Page 7 of The Alpha’s Runaway Mate (Evermore Hollow #1)

SEVEN

JESSICA

The walk back to my tent is quiet, except for the buzz under my skin and the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.

Everything about Nolan feels too big beside me, his size, his presence, the heat radiating off him even through his shirt.

The bond thrums low and steady, pulling at me with every step, making it hard to breathe.

When the trees open up and my campsite comes into view, shame rushes in. The tent looks even smaller now, a sad splash of fabric under the pines. My truck’s parked nearby, but it’s just another sign of how temporary everything is. How fragile.

Nolan stops walking. He’s staring at the tent, his jaw tight. “This is it?” he says finally. His voice is low, but there’s a weight in it that wasn’t there before.

I force a shrug. “It works for now.”

“No,” he says flatly. “It doesn’t.”

I glance up at him. “I’ve been fine.”

He turns his gaze on me, sharp enough to cut. “Jessica, this isn’t about fine. You can’t be living out of a tent. Not here.”

Something in his tone makes me go still. “Why?”

His eyes flick to the woods, scanning the shadows like he’s expecting them to move.

“Because I know what hides in these trees,” he says quietly.

“Things that wouldn’t think twice about tearing through canvas to get to what’s inside.

Supes who don’t care about rules. Creatures that don’t care about anything at all. ”

A shiver runs down my spine. “Creatures?”

He looks back at me, his voice a low rumble. “This town isn’t what it looks like. You’ve already seen one part of it, me. But there’s more. A lot more. And they wouldn’t hesitate to take a swipe at someone like you if they smelled weakness.”

My arms fold over my chest, not for warmth but to hold myself together. “I’ve been here for a week and nothing’s happened.”

His expression hardens. “Yet.”

I swallow, suddenly unable to look at him. “I didn’t exactly have a lot of options.”

Nolan steps closer, not crowding but close enough that the heat of him reaches me. “Tell me why. I’m not saying this to scare you. I’m saying it because I can feel you’re keeping something from me and I need to know so I can protect you.”

“I hear you,” I say, swallowing hard. “You want why so you can protect me? Fine. I’m not camping for fun. I’m hiding. Someone’s been tracking me, and I keep moving so he can’t catch up.”

He doesn’t move, just waits.

The silence stretches until I can’t stand it. The truth comes out in a rush, brittle and sharp. “I’m on the run,” I whisper. “I have been for months. Trust me, I don’t particularly like living like this.”

Nolan’s jaw flexes, his nostrils flaring, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I’ve been hiding,” I continue, my voice cracking. “Moving from place to place. This was just the latest stop.”

For a heartbeat, he says nothing. The woods around us are quiet except for the sound of my ragged breathing. Then he speaks, voice low and steady but edged with steel. “You don’t have to keep running.”

I blink up at him, tears slipping free despite my best effort. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t know what kind of trouble that brings.”

His eyes blaze brighter, that inhuman blue shimmering just beneath the surface. “I know exactly what I’m saying. You’re my mate. And in this town, that means your safety is mine to guard.”

The word mate vibrates through me like a live wire. My instincts want to lean into him, to let him take all of it from me, but the part of me that’s kept me alive this long knows better.

I want to resist. I should resist. The last time I gave into a man, it didn’t end well.

That monster broke me down piece by piece, made me doubt my worth, my strength, my sanity.

He did things I can’t forget, things I regret ever allowing to happen.

I swore I’d never give anyone that kind of power again.

But this man, this beast standing in front of me, isn’t the same. I know it deep in my bones, in that strange electric space between fear and trust. My body knows before my brain does.

I shake my head, hugging myself tighter. “You don’t owe me anything, Nolan.”

His voice softens, but the command doesn’t leave it. “You’re wrong about that.”

He stands there, breathing deep, like he’s trying to keep the beast inside from breaking through again. When he finally meets my eyes, his expression is calm, but there’s no give in it. None.

“You’re not staying here tonight.”

My stomach tightens. “What?”

He nods toward the tent. “Pack your stuff. You’re done here.”

I blink, caught between disbelief and exhaustion. “You can’t just tell me what to do.”

“I can,” he says, quiet but absolute. “You can be mad at me later. But you’re not spending another night out here.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. I open my mouth to fight him anyway, then shut it again when I see the look in his eyes. It isn’t anger, it’s worry. Something primal and solid and impossible to argue with.

