Page 26 of Mate Night Snack
“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. Butthis… 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.
11
KATNISS
The bell over the door atThe Griddle & Grindlet out a soft chime as Katniss stepped inside.
Warm air wrapped around her, thick with the scent of baked peaches, clove, and roasted beans. Light spilled in from stained glass windows in hazy ribbons of amber and rose. The café looked like it had been stitched together with mismatched charm of overstuffed chairs pulled close to crooked bookshelves, hand-painted mugs dangling above the counter like ceramic wind chimes, and a sugar jar shaped like a frog.
Twyla Honeytree stood behind the counter, pouring hot water over a bundle of herbs in a tea strainer that looked suspiciously like it had been made from copper wire and moonlight. Her wheat-colored braid swung over her shoulder, dotted with dried blooms that looked real but shimmered too much in the light.
“Back again,” Twyla said without looking up. “You’re either hungry for answers or addicted to my pastries.”
Katniss shrugged out of her jacket. “Can’t it be both?”
