Page 15 of The Alpha’s Runaway Mate (Evermore Hollow #1)

I hesitate, chewing the inside of my lip, then start up the steps. The floor creaks beneath my bare feet, the same sound that felt cozy before but now just feels lonely.

The room smells like him too, cedar and heat and that faint, earthy musk that clings to the sheets. Morning light pours through the window, landing across the tangled bed where we spent the night.

My chest tightens. I move to the edge and start straightening the blankets, tugging the sheets into place even though it feels pointless. But my hands keep moving, smoothing away wrinkles, tucking in corners. Maybe I just need to fix something right now, even if it’s only this bed.

When I’m done, I stand back and look at it, neat again, except for the faint dip in the pillow where his head rested. The sight makes my throat ache. The memories from last night flood in, his mouth on mine, the sound of his voice saying my name like it meant something.

It was good. God, it was better than good. But there was something else too. Something I can’t name. Like every time he touched me, my soul leaned toward his but didn’t quite reach. Like there’s more waiting, something deeper, something dangerous, that neither of us fully understands yet.

I press a hand over my chest, feeling the faint, restless thrum beneath my skin. The mate bond. It has to be.

It’s wild and fast and terrifying, this feeling that I’ve known him longer than I actually have.

Like his heartbeat found mine in the dark and decided they belonged together.

I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling.

“This mate bond thing is insane,” I whisper to the empty room.

“Making me feel things this fast is unreal.”

A laugh slips out, soft and disbelieving. “Who would’ve thought I’d run from one monster just to end up in another’s bed?”

The smile fades as fast as it comes, replaced by something quieter. “Except he isn’t a monster.” No. Nolan’s nothing like Ethan.

Ethan wore perfection like armor, always polished, always charming, always pretending. His kindness had strings, his love came with rules, and when I didn’t play along, the monster underneath showed his teeth.

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 just is. 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 streaming through 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.