Page 10 of Mate Night Snack (Hollow Oak Mates #2)
EMMETT
T he hammer slipped in his grip.
Emmett caught it before it clattered to the floor and stared at the half-repaired stair rail at the side of The Griddle & Grind . A clean crack through the cedar post. Easy fix. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty if he sanded it properly. But his hands wouldn’t stay steady.
The weight in his chest didn’t belong to the job though. It pressed in, tight and pointed, like something primal shifting under his skin that knew something he didn’t yet.
He straightened, sniffed the air.
Nothing.
Not the scent he was searching for. That was what bothered him most.
He wiped his palms on his jeans and headed down the street, boots crunching against gravel and stray pine needles. The town was quiet for a late morning. No mail cart. No gossip by the Mercantile porch. Even the air felt off being damp and heavy, like the woods were holding their breath.
He reached the Hearth & Hollow Inn in six long strides and found Miriam in the kitchen, rolling out dough with a calm that didn’t match the urgency knotting his gut.
She didn’t look up when he stepped in. “You’re early for lunch.”
“Where’s Katniss?”
Miriam paused mid-roll, hands still pressed into the flour. “She said she was going out to write. Took her journal.”
“Where?”
“She didn’t say.”
His stomach dropped. He turned and was already moving through the foyer.
Behind him, Miriam called after him, “Emmett?”
He paused in the doorway, fingers flexing against the frame.
“She’s smart,” she said. “But the Veil doesn’t care about smart.”
That was the problem. The Veil had a mood. And today, it felt angry.
The path to Moonmirror Lake stretched long and slick with dew. Trees leaned in too close. Roots shifted beneath the dirt like something was wriggling below.
He picked up speed.
Her scent caught on the wind near the ridge of bergamot and sun-warmed citrus, tangled with the faintest trace of static.
His wolf stirred. The hairs on the back of his neck rose just before the ripple hit.
Not a sound. Not a flash.
Just pressure. Like the air flexed.
Veil surge.
He took off at a sprint.
The edge of the lake appeared through the trees in a blur of green and gold. The water shimmered strangely, like the reflection had forgotten how to behave. Wind skated across the surface, then reversed midstream.
And there half-kneeling near the base of a willow, clutching her notebook like it could anchor her was Katniss.
She didn’t see or feel the wave coming.
Veil energy hit like a rogue tide, thick and shivering. Branches bent toward her, bark splitting at the seams. She swayed once, then dropped to a knee, eyes dazed.
He lunged between her and the surge.
The blow slammed into his side like a freight truck of wind and cold. Sharp talons of invisible force scraped across his ribs, slicing through shirt and skin alike. He growled, half-shifting just long enough for his body to absorb the worst of it.
The pain bit deep.
He caught her before she went down.
She looked up, pupils blown wide, lips parted like she was about to say something but couldn’t find the words.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low and raw.
“I think so.” Her voice trembled. “It felt like... it didn’t want me here. I thought I was just being paranoid.”
“It didn’t and you weren’t, he said simply.
She looked down. Her eyes widened. “You’re bleeding.”
He glanced down at the dark streaks spreading across his side. His shirt clung to the gash, fabric torn clean through.
“Just a scratch.”
“Don’t do that,” she snapped. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing.”
He raised a brow, surprised at the heat in her voice.
“I’ve seen worse,” he said.
“Well, I haven’t ,” she muttered.
They sat there for a beat longer before she grabbed her bag and fished out a small first aid kit, nothing fancy, but stocked well. Alcohol wipes, gauze, even butterfly stitches.
“Lift your shirt,” she said.
He hesitated. She didn’t know what he was and how quickly he would heal.
Her gaze met his, unflinching. “I swear if you growl at me, I’ll stab you with my tweezers.”
He lifted it.
The wound stretched along his ribs, angry and shallow, but long enough to sting like hell. Blood smeared across his side, already beginning to clot in streaks of red and brown.
Katniss’s fingers were warm and sure as she cleaned the gash. Gentle, but not timid. She worked in silence, brow furrowed.
“You’ve done this before,” he said.
“Comes with the territory.”
“What territory is that?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her hands slowed.
“Sometimes people don’t want help until they’re bleeding,” she said finally. “So I learned how to patch them up anyway.”
His jaw tightened.
“You shouldn’t have been out here alone,” he said.
“I’ve been alone a long time.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
She finished wrapping his ribs, then sat back with a sigh.
“I didn’t expect to get attacked by invisible wind,” she said.
He grunted. “That wasn’t just wind.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.”
They fell quiet.
The lake’s surface had stilled, but the trees still bent wrong, like they remembered what happened and weren’t done talking about it.
Katniss shifted closer and let her hand rest on his wounds.
His body froze.
She didn’t joke, just simply said, “Thank you,” and sat there, quiet and close, as the breeze pushed softly around them.
He didn’t move away. Couldn’t. Not when something inside him had just clicked into place. A low, deep hum in his chest, ancient and true.
He’d known her scent since the moment she stepped into town. But this … This was something else.
His wolf stirred again, but not out of fear. Recognition. It pressed at the base of his spine, rose through his ribs like a second heartbeat.
Mine.
Emmett closed his eyes. He hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t wanted to. But sitting there, with her warmth against him and the taste of blood still in his mouth, he couldn’t deny it anymore.
Katniss Greaves—sharp-tongued, chaos-hearted, wholly human—was his mate.