Page 14 of The Alpha’s Runaway Mate (Evermore Hollow #1)

ELEVEN

JESSICA

The first thing I notice is the quiet. The second is the warmth pressed against my back.

For a long moment, I just lie there, eyes still closed, letting myself drift in the steady rhythm of Nolan’s breathing.

He sleeps like he fights, silent, still, completely in control even when he’s out.

One big arm is slung over my waist, the weight of it pinning me in the best possible way.

His chest rises against my shoulder blades, slow and calm, and I can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat through my spine.

The sheets smell like him, cedar, smoke, and something wilder, that clings to my skin now too. My body aches in a way that makes me smile, but there’s a flutter in my chest that isn’t quite peace. Last night feels like a dream I don’t want to wake up from. Except I did. And he’s still here.

Careful not to wake him, I ease his arm off me and roll onto my back.

Morning light spills through the window, catching on the rough beams above and the faint curl of wood smoke from the dying fire downstairs.

I turn toward him. He looks younger like this, softer.

His jaw is dark with stubble, lashes thick against his cheeks, lips parted slightly.

The hard edges of him are still there, the scars, the muscle, the quiet danger, but sleep smooths everything out until I can almost believe the weight he carries slipped off for a few hours.

My chest does a funny little flip. He’s beautiful. Rugged and scarred and impossible, but beautiful.

I slide out of bed, shivering when my feet touch the cool wood floor.

His shirt from last night lies in a heap near the foot of the bed.

I grin as I pick it up and pull it on. It’s huge on me, soft and worn, falling to mid-thigh, and it smells like him.

The kind of smell that makes me want to do reckless things like bake bread and pretend this place could be home.

“Dangerous,” I mutter, buttoning a few buttons. “Completely dangerous.”

The cabin creaks as I move through it, the kind of cozy, lived-in sound that fits Nolan perfectly.

Downstairs, the living room opens into a small kitchen lined with pine cabinets, mismatched mugs, and a stone fireplace still glowing faintly.

I find coffee grounds by the pot, eggs in the fridge, and a skillet already on the stove, like he meant to cook but forgot.

“Time to make breakfast,” I murmur, rolling up my sleeves.

The coffee maker sputters to life, filling the cabin with the sharp, rich scent of roasted beans.

I hum under my breath, flipping bacon, whisking eggs, letting the domestic rhythm soothe something fragile inside me.

By the time the toast pops and the eggs are done, the place smells like comfort, coffee, bacon, and a faint trace of maple syrup I found in the cabinet.

I’m plating the food when a low, rough voice breaks the silence behind me.

“Didn’t know I hired a cook.”

I jump, spinning around. Nolan’s leaning in the doorway, hair a mess, bare chest tanned and marked with ink. He’s wearing only a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips, and the sight of him half-awake and barefoot ought to come with a warning label.

“You didn’t,” I say, trying for casual even as my pulse stumbles. “Consider it a thank-you.”

His eyes flick down to the hem of his shirt hanging loose on my thighs, then back up to my face. There’s a slow smile, lazy, lethal. “That my shirt?”

I glance down, pretending to check. “Hmm. Looks like it.”

“Looks better on you,” he says, voice still rough from sleep. “You planning on giving it back?”

“Eventually.” I set a plate on the counter and nod toward it. “Eat first. Argue about stolen shirts later.”

He laughs and pushes off the doorframe, crossing to me in a few long, easy strides. The air between us shifts, charged, familiar. When he reaches around me for a fork, his chest brushes my back, warm and solid, and my breath catches.

“Smells good,” he murmurs near my ear.

“I’m full of surprises.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice dipping low. “You are.”

He steals a piece of bacon straight from the pan, eyes never leaving mine. I shake my head and nudge him with my hip, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“Hungry,” he corrects, mouth curving. “For breakfast.” He pauses, gaze dropping. “Mostly.”

I shoot him a warning look over my shoulder. “You should eat before I throw you out there to fend for yourself.”

He grins, grabbing a stool at the counter. “Fine. But only if you sit and eat with me.”

I pour two mugs of coffee and slide onto the stool beside him. We eat in easy silence, the clink of forks and the hiss of the fire filling the quiet. It’s domestic in a way that feels foreign to me. Dangerous, because it feels good.

When he’s finished, Nolan leans back, crossing his arms behind his head, studying me. “You cook, you wear my clothes, you make my cabin smell like a home. You planning on ruining me?”