“This isn’t up for debate, Jessica.”

My shoulders slump. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

So I move, because fighting him feels pointless and, if I’m honest, because I’m too damn tired to keep pretending I’ve got this under control. I shove my few belongings into a duffel, some clothes, a toothbrush, a few keepsakes I can’t bring myself to let go of.

Nolan crouches beside me without a word, helping roll up the tent. He’s efficient and quiet, his big hands making the whole process look effortless. It should annoy me, how capable he is, but mostly it just makes my chest tight.

When everything’s packed, he nods toward my truck. “Keys.”

I hesitate. “I can drive.”

He arches a brow, and something about the look makes me just… hand them over. He doesn’t thank me or gloat, just takes them and heads for the driver’s side like it’s already decided.

“Get in, Jessica.”

I sigh, muttering something about bossy shifters under my breath, but I climb in anyway.

We drive in silence, the trees sliding past like dark sentinels on either side of the road. The bond hums under my skin, quiet but steady, a pulse that won’t let me forget he’s right there. I can feel his energy even without looking at him, solid, unshakable, heavy like gravity.

When we crest a hill and the headlights sweep over his house, my breath catches.

It’s not a house. It’s a lodge, massive, built from thick logs and stone, with warm golden light glowing through the windows.

A wide wraparound porch circles the whole thing, strung with lights like captured stars.

Two rocking chairs flank the front door, and beyond the porch, the dark line of the forest stretches toward the base of a mountain rising in the distance, half-hidden by mist.

Nolan cuts the engine. “We’re here.”

I stare. “This is your place?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

“It’s… huge.”

He smirks faintly. “It needs to be.”

Before I can ask what that means, he’s out of the truck and coming around to my side. I clutch my duffel tighter, half wanting to argue, half too tired to bother. He opens my door and holds out a hand. “Come on.”

Inside, the cabin smells like him, woodsmoke, pine, and something darker, warm and wild.

The entryway opens into a massive living room with a vaulted ceiling, exposed beams, and a stone fireplace big enough to stand in.

A leather sofa sits in front of it, and rugs cover the hardwood floor like soft islands.

Everything looks handmade and sturdy, built to last through storms.

“You really don’t have to do this,” I say again, my voice small.

“I know,” he answers, locking the door behind us. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

I swallow. “Where do you want me to…?”

“My room,” he says simply.

I stop, blinking. “Your… room?”

He meets my eyes steadily. “It’s the safest place in the house. Guest room’s on the far side of the hall, too easy to reach from the porch. My room’s in the center. Warded. No one can touch you there.”

The way he says it leaves no room for argument. It’s not a command exactly, just… fact. I hug my duffel closer. “Nolan, I don’t, ”

“You’re exhausted,” he cuts in, “you’ve been sleeping in a tent for God knows how long, and I can smell whoever’s been haunting your steps all over your things. You’re staying in my room tonight.”

My chest squeezes. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

Before I can think of another protest, he’s already walking down the hall.

I follow, my steps slow, my heart hammering.

The hall opens into a large master bedroom, warm, low-lit, with a bed big enough for a giant.

Thick blankets in shades of gray and navy, a carved headboard, windows that look out onto the trees and the distant mountain beyond.

The room smells like him even more than the rest of the house, pine, smoke, and something faintly wild.

I stop just inside the doorway, suddenly aware of how intimate this is. “Nolan…”

He turns to me, his expression softer now. “You’ll be safe here,” he says quietly. “No one gets through me.”

The words land deep, a promise and a warning rolled into one. I nod, too tired to argue, too unsettled to breathe right.

He takes my duffel from my hands and sets it on a low bench at the foot of the bed. “Bathroom’s through there,” he says, nodding to a door on the right. “Fresh towels in the cabinet. I’ll grab you something to drink.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me alone in his room.

I stand there for a moment, staring at the huge bed, the heavy curtains, the way the whole place feels like it’s wrapped in quiet strength. It’s nothing like my tent, nothing like the life I’ve been running from. It feels like a fortress.

I haven’t had a decent shower in months. My body’s still humming from everything that’s happened, and my skin itches for real water, not baby wipes and campground sinks. I grab a change of clothes from my duffel and head for the bathroom Nolan pointed out.