Page 12 of The Alpha’s Runaway Mate (Evermore Hollow #1)

“I was a kid once,” he says, leaning back, one arm stretched along the back of the couch behind me. “Did a lot of dumb things trying to prove I was fearless.”

I take a slow sip, letting the warmth slide down my throat. “Guess it worked out. You turned into a fearless bear-man who runs a supernatural bar.”

“‘Fearless’ is generous,” he says. “Mostly I just got good at hiding when I’m not.”

The way he says it, quiet, honest, pulls at something in me. There’s no performance in Nolan. No pretending. Just truth, raw and unpolished. It makes me want to match it.

He watches me for a beat, then says, “Tell me something real about you.”

I blink. “Something real?”

He nods, expression unreadable but soft around the edges. “Yeah. Not favorite colors or coffee orders. Something that matters.”

I look down into my mug, watching the surface ripple. “When I was little, my dad used to take me to summer carnivals,” I say slowly. “He’d buy me cotton candy and put me on his shoulders so I could see everything. He used to call me his firefly because I never stopped moving.”

A smile ghosts over my lips. “After he died, I stopped glowing. I guess I didn’t want to stand out anymore. It hurt too much.”

The silence stretches, but it’s not empty. He reaches out, his hand covering mine where it’s gripping the mug too tight. “You didn’t stop glowing,” he says, voice low and rough. “You just needed someone who could see it again.”

My throat tightens. “That’s smooth, Alpha.”

His mouth curves, the faintest grin. “Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Sure you weren’t.” I smile back anyway, because fighting it feels pointless. “Okay, your turn. Something real.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t think I’d ever find my mate.”

“Because you didn’t want one?”

“Because I didn’t think I deserved one.” He looks into the fire as he talks. “Being Alpha means you carry everything. Every mistake, every loss, every life that gets caught in the crossfire. After a while, you start to believe that maybe the universe is done giving you good things.”

I watch him quietly, heart twisting. “Maybe the universe was just waiting until you were ready not to ruin it.”

His gaze lifts to mine, and something flickers there, surprise, maybe. Gratitude. “You talk like you believe in fate.”

I shrug. “Didn’t. Then I met a guy who turned into a bear.”

He laughs, a real, deep sound that makes my stomach flip. “Fair point.”

“Speaking of that,” I say, leaning back against the couch. “What’s it actually like? Being a bear.”

His brow quirks. “You sure you want the honest answer?”

“Always.”

“It’s balance,” he says finally. “He’s not a separate thing. The bear is me. Every instinct I have, protect, fight, keep, claim, it all comes from him. When I shift, it’s not some costume. It’s just me… without the walls.”

I study him. “And being Alpha?”

He shifts, the movement drawing my attention to the way his muscles tighten beneath his shirt. “Being Alpha means I lead. I make the hard calls. I keep the peace when tempers rise. If someone threatens my people, I handle it. If someone threatens you…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I can feel the weight of it hanging between us.

“You’d end it,” I say quietly.

He nods once. “Every time.”

My stomach does a strange flip, not fear, exactly. More like awareness. “That’s… intense.”

His lips curve faintly. “So am I.”

I roll my eyes. “And humble too.”

He chuckles low. “You’ll learn that about me.”

“Oh, I’m learning plenty,” I murmur, swirling the last of my hot chocolate. “You said I’m your mate. What does that mean, exactly? For me, I mean.”

He leans back, gaze steady. “It means your soul recognizes mine. The bond connects us. The more time we spend together, the stronger it gets. It’s why you feel calm around me. Why you can’t quite walk away, even when you tell yourself you should.”

“That sounds a little like hypnosis,” I tease, trying to cover how hard my pulse is pounding.

“It’s not.” His tone softens. “It’s nature. Instinct. You were made for me, and I was made for you.”

My throat goes dry. “And if I… don’t want that?”

He studies me for a long moment. “Then I wait.”

“You sound so sure I’ll come around.”

“I am.” He grins, slow and confident. “You’re already halfway there.”

“Wow. Cocky much?”

“Not cocky,” he says. “Certain.”

The quiet stretches again, but it’s a good kind of quiet. Safe. He’s watching the fire, his profile bathed in amber light, and I catch myself memorizing the shape of his mouth, the curve of his jaw.

I take a breath. “You know, I think I liked it better when I thought you were just a grumpy bar owner.”

“You know, I think I liked it better when I thought you were just a grumpy bar owner.”

“I am a grumpy bar owner,” he says with a smirk. “Just one who occasionally turns into a bear and gets stuck rescuing stubborn women who think living in tents counts as a life plan.”

I laugh, nudging his arm. “I was not stubborn.”

