Chapter 8 Rune
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 strong enough 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 Electra Calloway 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.
You’re the Alpha of the Hale Pack and Sheriff of Blackpine. Act like it.
But when he knocked on her cabin door, all that authority evaporated the moment she opened it.
Gone were yesterday’s pajamas, replaced by an emerald blouse that made her green eyes luminous and jeans that hugged every curve like they’d been tailored specifically to torment him.
Her dark hair fell in loose waves over one shoulder, and when she smiled—surprised but genuinely pleased—something primitive and possessive unfurled in his chest.
“Sheriff Hale.” Her eyebrows arched with amused curiosity. “Don’t tell me I’ve already committed another violation.”
“Just call me Rune. And it’s my day off. So you are in the clear today.” The words came out rough, and he cleared his throat. “Thought I’d check in, see how you’re settling.”
“Your day off?” She leaned against the doorframe, and the casual gesture sent his pulse hammering. “I was beginning to think you worked around the clock. You seem very dedicated to public service.”
Her teasing tone made him want to step closer, to crowd her space until all she could see was him. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Appreciate the vote of confidence in my work ethic.”
Silence stretched between them, loaded with everything neither was saying.
Her gaze flickered over his face like she was trying to solve a puzzle, and his wolf practically purred at the attention.
The mate bond hummed with satisfaction at her proximity, but it wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough until she was completely his.
“Would you like me to show you around the area?” The offer tumbled out before he could second-guess it. “Get you familiar with the landmarks, the safe trails.”
She hesitated, her teeth catching her lower lip. “Sightseeing might give me some more inspiration for my writing.”
Relief flooded through him as she disappeared inside, returning with a lightweight jacket that she shrugged over her blouse. “Lead the way.”
He guided her to his truck, his hand automatically moving to the small of her back.
The contact sent electricity shooting up his arm, and when she glanced up at him with flushed cheeks, he knew she felt it too.
Opening her door became an exercise in restraint—every instinct screamed to press her against the truck and claim her mouth, consequences be damned.
“Such a gentleman,” she murmured, sliding into the passenger seat.
The blush that colored her cheeks nearly undid him.
Rune forced himself around to the driver’s side, grateful for the moment to collect himself. But then when he slid into the driver’s seat, being enclosed in the truck’s cabin with her scent surrounding him, he nearly came undone again.
He drove through Blackpine’s winding roads, pointing out the general store, the post office, and the network of hiking trails that crisscrossed the mountainside. “These paths can be tricky,” he said, indicating a particularly steep trail. “I’d recommend not exploring them alone.”
“More safety lectures?” But her tone held no irritation, just gentle amusement.
“Force of habit.”
And territorial instinct, but he kept that to himself.
When they reached Pine Ridge Road’s scenic overlook, he parked and cut the engine. The view spread before them like a postcard—rolling mountains clothed in spring green, valleys shrouded in morning mist, and the town of Blackpine nestled below like a secret.
“It’s beautiful,” Electra breathed, and something in her voice made him turn.
She was staring out at the vista with wonder, her profile soft in the filtered sunlight. The sight of her here, in his territory, looking at home in a way that caused his wolf to howl with satisfaction, nearly broke his composure.
“By the way,” she said, glancing at him with mischief dancing in her eyes, “Millie was looking for you last night at the diner. Something about meatloaf and your apparent abandonment of tradition.”
Heat crawled up his neck. “Was working late. I’m sure she’ll give me grief about it.”
“How long has this meatloaf tradition been going on?”
“Twenty years, give or take.” The admission felt oddly intimate. “Every Thursday night since… I joined the sheriff’s department.”
He wasn’t ready to admit the full truth that he’d been doing this Thursday tradition since the night his mother died.
“You really are a creature of habit.” Her laugh was warm and unguarded. “What threw off your routine?”
You did. From the moment I saw you.
“Just adjusting to having a new resident here,” he said instead. “Making sure you feel safe and welcome.”
Another blush painted her cheeks, and his hands tightened into fists in his lap. “I do feel surprisingly at home here. More than I expected.”
The simple words hit him with physical force. His wolf practically howled with triumph, recognizing the acceptance in her tone. She belonged here. With him. The mate bond pulsed with certainty.
“If you ever want company exploring,” he heard himself say, “or someone to show you more of the area, I’m available.”
He caught her hesitation, the way excitement warred with caution in her expression, and realized he was pushing too hard.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said softly.
“I should get you back.” He started the engine, hating the necessity but knowing he was walking a razor’s edge. “Don’t want to impose on your creative process.”
“Today was fun. Helpful.” She settled back in her seat with a contented sigh. “I can definitely use this as inspiration for my writing.”
The drive back passed in comfortable silence, though comfortable was relative when every breath filled his lungs with her scent and every glance revealed some new detail that made him want her more. The unconscious grace of her hands. The soft curve of her mouth that he was dying to taste.
When he pulled into her driveway, she turned to face him fully. “Thank you for the tour, Sheriff. It was exactly what I needed.”
“Rune,” he said roughly. “Call me Rune.”
Something shifted in her expression. “Rune.”
His name on her lips was nearly his undoing.
“Remember, I’m around if you need anything.” The words came out more intense than intended, loaded with promises he couldn’t voice.
She nodded, slipping out of the truck with fluid grace. “I’ll remember.”
He waited until she disappeared inside before allowing himself to slump back against his seat. Being near her, sharing even this innocent time together, had only made the pull stronger. His wolf was restless, demanding, ready to claim what belonged to them.
Denying the mate bond was futile. The question wasn’t if he’d claim her—it was when.