Page 58 of The Alpha's Runaway Mate
“Eyes on the road, Alpha,” she murmurs.
“Trying,” I say. I’m not.
The light turns green, but neither of us moves for a second too long. Then I clear my throat, put the truck back in gear, and head toward the ridge.
By the time we pull into the driveway, the air inside the cab feels charged, thick with everything we haven’t said yet but both understand.
I put the truck in park, but I don’t move. She turns toward me, that small, teasing smile curving her mouth. “What?” she asks softly.
Instead of answering, I reach across the console and catch her chin with my hand, tilting her face up. The second our mouths meet, the rest of the world goes quiet. Her lips part under mine, soft and sure, and I can taste the faint sweetness of whiskey and vanilla. Her fingers slide into my hair, and when she sighs against me, it feels like something inside me finally exhales, too. The kiss deepens, slow and unhurried but full of promise, like we’ve got nowhere to be but here.
When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests against mine. Her voice is a whisper. “You sure you don’t want to go inside?”
I breathe out a laugh. “If we stay out here, I’m not going to make it that far.”
Her smile widens, that spark of mischief lighting her eyes. “Then what are you waiting for?”
I grin, start the truck again, and pull us the rest of the way up the drive toward the cabin, our cabin.
And as the headlights cut across the trees and she laces her fingers through mine again, I can’t help thinking that whatever peace this is, I’ll fight like hell to keep it.
The second my boots hit the ground, I know something’s wrong.
It’s subtle at first, a shift in the air, a scent that doesn’t belong, but it’s enough to set every instinct I have on edge. The hair onthe back of my neck lifts, my pulse kicking up as I draw in a slow breath through my nose.
It’s human. Male.
And not from around here.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
The easy warmth from earlier drains out of me in an instant, replaced by something sharp and cold. My bear stirs beneath my skin, restless, ready to fight, and every thought in my head starts moving too fast. Who it could be. What they wanted. How close they got.
Jessica’s halfway out of the truck when she catches the change in my body language. “What is it?” she asks, voice low, careful.
I lift a hand slightly, signaling for her to stay behind me. “Someone’s been here.”
She freezes, eyes darting toward the cabin. “How do you know?”
“I can smell it.” The words come out rougher than I intend, my voice dipping into that deep, gravelly edge that always comes out when my instincts take over. “It’s not one of ours. A man. Human.”
Her heartbeat stutters, quick and shallow. I can hear it, feel it, taste it. I step closer to the porch, automatically positioning myself between her and whatever might be waiting. The light over the door glows steady and harmless, but that only makes my skin prickle harder.
She swallows hard. “Do you think they’re still here?”
“Doubt it,” I say, though the words don’t sit right in my mouth. The scent’s faint but recent, no more than an hour old, maybe less. Fresh enough to make my chest tighten.
We’ve gotten lazy. Comfortable. Thought being this far out meant we were safe. I let myself believe that no one would come looking for us this deep in the ridge, that the kind of trouble she ran from couldn’t find her here.
But there’s one thing we haven’t talked about since that first night, one thing I never wanted to bring up.
Ethan.
Her ex. The reason she ran. The reason my bear still bristles every time his name crosses my mind.
And right now, all I can think is that we got careless. I got careless. We thought we were protected out here, hidden behind trees and distance, surrounded by our own. But humans can be just as dangerous as anything else.
I take another slow breath, tasting the air again. The scent trails faintly toward the porch. Close. Too close.