I meet his gaze, lips twitching. “Maybe.”

He laughs, a real, deep sound that hits me somewhere soft. Then he reaches across the counter and hooks a finger under the hem of his shirt, tugging me closer until I’m standing between his knees. His hands settle on my hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles through the thin fabric.

“Morning looks good on you,” he says quietly. “You look good here.”

My heart thuds so hard it almost hurts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kisses my wrist, eyes lifting to mine. “Think you’re trouble, Jessica McSwain.”

“Guess that makes two of us.”

He smiles, pulls me closer, and I melt right into him.

The kiss starts slow, unhurried, coffee and smoke and something that tastes like forever if I’m not careful.

His thumb traces my jaw, tilting my face until he can deepen it.

Morning light glances across the floor, catching in his hair as the world narrows to just this, warmth, breath, and the steady rhythm of us.

I sigh into him, and he smiles against my mouth.

“Still think I’m impossible?” he asks, voice rough.

“Completely,” I whisper.

He kisses me again, harder this time, until the air hums between us. Then he rests his forehead against mine, breath mingling with mine.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Wouldn’t want to make this too easy.”

I laugh softly, but before I can say anything else, a hard knock rattles the door.

Nolan goes still. The change in him is instant, the easy warmth stripped away, replaced by sharp, alert focus. The Alpha.

He’s on his feet before I can move. “Stay here,” he says quietly, already crossing the room.

Another knock, heavier this time. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of a dark pickup idling outside, dust curling in the early light. A tall man climbs out, broad shoulders beneath a worn leather jacket. Something in the set of his jaw screams bad news.

Nolan opens the door halfway. “Grayson,” he says, voice low but edged. “What’s wrong?”

Grayson’s eyes flick past him, catching on me for half a second before locking back on Nolan. “Patrol found tracks along the ridge. Big ones. Fresh.”

Nolan’s expression tightens. “Bear or rogue?”

“Both, maybe. The scent’s wrong, feral, mixed with blood. And we found one of ours near the boundary line. Kellan. He’s alive, but barely.”

A low growl rumbles from Nolan’s chest, dark and instinctive. “Who did it?”

Grayson shakes his head. “We don’t know. Whatever it was, it’s not from our territory. It crossed the river trail like it was hunting.”

Nolan exhales hard, jaw flexing. “Get him to the clinic. Keep everyone close until I get there. I’ll take the south route and see what I find.”

Grayson nods once, tension humming between them, then heads back toward the truck.

When Nolan shuts the door, he leans against it for a moment, eyes closed. The warmth from earlier is still there somewhere under the surface, but it’s buried beneath command and duty. When he looks at me again, his face is all focus.

“I’ve got to handle something,” he says, voice steady but softer when he looks at me. “Lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for anyone but me, understand?”

My throat tightens. “Is it dangerous?”

“Could be.” He steps close, brushing his thumb along my cheek, a fleeting touch that feels like a promise. “I’ll be back soon. You’re safe here.”

I nod, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Be careful.”

He gives me that crooked half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Always am.”

He grabs his boots, shrugs into his jacket, and disappears out the door. The rumble of the truck fades down the gravel road, leaving the cabin quiet again, but not the same kind of quiet as before.

This one feels heavier. Waiting. Like the woods themselves are holding their breath.

I stand there for a long time, staring at the door, the taste of coffee and his kiss still lingering on my lips. Then I turn back to the window, to the trees beyond the glass, dark, endless, alive, and wonder what else might be out there, watching.

The rumble of his truck fades down the road until it’s swallowed by the trees.

And then it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that seeps into your bones, where every creak and breath feels too loud.

I stand there for a long moment, staring at the door, half-expecting him to come back in and tell me it was a false alarm. But he doesn’t.

The fire has burned down to glowing coals, the coffee pot gurgles one last time, and the air still smells like bacon and smoke. I wrap my arms around myself and let out a shaky breath.

“Okay,” I whisper. “You can do this.”

I move just to have something to do, grabbing plates, rinsing them, wiping down the counters until the wood gleams. The small clatter of dishes fills the silence, grounding me.

It’s easier to focus on the ordinary things, soap suds, warm water, the way sunlight slips across the kitchen floor, than to think about what might be waiting for Nolan out there.

When the kitchen’s spotless, I glance around like maybe there’s another task waiting. My gaze catches on the stairs.

The bedroom.