10. Jonas
Chapter Ten
Jonas
Ialmost didn't stop. The shoreline is quiet this early, the kind of quiet that comes before the town is fully awake—before the cafés open, before the tourists stroll through the sand with their shoes in their hands and their voices too loud for the hour.
I like it like this. It's simple, predictable.
The ocean is steady before me, and the rhythm of the run grounds me in a way nothing else can. In. Out. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe.
I follow the same path I always do, cutting along the edge of the water where the sand is firmer, where the tide just pulls back.
Then something shifts. It's not her scent—well not at first. It's just a presence—a disruption in the quiet I'm used to. I slow down slightly and lift my gaze toward the stretch of beach ahead. There, a figure near the waterline. She’s still—too still.
I don't recognize her immediately, so she must be new.
That tracks. We've been feeling it for days now.
The shift, the pull. Lachlan didn't say much, but he didn't need to.
Adrian has been far quieter than usual, and Finn…
well, Finn is even more Finn, which means something is going on.
I've been trying to be patient, to wait to see it, to understand it, to feel it for myself. I don't need scent to confirm it.
I change direction without really thinking and angle my path toward her instead of continuing down the beach.
As I get closer, the details sharpen. She's barefoot, curled slightly inward, knees pulled close, arms around them like she's trying to hold herself together.
Her shoulders are shaking. I slow to a stop a few feet away, close enough that I can be heard, but far enough to not crowd her. Lachlan said she was a bolter.
I don't speak right away, don't clear my throat or say hello.
I just stand there, giving her a chance to notice me first. It takes a second, but her head lifts slightly, and I see that her eyes are red.
And not the type of red from the wind. She had been crying.
Then the scent hits me. Salt with something wild threaded through it, like something never meant to be contained.
It settles into me in an instant. Not sharp or overwhelming, like it would be for an Alpha, but clear. Important. Her.
I exhale slowly before speaking. "Hey." My voice is low enough not to break the quiet. Her whole body tenses—not dramatically, not like she's about to bolt, but enough that I notice. So, I don't move closer and just stand exactly where I am.
When she doesn’t move, I nod to the horizon. "Waiting for the sunrise?" Her brows pull together, confusion cutting through the edge of whatever she's feeling.
When she looks up at me fully, I can see her taking me in—the lean, muscular build that comes from early morning runs along this very beach, the dark hair that falls slightly across my forehead, the steady gray eyes that don't demand anything from her, just offer presence.
There's nothing sharp about me, nothing that commands or threatens. Just calm. Just here.
She doesn't answer right away. Her eyes flick to me, then away, then back again—assessing. Deciding. I can see it happening in real time: the calculation of whether to speak or run.
Then something shifts. Her brows pull together slightly, and she breathes in. Once, twice—like she's trying to place something. I watch her posture change—not relaxing exactly, but the sharp edge of panic softening into confusion.
She's catching my scent. And somewhere in it, she's recognizing Lachlan's pack.
I don't know if she understands what that means yet. But it's enough to make me feel less like a stranger. Less like a threat.
Her shoulders are still tight, but she doesn't look away this time. She's weighing it. I can see her deciding whether to answer or leave.
I wait. Don't push. Just let her choose.
She swallows and clears her throat. "I just needed to be outside."
Her voice is tight, carefully controlled, like she's willing it not to crack again. But she answered. That's something.
I nod. "I get it." That gets me something. It’s small, barely there, but the tension in her shoulders shifts.
I take it as permission to stay. Not any closer, but here.
I lower myself into the sand a few feet away from her, making sure to face the ocean instead of her.
Parallel, not confrontational. I don't look at her, just let the silence settle, let her decide if she wants to fill it. The waves roll in and out, steadily.
After a few minutes, I hear her take a shaky breath. "I'm not usually like this." Her voice is tight, carefully controlled, like she's willing it not to crack again.
I nod once, even though she's not looking at me. "Yeah, most people aren't." That earns me a small huff, not quite a laugh, but close.
"You don't even know what I'm talking about."
"No, but I've got a pretty good guess." I don't elaborate or push, just let the words sink in.
She shifts. "Do you do this often?”
