Page 25 of Mate Night Snack
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 thereflection 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.
