Page 36 of The Alpha's Runaway Mate
“I know,” I say quietly. “That’s what scares me.”
The three of us lapse into silence again, the air heavy with thoughts none of us want to say out loud. Outside, the afternoon light fades, turning gold to amber. The town beyond Snarl is still waiting.
I check the link one more time, Grayson steady, wards humming, the Hollow quiet for now. Jessica’s presence hums faintly against the edge of my awareness. Warm. Safe. Waiting.
I rise from my seat. “After patrol tonight, I’m heading home. She deserves the truth about everything, the bond, the danger, Declan. All of it.”
Kolt nods once. “Good. Just don’t wait too long to claim her. If you don’t, something else might.”
Xander tosses a towel onto the bar. “And if she throws something at your head when you tell her, I’m not cleaning up the mess.”
I smirk faintly. “Appreciate the faith.”
The three of us sit for a minute longer, quiet settling in like a familiar weight. Plans take shape. Routes finalize. The Hollow hums steady under the surface.
When I stand to leave, Kolt grips my shoulder briefly. “We’ve got the borders. Go deal with your girl.”
I nod once, the words heavier than they should be. “Keep me updated.”
He releases me, and I turn toward the door.
For now, I leave the bar with my brothers behind me, the whiskey still burning in my throat and a plan forming in my head.
Tonight, I’ll tell Jessica everything, about Declan, about the danger, and about what it really means to be mine. The truth won’t be easy. But she deserves it. And hell, if I’m going to mark her, she needs to know exactly what kind of man, and monster, she’s saying yes to.
THIRTEEN
JESSICA
I finish puttingmy clothes away, sliding the last folded shirt into the space I made in his dresser drawer. My fingers linger on the edge of the wood. It’s a simple, domestic thing, strange and tender all at once. Like I’ve stepped into a life I don’t fully understand yet.
The bed’s neatly made, morning sunlight spilling across it in wide gold bands. I smooth my palm over the blanket and, for a heartbeat, swear I can still feel him there.
It’s too soon for any of this to feel real. Too soon for my chest to ache at the thought of him not coming back. But it does.
With the laundry done and the house too quiet, I start to wander.
His home is solid and steady, like him, wood, leather, clean lines. No wasted space. No clutter. Everything has a purpose. In the living room, a small bookshelf sits near the window: dog-eared paperbacks, history, survival, a few old westerns, and a row of framed photos on top.
The first one I recognize immediately is Kolt and Xander flanking Nolan, all three of them grinning like they actually know how to relax. I met them last night at Snarl; even in a few minutes I saw it, the easy rhythm of brothers who’ve been through hell together and stayed standing.
Another photo shows the three of them with two older people, a woman with Nolan’s dark hair and a man with the same sharp jaw. His parents, probably. They look happy. Whole. Nolan looks younger too, no shadows behind his eyes, just sunshine and easy laughter.
My chest tightens. There’s something sacred about seeing him like that, proof of a life before this, before me, before the pain he never talks about. It makes me feel like an intruder. What am I doing in his space, pretending I belong? I trace the edge of the frame, guilt twisting low. Because the truth is, I might be bringing trouble right to his doorstep.
Ethan doesn’t stop. Not when he wants something. And he wants control, always has. The thought alone makes my throat close. I can still feel the phantom press of his hands, hear the venom in his voice when he promised I’d never get away.
I did. But for how long? When he finally finds me, do I run again? Pack a bag and disappear before Nolan, or anyone, gets hurt?
The idea makes my chest ache so deep it hurts to breathe. Leaving him, leaving this place, feels impossible, like tearing out something I didn’t know I needed until I found it. Maybe that’s the craziest part, that it’s only been days, but every second near him feels like something my soul recognizes. He called me his mate. I know that word isn’t casual. But I don’t know what it means, not really.
I can feel the connection even now, with him miles away, like a hum under my skin, a pull I can’t shake. Comforting and terrifying at the same time. If he’s serious about that word, I need to understand it. All of it. And if I’m serious about staying, about not running again, I have to tell him about Ethan. Before it’s too late.
By afternoon, the house starts to feel too small for all the thoughts spinning through my head. I drift into the kitchen and open the fridge, mostly to give my hands a job. It’s practical and sparse, milk, beer, eggs, a takeout box on its last day. The freezer holds venison and frozen vegetables; the pantry’s a patchwork of cans and dry goods.
My mom used to say you can tell a lot about a man by his kitchen. Nolan’s says he’s used to feeding everyone but himself.
I pull what I can find, venison, onions, carrots, potatoes, and start chopping. Cooking helps. It’s something I can control. Before long, herbs and roasting meat fill the cabin, and the tension clawing at my ribs starts to ease. I hum under my breath, moving through his kitchen like I’ve done it a hundred times. An old cast-iron pan hides in a cabinet; I use it for biscuits.
