Emmett had gotten stuck in quite a sticky predicament.

Everyone knew him and Rosalie were made to be. Well, they thought so. He was able to console her and her bad temper, simply because she was deeply misunderstood, and Emmett himself recognized it. He recognized the want to be seen but being afraid of perception. How quick perception could turn the wrong way, and suddenly, the entire world felt like it was going up in flames just to ash you down.

Yeah, he understood it quite well.

So why was it on a specific hunt with Rosalie, wanting to bring dinner home for the rest of the Cullen’s, all of that seemed to crumble like a statue that had been struck one too many times? All it took was a camp catching his eye; nestled deep in the burrows of the forest, covered by the heavy trees and cut off from the rest of Forks, and the sweet scent of human blood — an irresistible scent of human blood, and now Emmett was feeling things he had never conjured up with Rosalie before.

It felt like a crime. He knew that vampires had their soulmates, but he could’ve sworn Rosalie was his, and nothing could’ve pried them apart. At least until his flesh felt like it was burning alive once he perched on top of a tree and observed the camp, his undead heart starting to come alive again, a pulse he thought he had lost years ago thundering away.

And Rosalie knew. How could she not? He kept coming back to the damned camp, knowing they didn’t feed on human blood, making up new excuses each time, putting a heavy strain on their once picture perfect relationship.

Oh, how Emmett was beginning to loathe the idea of soulmates.