Page 33 of The Alpha's Runaway Mate
Nolan doesn’t pretend. He’s gruff, sharp-edged, sometimes downright impossible, but he’s honest. What you see is what you get. He doesn’t hide behind a good-guy act because he doesn’t need to. He justis.A man. A protector. A storm wrapped in skin who looks at me like I’m worth fighting for.
I let out a slow breath and head toward the bathroom. Steam curls over the shower curtain as I twist the knob and step in. The first rush of hot water hits my skin and makes me groan, it feels like being washed clean and branded all at once.
I close my eyes and let the heat work over me, easing the sore, delicious ache in my muscles. My fingers drift over the marks he left on my hips, and a shiver runs through me. It’s not just lust. It’s something else, something that hums in my blood and whispers his name.
By the time I turn off the water, the mirror’s fogged over. I wipe a small circle clear and stare at my reflection. My hair’s a mess, cheeks flushed, lips still swollen from his kisses. I should look wrecked, but instead I look...alive. A small smile tugs at my mouth.
I towel off and pull his shirt back on, it’s the only thing that feels right right now, and wander back into the bedroom. My duffel bag sits where I dropped it yesterday, still zipped up, like I never planned on staying long. I kneel and pull it open, folding clothes I hadn’t even unpacked yet. For a second I hesitate, then cross to his dresser. The top drawer sticks a little before sliding open, the wood worn smooth from years of use. It’s mostly empty, just a stack of black T-shirts and a few folded pairs of jeans.
I move them to the side and start placing my things in the space beside them, shirts, jeans, a few soft tanks. It feels strange at first, like crossing a line. But the longer I do it, the more it feels...right.
When I’m done, I open his closet. The faint scent of him rises again, leather, soap, something wild. A few flannels hang neatly on one side, along with a leather jacket and his worn denim cut. I slide my clothes next to them, careful not to crowd his space, but enough that they’ll brush his when he reaches for his things.
A small laugh slips out as I hang the last piece. “If he’s all in…” I murmur to myself, “then I can at least unpack and see where we go from here.” The thought makes my heart beat a little faster. I stand there a moment longer, looking at the small proof of my existence tucked between his. It’s simple, maybe even foolish, but it feels like a beginning.
Outside, the forest wind picks up, brushing against the cabin like a sigh. I glance toward the window, sunlight streamingthrough the glass, and wonder what Nolan’s facing out there, what kind of danger waits beyond the trees.
Then I turn back to the room that smells like him and feels like safety, and for the first time in a long while, I let myself hope that maybe I belong somewhere after all.
TWELVE
NOLAN
The forest is too quiet.I reach for the link, the invisible current that connects every shifter under my command. It thrums instantly, the pulse of my pack vibrating through my veins.
It’s not speech. It’s instinct, magic older than time. Through it, we share thought, emotion, and awareness. Every shifter in Hollow Ridge tied to one another by that ancient power. My brothers’ heartbeats pulse through it the strongest, Kolt and Xander, my second and third, the ones who’ve been gone for weeks searching for Declan.
Report,I send, the command edged with power.
Kolt:Grayson’s right. We smelled it before he called. Blood’s thick in the air.
Xander:We’re near the ridge line now. You’ll want to see this.
I break into a run.
By the time I reach them, the sun’s climbing over the trees. Kolt and Xander are standing in a churned-up clearing, dirt tornto shreds, blood splattered across roots and leaves. The smell is enough to curdle my stomach. Iron, decay… and something wrong. Magic. Old.
“What the hell,” I mutter, crouching near a print in the mud. Big. Too big. And glowing faintly with residual energy.
“Found more of them on the other side,” Kolt says. His voice is tight, jaw hard. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”
Xander kicks a broken branch aside. “But not before it nearly killed Kellan.”
I look between them. They’ve barely been home twelve hours, both still running on adrenaline and exhaustion after weeks on the road. I can see it in the tight lines around their eyes, the frustration, the guilt, the weight of coming back without Declan.
“Tracks head south,” Xander says, motioning toward the slope. “We followed them until they disappeared into the river. The water’s masking whatever it was.”
“Same thing you saw near the state line?” I ask quietly.
Kolt’s gaze meets mine. “Feels the same. Wrong magic. Old. And that smell…” He trails off, rubbing a hand over his beard. “It’s just like what we found around Declan.”
The words hit like a blow.
For a moment, none of us speak. The forest presses in, still, heavy, listening. I can feel the guilt rolling off both of them, thick as the scent of blood in the dirt. They’ve barely been home twelve hours after three weeks chasing a ghost, and the failure sits heavy on their shoulders.
“You did what you could,” I say quietly, meeting Kolt’s eyes first, then Xander’s. “Declan wanted to disappear. Doesn’t mean he’s lost.”
Xander shakes his head. “We should’ve brought him in when we had the chance. He wasn’t himself, Nolan. There was something off.”
