Page 8 of His Lost Mate

“They’re closing in,” he said quietly, releasing her and stepping back to scan the ground behind them. The grouppursuing them was moving methodically, was probably armed, and was closing the distance bit by bit. Jonah had no intention of letting them get any closer.

“We need to keep moving,” Phoebe said, her voice taut. “You can’t stop on my account.”

Jonah turned to her, his expression hard. “Don’t mistake this for concern,” he said, his tone cutting. “You slow us down, we die. I don’t intend on letting that happen.”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “I didn’t ask you to get involved.”

“No,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “But I couldn’t very well leave you there to freeze to death or get killed by whoever is hunting us. As long as I’m stuck with you, you’ll do what I say.”

Phoebe’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded, her pride clearly warring with the reality of the situation. Jonah didn’t wait for her response. He turned and began weaving through the terrain again, his senses scanning for anything out of place.

He knew she didn’t understand. It wasn’t just the random responsibility of one person finding another in the wilderness and helping her out. She was his fated mate, and he was responsible for keeping her alive whether she liked it or not. Jonah had spent years relying on no one but himself, solving his own problems and trusting no one to have his back. Now, he was responsible not only for himself, but for Phoebe as well.

He glanced back again, watching as she picked her way carefully over the uneven ground. Her movements were slower, stiffer than they’d been earlier, but her determination—or maybe her sheer stubbornness—kept her going. There was something about the way she refused to back down that stirred something in him he didn’t want to name.

“You need to keep up,” he called softly with a far gruffer tone than he’d intended.

Phoebe narrowed her eyes at him but remained quiet, focusing on the path ahead.

Jonah slowed slightly to let her catch up, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “If you want to stay alive, you’re going to have to trust me.”

She stumbled again, her breath hitching in pain, but she caught herself before he could reach her. “Trust you? You don’t trust me, and all I know about you is your name.”

He stopped, turning to her with an intensity that made her pause mid-step. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “What matters is that I know how to get us out of this alive. Do you?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, biting her lip. Jonah felt a jolt of something he couldn’t place—satisfaction, maybe, at her silence, but also guilt. She was injured, scared, and on the run. He could push her, but there was a fine line between keeping her alive and breaking her spirit.

“We’re almost to higher ground,” he said after a moment, his tone softer. “Once we’re there, I’ll be able to get a bead on them and figure out where they’re tracking us from.”

Phoebe nodded, and they continued in silence, the tension between them stretching taut. Jonah couldn’t shake the awareness of her behind him, her scent lingering faintly in the cold air. She smelled like smoke and adrenaline, but beneath it, something softer, something that tugged at the edges of his control.

He pushed the thought away. Now wasn’t the time.

After another half hour of climbing, they reached a narrow ridge overlooking the valley. Jonah crouched near the edge, scanning the forest below. The movement through the trees showed they were too close for comfort. His eyes tracked their movement, calculating the distance and direction.

“They’re spreading out,” he said quietly. “Trying to flush us toward them.”

Beside him, Phoebe flinched as she moved. “And what’s your plan? Let them?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his voice a low growl. “We’re going up. They’ll have to follow, and that gives us the advantage.”

She exhaled shakily, glancing at him. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

He met her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her swallow hard. “I’ve done a lot of things before.”

Phoebe didn’t look away, her lips parting slightly as if to ask more, but she seemed to think better of it. Instead, she nodded, her trust tentative but real.

Jonah stood, offering her his hand. She hesitated for a beat before taking it, her smaller hand warm against his. The contact sent a flicker of heat through him, one he ignored as he pulled her to her feet.

“Stay close,” he said, his voice softer now. “And do exactly what I say.”

Phoebe nodded again, and for the first time, Jonah thought he saw something flicker in her eyes. Not just obstinacy and pride, but trust. Maybe even something more.

As they moved again, Jonah felt it wasn’t just the danger closing in or the responsibility of keeping her safe. It was her—her presence, her fire, the way she looked at him like she wanted to trust him but couldn’t quite let herself. It was the way he couldn’t stop wanting her to trust him that was becoming a problem.

Jonah’s thoughts kept drifting back to his father. The mountains—these mountains—had been his father’s life. His sanctuary. But they had also been his grave. An ‘accident’ was the official explanation, but Jonah had never believed it. His father was too careful and too experienced to fall victim to thewilderness he had mastered. Jonah couldn’t seem to escape the weight of suspicion and unanswered questions that seemed to be an almost constant presence in his life.

And now, there was Phoebe—his fated mate.

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