Page 4 of Mate Night Snack (Hollow Oak Mates #2)
EMMETT
E mmett didn’t move until the sound of her boots disappeared.
Even then, he stayed where he was, rooted to the edge of the clearing like the old stones might come alive and drag him back to the past he’d buried here.
The wind whispered through the trees, stirring the moss in slow waves.
The air still carried her scent, tangled in the underbrush: citrus, ink, and heat.
Too damn sharp for her own good.
He hadn’t meant to snap at her like that. Hell, he didn’t even raise his voice. But the second she’d stepped past the veil of trees and into this place she stopped being just a problem.
She became a danger.
Not just to herself. To the whole damn town.
Emmett’s hands curled into fists at his sides. The old markings on the stones still shimmered faintly. He didn’t need to touch them to know they pulsed with memory; pack blood soaked into the roots, bones long since turned to earth.
He hadn’t been back here in years.
Not since the night he made the choice that got him exiled.
Not since he walked away from the only family he’d ever known.
His chest tightened, the weight of that night pressing against old ribs like it hadn’t in a while. The screaming. The blood. The silence that followed.
And the judgment that came after.
They called it betrayal.
He called it mercy.
But Hollow Oak had given him a second chance, a place on the outer circle of trust where he was strong enough to defend the town, but never welcome enough to lead again.
He’d taken the work the Council offered.
Guard. Enforcer. Muscle when they needed it.
The kind of job where no one asked you to smile, just show up and bleed if it came to that. And handyman during all other hours.
And he’d made peace with it. Mostly.
Until she rolled into town with her tangled hair and combat boots and sharp damn tongue. She asked questions like they were weapons. And she wasn’t scared off by silence, which was usually how he kept people away.
She looked at him like he was a puzzle she could solve if she just stared long enough.
But this? This clearing?
It wasn’t for her.
It wasn’t for anyone.
He finally turned and walked the perimeter, boots crunching soft on old pine needles.
The sigils on the stones were worn but not dead.
Faint symbols of the old pack—Ashwin’s mark carved in the largest stone, half-erased from weather and time.
A jagged triangle inside a circle. Blood symbol. Packbound.
He spit into the dirt.
Ashwin had claimed this land as sacred before twisting everything it stood for. Turned brotherhood into brutality. Turned obedience into chains. And Emmett had followed for too long, ignored too much, until that one night made it all impossible.
He hadn’t thought about that night in a long time.
Not in detail. Not with the scent of burnt bone still caught behind his teeth.
The fact that she of all people had stumbled into this place felt like a warning. Or a joke from the Veil itself.
You buried it. But not deep enough.
He exhaled through his nose, slow and steady, then brushed the nearest stone with his fingers.
Cold. Still pulsing.
He didn’t know how she found it.
Humans weren’t supposed to. Not unless they were touched by the Veil somehow.
But she had walked right in.
And more than that, she’d felt something. He saw it in the way she paused, hand hovering over the runes. Noticed the tension in her shoulders, like the clearing was whispering things to her it had no business sharing.
She shouldn’t have been able to sense any of that.
Not unless…
His jaw ticked.
Seer blood.
It was rare. Usually dormant. Most who carried it didn’t even know. But the Veil did. It saw through things. Pulled them in. Chose who could stay and who got lost in the woods until they turned around or broke.
He’d have to report it to Varric. The Council would want to know.
But not yet. Not until he made sure she didn’t come back here on her own.
Emmett turned from the stones and started walking. The path reformed behind him, faint and familiar. His wolf stirred low in his chest, pacing the way it always did after a threat passed but not far enough.
She’d looked at him with fire in her eyes.
Not fear. Not confusion.
Challenge.
It scraped something raw inside him.
Back at the cabin, the shadows clung long after the sun had set.
He dropped his jacket on the hook by the door and pulled a clean thermal over his head.
His shoulder ached from where the old scar still pulled tight on cold days.
The rogue attack that earned it had happened during the worst of the unrest, after Ashwin’s pack shattered, before Emmett came to Hollow Oak.
Maeve always told him the town saved him.
He wasn’t so sure.
Sometimes it just felt like a cage made of pine and smoke and second chances with limits.
The kettle on the stove whistled. He poured the water over loose chamomile in a chipped mug and leaned against the counter, eyes unfocused.
He didn’t let people in.
Not really.
He didn’t let people close.
But Katniss Greaves didn’t ask permission. She crashed in like a storm and left everything louder than it was before.
Too sharp. Too curious. Too damn pretty.
She smelled like oranges and stubbornness.
And something about that scent had his instincts bristling for reasons he didn’t want to name.
It didn’t mean anything. Probably.
He brought the mug to his lips and stared through the kitchen window at the edge of the woods.
“Stay out,” he muttered to the dark.
He wasn’t sure who he meant, but he knew that tea wasn’t what was going to cut it. Not tonight. Maeve’s tavern sounds like it has what he may need, so he grabbed his flannel and headed back out the door.