Page 8 of Mate Night Snack (Hollow Oak Mates #2)

EMMETT

T he woods were too quiet.

Not peaceful. Hollow.

Emmett kept to the narrow trail just north of the ridge, the soles of his boots whispering over damp needles and fallen leaves. The air carried the scent of distant rain, pine bark, and something faintly bitter underneath it, like steel left to rust in the dirt.

Maeve walked a few paces behind, boots lighter, movements smoother. She was sipping from a travel mug shaped like a bullet casing, her short black hair pulled into a tight braid that barely brushed her collar. Her dark eyes scanned the trees like they were waiting to misbehave.

“This is the most boring patrol I’ve had all week,” she muttered. “Even the raccoons are behaving.”

“Keep walking,” Emmett said without looking at her.

“You’re grumpier than usual. What, did Katniss tell you her vibes were acting up again and you didn’t listen fast enough?”

He shot her a look over his shoulder. “Don’t start.”

Maeve grinned and sipped her tea. “You know I’m going to. You’re practically radiating it.”

“Radiating what?”

“The ‘she’s under my skin and I don’t know what to do about it’ energy. It’s loud.”

Emmett huffed. “She’s stubborn. That’s all.”

“Mmhm,” Maeve said, noncommittal. “And totally not your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

She scoffed. “That’s adorable. If brooding wolves had a dating profile, you’d be top tier for emotionally unavailable.”

He ignored her.

They kept moving, the trail narrowing into a thicker patch of spruce and oak. Moonlight barely made it through the canopy here, and the trees pressed in close, limbs creaking with old weight.

“She doing okay?” Maeve asked more gently this time.

Emmett nodded once. “Miriam says she’s stable. No more collapses.”

“And the visions?”

He didn’t answer so Maeve let it go.

They stopped near the Council’s western marker tree, one of the old birches woven with protective spells, carved generations ago to anchor the Veil in place.

Callum had flagged this spot during his rounds two days ago.

Something had felt off , he said. Tense.

Like the tree was watching him back and not in it’s usual way.

Emmett stepped forward and scanned the bark. He sucked in a breath when he saw it.

There, carved near the base, was a symbol he hadn’t seen in ten years.

A jagged triangle inside a circle, marked through the center with three sharp lines.

His throat dried.

Maeve moved in beside him. “That’s not new magic.”

“No,” Emmett said quietly. “It’s a warning.”

“You recognize it.”

He nodded, slow and stiff.

“It’s his , isn’t it?”

Emmett didn’t answer right away.

The world around them seemed to still, the trees waiting, breath held.

Ten years ago, that same mark had been carved into the heartwood of every tree surrounding their old camp. Ashwin had branded everything they touched. Claimed land, people, fear. Said it was the only way to keep order.

They were just wolves, once. Then they became weapons .

Emmett remembered the day he walked away.

The boy they’d cornered had been maybe sixteen. Half-starved. Covered in old bruises. Ashwin said he was a threat. Said weakness was contagious.

Emmett had looked at the boy and seen his younger brother’s face.

So he let him go.

And for that—for mercy—he was marked traitor and driven out.

Ashwin never forgave disobedience.

Maeve placed a hand on his shoulder, fingers firm.

“She’s stirring up more than just that seer blood.”

Emmett didn’t look at her.

Maeve’s tone dropped. “You think Ashwin can feel it? Her digging?”

He finally nodded. “He always did have a nose for leverage.”

Maeve’s lips pressed into a tight line. “She’s chasing a cold case no one in this town has spoken about in thirty years. And now this shows up?” She gestured to the rune with a flick of her wrist. “That’s not just coincidence. That’s bait. And it’s working.”

“No,” Emmett said, eyes still fixed on the carving. “It’s a warning.”

Maeve exhaled, low and annoyed. “I’ll get word to Varric. He’ll want the ward checked. Maybe even resealed.”

He gave a small nod but didn’t move.

Maeve hesitated beside him, then added, “You get too close, you’re gonna lose your edge.”

“She’s not safe,” he said quietly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He didn’t reply.

Maeve’s footsteps disappeared into the dark, leaving Emmett standing alone in the hush of trees that remembered too much.

Emmett stood there a long while, staring at the carved lines like they might shift if he stared long enough.

Eventually, he touched the bark with two fingers.

It was fresh. Not even a week old. Which meant Ashwin wasn’t just watching.

He was here. Somewhere past the Veil. Waiting.

Emmett didn’t sleep that night.

The wind howled through the upper windows of his home. He sat in a worn armchair beside the cold hearth, staring at the blade laid across his lap. The edge had dulled. He’d sharpen it tomorrow.

He could still see the shape of that mark behind his eyes.

Could still feel the press of Katniss’s fingers at his chest from the night before.

Maybe someone, she had said.

His chest had never felt heavier.

She didn’t know the world she’d stepped into. Didn’t know what he had once done to survive it. Didn’t know that monsters sometimes wore the face of the man who carried her home.