Page 15 of His Lost Mate

She hesitated, her gaze searching his. “Do you think we’ll make it out of this?”

Her vulnerability hit him like a blow, and he stepped closer, his voice steady but softer now. “We will,” he said firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Phoebe held his gaze, her eyes shining with something he couldn’t name. “Okay,” she said quietly.

Jonah nodded, turning back toward the forest. He didn’t know if he could keep that promise, but he knew one thing for certain: he’d die trying.

7

PHOEBE

Phoebe stumbled as her foot caught on a loose rock, and her hands flew out to catch herself. Jonah’s arm shot out before she hit the ground, his grip firm around her waist as he steadied her.

“You need to focus,” he said, frustration coloring the tone of her voice. “I can’t keep you alive if you don’t pay attention.”

“I’m trying,” Phoebe laughed, thinking how appropriate it was that in her dream he had been a snow leopard.

“What’s so funny?”

“Sorry. Nothing. Just a dream I had.” Her ribs ached, her legs felt like lead, and the relentless pace he was setting didn’t help. “It’s been a long day, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Jonah’s expression didn’t soften. “If they catch us, I suspect it’ll be a whole lot shorter,” he said flatly. “Now, keep moving.”

He released her and turned back in the direction they’d been heading, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure against the fading light. Phoebe exhaled sharply, forcing her legs to keep moving. The weight of the flight computer hidden in her jacket pocket felt heavier with every step, and the ache in her ribs and arm was a constant reminder of just how vulnerable she was.

She hated the feeling. Hated relying on someone else to keep her alive. But Jonah... Jonah was relentless. He didn’t slow, didn’t falter, and his determination was infuriatingly infectious. Even now, when exhaustion tugged at every fiber of her being, she couldn’t bring herself to stop—not when he kept going like nothing could touch him.

“You’re not human, are you?” she muttered under her breath as she struggled to keep up.

Jonah glanced back at her, his brows lifting slightly. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, though the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her embarrassment.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face her. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Phoebe hesitated, the weight of his gaze making her pulse quicken. “I just don’t understand how you’re not tired. You’ve been dragging me up and down mountains, through streams, over rocks, and who knows how many miles of forest, and you’re not even winded.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Because I know what happens if we stop.”

Phoebe’s temper flared, but before she could snap back, Jonah stepped closer, his voice softening just enough to catch her off guard. “You’re tougher than you think,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity she could feel in her core. “But you need to keep going. I’m not losing you out here.”

The quiet passion in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t look away. There was something in his gaze—something raw and unyielding—that made arousal surge through her system. She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Good,” Jonah said, his tone gruff again as he turned back to the trail. “Let’s go.”

They walked for hours, weaving through the wilderness in a deliberate, erratic path designed to throw off their pursuers. Jonah led them through streams, the icy water biting at Phoebe’s legs and soaking her boots, but he didn’t pause. They climbed rocky inclines, ducked beneath low-hanging branches, and doubled back twice to cover their tracks. Every step was calculated, every decision made with precision.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Phoebe’s body was screaming for rest. Her ribs throbbed, her legs burned, and her shoulders ached from the constant tension. She stumbled again, catching herself against a tree, and this time, Jonah didn’t snap at her.

“We’re close,” he said instead, his voice steady. “There’s a cabin up ahead. It’s old, but it’ll give us some cover for the night.”

Phoebe nodded, too tired to respond. She followed him through the dense underbrush until the faint outline of the cabin came into view. It was small and weathered, the wood dark with age, but it looked sturdy enough. Jonah pushed the door open with a creak, stepping inside and scanning the space with the sharp efficiency she was beginning to associate with him.

“Clear,” he said, turning back to her. “Come on.”

Phoebe stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The cabin was sparse—just a table, a few shelves, a fireplace, a cookstove, and a single, large bed pushed against the far wall. She eyed it warily, then glanced at Jonah.

He caught her eye and shrugged, his expression unreadable. “You’re injured. You should take it.”

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