Page 41 of Mate Night Snack
“I feel like I am.”
“You’re not.” He reached out and pulled her in. There was no hesitation this time.
Katniss didn’t argue. Didn’t resist. She folded into his chest like she belonged there, her face pressing to the collar ofhis flannel, her fists bunching in the fabric like she needed something to hold her together.
He wrapped both arms around her and held on.
Her heartbeat pounded against his. Her breath hiccupped through his shirt.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he murmured, voice thick in his throat.
They sat like that for a long time, shadows curling around them, the tavern silent behind.
Then Katniss shifted, head tilting up, her cheek brushing his jaw.
He looked down just as she rose onto her knees, her hands still at his chest, her lips a breath away.
She didn’t ask. She just leaned in and kissed him. Soft. Slow. Searching.
Emmett kissed her back.
His hand slid into her hair, pulling her closer, anchoring her there like he’d wanted to since the moment she spoke his name like it meant something.
The kiss deepened, mouths meeting with a hunger sharpened by restraint. His wolf surged behind his ribs, silent but alert, recognizing what had always been true.
Mine.
He pulled her tighter, her body molding to his, heat blooming between them like a promise whispered into kindling.
This wasn’t caution anymore. It was fire. Emmett didn’t put it out.
He let it burn.
17
KATNISS
The kiss still burned between them, humming beneath her skin like lightning trapped just beneath the surface. Emmett had taken her hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment, and neither of them looked back as they left the quiet of the tavern’s alley behind.
His cabin sat tucked deep in the woods, away from the town lights, half-swallowed by moss and shadow. It wasn’t big, but it was solid. Cedar siding, river rock chimney, windows that glowed like warm amber against the night.
He opened the door for her and let her step in first. She noticed the scent before anything else of woodsmoke, cedar, and something darker and wild. Him.
The space was simple. Worn leather couch, stone fireplace, a stack of tools resting by the door, half-finished repairs and sandpaper still dusting the edges of the floorboards. But it was warm. Lived in. Real.
Like him.
Emmett closed the door with a quiet click and then turned to her.
Katniss didn’t wait.
She crossed the room and cupped his face in her hands, kissed him again—desperate, messy, unfiltered. He growled low in his throat, hands sliding to her waist, gripping tight like he was holding back something bigger.
He was always holding back. But not now. Now he kissed her like he had nothing left to lose.
She pulled at the hem of his shirt, and he helped her, dragging the fabric over his head. The scars across his chest caught in the low light, stark against tanned skin and thick muscle.