“Do what?”
“Run up to strangers on the beach and try to guess their problems.”
I smile. "Not usually. Only when they look like they might bolt if I don't approach from the side." This gets her attention.
"I'm not going to bolt."
I say, "Not right now, but you've thought about it." The silence is thicker this time.
After a long moment, she lets out a breath that sounds more like a release. "Yeah."
There it is.
I shift slightly and brace my forearms on my knees. I make sure to keep my stare on the ocean when I speak next, "What's got you thinking about it?"
She doesn't answer right away, but I'm not expecting her to. When she does talk, the words come out so quiet I almost don’t catch them over the waves.
"I met someone yesterday." My chest tightens. She doesn’t know that I already know this, which means she must not know that Lachlan is one of my Alphas. "Yeah?" I keep my tone even.
There's a pause, then she says, "And I should have been scared." Lachlan mentioned she’d said that.
"But you weren't." It’s not a question.
She lets out a shaky breath. "No." I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch her in my peripheral. She's staring hard at the ocean.
"That's the part that's bothering you?" I ask.
She laughs. "Among other things." Fair. I nod once and let the words sink into the sand. The wind shifts and her scent fills the air. Something in my chest settles.
"You want me to tell you it's nothing?" I ask her.
Her head turns slightly toward me. "Is it?"
I meet her gaze—not intensely or overwhelmingly, just steadily. "No." I don't soften it or dress it up. Just give her the truth. I study how her shoulders pull in slightly, the way her fingers curl against the sand.
"Great," she mutters.
And something shifts in her expression, a recognition maybe.
She's watching the way I hold myself, the deliberate calm in my voice, and I can see her understanding it.
This isn't control meant to dominate or suppress.
It's control meant to make her feel safe.
It's the opposite of everything she was taught.
"Hey," I say, gentler this time. "Doesn't mean it's bad."
Her eyes snap back to mine. "Doesn't mean it's good, either."
I nod. I won’t argue or dismiss her because she isn't wrong.
Her gaze searches my face like she's trying to find something solid to hold onto. "You don't know what I'm dealing with," she says.
I tilt my head slightly. "I know enough."
Her brows pull together. "How?"
I shrug. "Well, firstly, because you're here, alone, crying before the sun’s even up.
And not to mention, talking to a stranger instead of walking away.
" I hold her gaze for a second before continuing, "People don't do that when things are simple.
" I pause. "And secondly, Lachlan is one of my Alphas.
He told us about meeting you yesterday. He's convinced you're going to bolt. "
Something in her expression cracks. "I'm just scared." There it is. Not defensive, or sharp, or controlled. Just true.
I don't react beyond a slow nod.
"Yeah, that makes sense." Her breath hitches, like she didn't expect that answer—like she thought I'd just try to fix it, or explain it, or make it smaller.
"You're allowed to be," I add. “Scared, I mean.” The words float between us, different from reassurance.
There's no need to dismiss or conquer the fear—she just has to learn to make space for it.
She looks back to the ocean. Her shoulders are still tight, but no longer shaking.
"It just feels like everything shifted. Like I had a plan, but now I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it."
I follow her gaze to the water. "Then don't."
She frowns at me. "Don't what?"
"Don't try and figure it all out right now.
" I pause. "You don't have to decide what it means today.
" She's quiet for a long moment, thinking, processing.
That's good. That's what she needs to be doing right now.
Not reacting or running, just sitting with it.
The waves roll in again, steady and unchanging.
She lets out a breath that sounds a little less tight. "So, Lachlan told you about me?"
"A bit."
She mutters, "Great."
I huff out a quiet laugh. "All good things, I promise." Her posture shifts slightly again—not completely relaxed, but not as coiled as before. I push myself up after a minute and brush the sand from my hands. "I should finish my run."
Her head tilts up toward me. "Hey," she says, and I pause to look down at her.
"Yeah?"
"You didn't tell me your name."
"I'm Jonas."
She hesitates, then smiles softly. "Thank you, Jonas."
I nod once. "Anytime." I turn and start back down the beach toward home. I don't look back, because I don't need to. I already know she's not bolting. Not yet, anyway.