He arches a brow. “You glared at me for telling you to pack up and acted like I’d kicked your favorite puppy.”

“That’s called independence,” I counter.

He laughs again, the sound low and warm, filling the room. It’s ridiculous how easy this feels, how natural. For the first time in forever, I’m not pretending to be okay. I’m just… me.

He glances over, still smiling. “You really think you’ll stay mad at me forever?”

“I’m already not mad at you,” I admit. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

I shake my head, trying not to smile, but it’s useless.

When the laughter fades, we sit there for a while, just listening to the fire crackle. He looks relaxed for the first time since I’ve met him, his hand resting near mine on the couch cushion. Our fingers brush, and it’s like static, warm and sparking and entirely too much.

The bond hums, alive and steady, and I can feel him watching me even when I don’t look his way.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” I murmur finally.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “But you like me anyway.”

I should deny it, should joke it off, but all I can do is look at him and whisper, “Maybe.”

He smiles like he’s just been handed a promise, not a maybe. “Ask you again tomorrow?”

“Every day,” I whisper, smiling back.

His eyes soften, and for a long, suspended moment, we just sit there, me with my legs tucked under me, him with that steady warmth radiating off him like a fire that’ll never burn out.

Tonight I don’t feel like I’m running. I feel like I’ve been found.

Nolan’s gaze drifts down, and before I can ask what he’s thinking, he reaches out and tugs gently at my ankle. “C’mere.”

I blink. “What are you, ”

He pulls my foot into his lap, his hands big and warm as they close around it. “Relax,” he murmurs. “You’ve been walking around on edge for months. Let me help.”

His thumbs press into the arch of my foot, slow and firm, and my breath stutters. The tension I didn’t even know I was holding unravels with every careful stroke.

“Oh my God,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

His mouth curves in that slow, knowing way. “That good, huh?”

I bite my lip, trying not to melt completely into the couch. “You’re, unfair.”

“Just thorough,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble. “Can’t have my mate falling apart on me.”

The word mate slides through me like warm honey. My chest tightens, and I can feel the bond humming again, a low vibration beneath my skin.

He keeps working his thumbs in lazy circles, never looking away from me. “Better?” he asks finally.

I nod, my voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. Better.”

His smile deepens, soft but sure. “Good. You deserve a little good, Jessica.”

The fire crackles beside us, throwing light across his face and my bare legs, and the whole world narrows to the quiet rhythm of his hands and the low, steady beat of my heart.

His hands slow, his thumbs brushing one last soft stroke across my arch before they still. I think he’s going to let go, but instead, he traces his fingers up my ankle, over the curve of my calf, until my breath catches somewhere between my chest and throat.

The firelight flickers across his face, warm and gold, and the look in his eyes makes my stomach twist, like he’s seeing every part of me I’ve tried to hide.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, “and I’m not going to be able to stop.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I whisper before I can think better of it.

Something shifts in the air between us, thicker, heavier, electric. His hand keeps moving, slow and deliberate, sliding higher, stopping just shy of where his touch would burn. My pulse hammers so loud it fills my ears.

“Jessica,” he says, my name rough on his tongue. It’s not a question, not really. It’s a warning wrapped in desire.

“I know,” I breathe. “But I don’t want to run anymore.”

That’s all it takes. He moves, not fast but with purpose, his hand slipping around the back of my knee, guiding me closer. I go willingly, the world narrowing to his warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

I end up straddling his lap, my knees sinking into the couch cushions, my hands finding the hard lines of his shoulders. He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding that breath forever, his forehead dropping to mine.

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, voice barely a growl.

“I won’t.”

His eyes darken. His thumb brushes my jaw, then my lower lip. “Good,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing me, slow at first, reverent, like he’s testing how deep this thing between us really goes.

The kiss deepens, heat curling low in my stomach. His hands frame my hips, guiding me closer until I can feel every inch of him beneath me. My fingers thread through his hair, pulling just enough to make him growl softly into my mouth.

The sound vibrates through me, low and primal, and I swear the air itself shifts, like the bond is tightening around us, threading us together one heartbeat at a time.

He breaks the kiss only long enough to rest his forehead against mine, breathing hard. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I smile against his mouth, breathless. “Maybe I’m starting to.”

His laugh is quiet, strained. “Careful, Sweetheart.” His lips brush my ear, his voice a low rumble. “I bite.”

A shiver rolls through me, sharp and sweet. “I don’t scare that easy.”

He groans softly, his hands tightening at my waist, and the rest of the world fades, the fire, the house, everything, until it’s just us and the steady hum of something too strong to name.

The last thing I remember before the world dissolves into heat and breath and whispered promises is his voice, rough and certain against my skin.

“Mine,” he murmurs, like it’s both a vow and a prayer.