The thought surprised her with its intensity. It seemed odd that he hadn’t appeared at the diner as Millie had suggested—the man struck her as someone who thrived on routine and control.
Unless he was deliberately avoiding her.
The possibility sent an unexpected pang through her chest. Maybe his morning visit had been purely professional courtesy, and she’d been reading attraction where none existed. Maybe she was just another responsibility to him—the city woman who needed looking after until she inevitably fled back to civilization.
But even as she tried to convince herself of that interpretation, her body remembered the way he’d stared at her and the heat in his gray eyes.
No—whatever was happening between them, it wasn’t one-sided. The question was whether either of them was brave enough to explore it.
EIGHT
RUNE
Dawn filtered through Rune’s bedroom window, casting harsh lines across his king-sized bed where he lay tangled in sheets that bore the evidence of a restless night. His body ached with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came not from physical exertion, but from fighting a battle against his own instincts for hours on end.
He’d buried himself in paperwork until well past midnight, reviewing patrol schedules and incident reports with the desperate focus of a man trying to outrun his own thoughts. The strategy had failed spectacularly. Even mind-numbing administrative tasks couldn’t banish the memory of Electra standing in her doorway—those perfect curves, bare legs that seemed to go on forever, and those green eyes that saw too much.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. He’d even skipped Millie’s meatloaf—a Thursday night tradition he’d maintained for twenty years. The woman would probably corner him next time he showed his face, demanding explanations he couldn’t give.
Sorry, Millie. Couldn’t risk running into my fated mate. Might have done something stupid like claim her right there in booth three.
The thought sent heat spiraling through him, and he forced himself upright, bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. A shower. That’s what he needed. Cold water and the mindless routine of getting ready for another day of pretending his world hadn’t tilted off its axis.
But the moment he stepped under the spray, his treacherous mind conjured exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. Electra’s neck exposed when her hair was up in that messy bun. The way her tank top had revealed just enough cleavage to make his mouth water.
His body responded with embarrassing immediacy, and he cranked the cold water until it bit at his skin like punishment. This was precisely the problem. He was forty-eight hours into knowing this woman, and already his legendary control was unraveling faster than a cheap sweater.
“Get it together, Hale,” he muttered, reaching for the soap with more force than necessary. “You’re an Alpha, not some horny teenager.”
But even as he said it, he knew the distinction was meaningless. The mate bond didn’t care about his age or his responsibilities. It cared about one thing: claiming what belonged to him.
He finished his shower in record time, the cold water having done absolutely nothing to clear his head. Dressing became an exercise in frustration as his hands shook slightly while pulling on a white henley and dark jeans. Even his wolf was mocking him now—twenty-two years of Alpha authority, and he was undone by the prospect of seeing one human woman again.
In the kitchen, he went through the motions of breakfast with mechanical precision. Toast, eggs, and black coffee strongenough to strip paint. But every bite tasted like cardboard and every sip was bitter, and his gaze kept drifting to the window that faced the direction of her cabin.
She’s probably still asleep,he told himself, checking his watch. Seven-thirty was early for most people, especially writers who kept odd hours.Give her time to wake up, have her coffee. Don’t show up like some desperate?—
“Screw it.” He pushed back from the table so abruptly his chair scraped against the floor.
He couldn’t take another minute of this internal war. The mate bond was a living thing now, clawing at his insides with increasing urgency. Every moment he spent away from her felt like fighting against gravity—possible but exhausting and ultimately futile.
So go see her.
The thought came with crystalline clarity, cutting through days of rationalization and avoidance.
Stop making excuses and just go.
The simplicity of it should have been laughable. He was Sheriff of Blackpine, Alpha of the Hale Pack, a man who commanded respect through measured decisions and careful planning. And his solution to the most complicated situation of his life was to show up on her doorstep like a lovesick fool.
But as he grabbed his keys and headed for the office door, Rune realized he was past caring about dignity or strategy. The need to see her, to confirm she was safe and settling in well, had moved beyond want into the realm of biological imperative.
No thin excuses this time,he promised himself, climbing into his truck.Just honesty. You’re checking on her. Making sure she’s adapting to life in the mountains.
It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. And if she questioned his attention—which she would, because ElectraCalloway was too sharp to miss the patterns—he’d deal with that when it happened.
For now, all that mattered was closing the distance between them.
The spring morning carried the scent of pine and possibility as Rune pulled into Electra’s gravel driveway fifteen minutes later. His truck’s engine ticked as it cooled, the only sound besides birdsong and the whisper of wind through new leaves. He sat for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, wrestling with the absurdity of what he was doing.
