
The silence stretches until it’s too damn thick. Xander studies the map on the wall like it’s got secrets, Kolt paces once, twice, cracking his knuckles loud enough to echo.
I push off the desk. “Come on,” I say, grabbing my jacket from the chair. “Let’s go grab a drink at the bar so I can get back to my mate.”
Kolt’s grin flashes, all teeth. “Now that sounds like the Nolan I know.”
Xander shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re hopeless.”
“Efficient,” I correct, pushing the door open. The noise of Snarl rushes in, music, laughter, the low pulse of too many creatures pretending to play nice.
The three of us move through it like muscle memory. Heads turn. Conversations dip. The wolves at the pool tables glance up, catch my scent, and suddenly remember their drinks. The witches at the corner booth go quiet. The vampires don’t look up, but I feel their eyes on my back.
Kolt elbows me as we reach the bar. “You sure this thing with your human’s not making you soft?”
I shoot him a look that could cut steel. “Say that again and I’ll make you run ward patrol with the witches.”
He raises both hands, still grinning. “Touchy.”
“Grounded,” I say, though the truth is more complicated. Jessica’s scent still clings to my skin, something sweet I can’t name, and it’s the only thing keeping my temper from snapping.
Ezra slides three glasses our way without being asked. Whiskey, neat. He knows us too well. Kolt downs his in one go. Xander sips his like it’s a science experiment and I lean back against the bar, scanning the room, letting my senses stretch out.
The ridge is too quiet tonight. Declan’s out there, changed. And somewhere beyond those trees, something’s pulling at the edges of our world.
But right now? I’ve got brothers at my side and a mate waiting for me at home.
I toss back my drink, set the glass down hard enough to make it ring, and nod once toward the door. “Let’s wrap this up. I’ve got somewhere I’d rather be.”
Kolt smirks into his glass. “Yeah, we know where.”
I don’t bother denying it. I just shake my head, push off the bar, and start toward the floor. Snarl’s pulse meets mine, low, constant, alive. The place always hums, but tonight it feels different. Restless.
Snarl purrs and bares teeth depending on who’s petting it. The floor vibrates with boots and heels. Glass clinks. Someone laughs too sharp, and cuts off when they notice me. I sweep the room, reading it by scent and shadow. Everything is normal. Almost.
Then the air shifts. It’s not a sound, not a scent. Just pressure, the subtle tilt of the room leaning toward the door before it even opens.
I turn and find Jessica standing just inside, one hand gripping the handle like she needs something solid to hold on to. Jeans. White sweater. Hair brushed into soft waves. Color high in her cheeks like she argued with herself the whole drive and lost. My focus narrows to a single point with a pulse. She finds me instantly and her shoulders drop a fraction. The bond hits sharp, bright, sweet. Good. Come here.
I’m halfway to her when a man slides off a barstool and into her path. Leather jacket, lean build, smile a shade too bright. He’s human, but not harmless. He says something and she gives him a polite smile and steps to go around him.
He shadow-steps her and reaches for her elbow.
The edges of my vision blur with rage. I don’t shove. I don’t snarl. I just walk, and the room parts like a tide going out. I cross the floor in three heartbeats. “Take your hand off of her,” I say in a deadly calm.
He startles, clocking me. Loosens, but doesn’t remove his hand. Wrong answer.
I take his wrist. Not hard. He tries to pull back and can’t. I set his hand back where it belongs, attached to him, not on her, and step between them until he can’t see her at all.
“You lost?” I ask.
“Just being friendly,” he says, smiling all cocky like.
“Your word for it.” I lean in a fraction. “Here’s mine. She’s off-limits.”
He huffs, “Didn’t see a ring, bro.”
“You won’t see anything,” I say. “You’ll listen.”
A quick flash of calculation flickers behind his eyes, fight, flight, talk trash? He picks survival. Hands up. “Didn’t mean anything by it.” He backs off, already rewriting the story in his head to sound cooler than it looked.
