A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 117: Echoes and Shadows
[Ovelia’s POV]
The warm, greasy parchment holding the grilled squid was a comforting weight in my hands. As we walked, I noticed Gale’s gaze repeatedly flicking toward Ace and Ray, a deep frown etched on his face as he chewed.
"Is it just me," Gale said around a substantial mouthful of squid, his words slightly muffled, "or does just slapping those bits of glass on their faces actually make them look like completely different people? It’s unnerving. It’s like a cheap, low-level illusion spell, but it somehow works. I feel like my eyes are being tricked."
"For once, I agree with you," Ann conceded, nibbling delicately on her own piece of squid, her eyes critically appraising the brothers. "The transformation is... jarringly effective. They look almost harmless."
"I think it’s because when they wear them, their entire demeanor changes," I observed, savoring the smoky, surprisingly tender flesh and the sweet, salty tang of the glaze. "The way they carry themselves becomes less... intensely commanding. They blend in, like they’re trying not to be noticed."
"Oh, right," Gale snorted, nearly choking on a piece of tentacle. "They blend in like a pair of weird, nerdy werewolves who probably spend their free time cataloging different types of moss and arguing about fungal spore dispersion patterns."
"We can hear you, you know?" Ray called back without turning around, his voice laced with clear, rumbling amusement. His monocle gleamed in the flickering lantern light as he glanced over his shoulder, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Eat your food before it gets cold," Ace instructed, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument as he took a neat, precise bite of his own squid.
Oh, right. I took another, larger bite, the flavors exploding on my tongue. "It’s so good!" I exclaimed, my earlier worries momentarily forgotten in the simple, primal joy of delicious food. "I’ve never tasted anything like this before. The texture is so different from fish!"
Next to me, Gale and Ann both nodded vigorously in agreement, their mouths too full to form words. They caught each other’s eyes mid-nod, seemed to realize they were in rare and unwelcome accord, and quickly looked away in opposite directions, their expressions turning identically sour, as if they had just bitten into a lemon.
Both of them look like sworn rivals who just accidentally agreed on the weather, I thought, hiding my smile behind another delicious bite.
"Did your non-biological parents forbid you from eating squid?" Ray asked gently, his tone careful and deliberately neutral as we walked.
"No," I shook my head, the mention of Timberline bringing a familiar, cold ache to my stomach. "It’s just that there are no squid in the river near Timberline. The water was too cold and fresh. I never had the chance to see one, let alone try it."
"You will never find squid in a river," Ace explained in his matter-of-fact, teaching tone, adjusting his glasses with one finger. "They are marine cephalopods and require saltwater to survive. Their biology, particularly their use of jet propulsion and ink sacs for defense, is quite fascinating."
"Except for the brief squid," Ray added, picking up the thread seamlessly, playing the part of the enthusiastic academic brother to perfection. "Lolliguncula brevis. A remarkable little creature. It can tolerate brackish water—a mix of fresh and saltwater—in certain estuaries, but it’s incredibly rare to see or catch one. A true biological anomaly."
"Ha! Now both of you are giving off a strong ’eccentric teacher’ vibe, not a ’merchant’ vibe," Gale declared, finally swallowing his last mouthful. "It’s deeply unsettling. I feel like I should be taking notes or writing a dissertation on marine life. Stop it. You’re ruining the festive mood with facts."
I pressed my lips together to hold back a laugh, the sound a happy, stifled bubble in my chest. "Thank you for the information," I said sincerely, grateful for the knowledge.
"When we return to the palace, Lady Ovelia," Ann said, her voice softening as she looked at me, "you just need to tell me what you would like to eat, and I will make sure the royal chef prepares it for you. Anything at all."
"Really?!" I beamed at her, touched by the simple, profound kindness of the offer. "Thank you, Ann!"
Next time, I want to try lobster, I thought, my mind conjuring the vivid red illustration I’d seen in a recipe book back in Timberline Village. The happy thought, however, was instantly followed by a sharp, aching pang in my chest. The memory of the village and its people surfaced—the sting of Natasha’s harsh words, the dull thud of Lawrence’s blows, the hollow, mocking echo of Alessia’s false kindness. That fake family, that gilded prison where I was a slave and a sacrifice. The vibrant joy of the festival, the warm, solid presence of my new family surrounding me, suddenly felt bittersweet. It was a bright, brilliant light that only made the long, deep shadows of my past and the looming, uncertain shape of my future seem just a little darker, a little closer, pressing in at the edges of the celebration. I was here, laughing and eating with those who genuinely cared for me, yet a part of my soul would always be that lonely, perpetually hungry girl in that cold village, dreaming of a world and a family she could only ever read about.
"I felt a sharp pinch in my heart." Gale said, his voice cutting through my reverie. He crumpled the parchment that had held his squid into a tight, angry ball. "Is something wrong?" he added, his tone gruff as he devoured the last bite of squid from the wooden skewer.
I looked at Gale, forcing my expression into something calm. "Sorry, I just remembered something." I offered him a small, strained smile. "Don’t worry, I’m fine." The lie felt thin and transparent.
He let out a heavy, exasperated sigh, his gray eyes seeing right through me. "Stop remembering something painful. It’s in the past. Just forget about it." The command was blunt, but the undercurrent was one of frustrated concern. He couldn’t stand the echo of my sadness any more than I could. He threw the crumpled parchment and the empty skewer into a nearby trash bin with more force than necessary. Then, without another word, he walked a few paces ahead of me, as if physically distancing himself from the unpleasant emotional spillover.
My gaze drifted away from his retreating back, drawn toward the mouth of a narrow, unlit alley between a fabric dyer’s stall and a potter’s shop. The festival’s light and music seemed to die at its entrance. And there, shrouded in the deep shadows, I saw him. A man wearing a dark, hooded cloak, his face obscured, standing perfectly still and looking directly at me. The intensity of that hidden gaze was a physical touch, cold and deliberate, making my breath hitch and my feet freeze on the cobblestones.
"Lady Ovelia!" Ann called out, her voice sharp with immediate concern, noticing my abrupt halt. I blinked, shaking off the sudden chill, and quickly walked to close the distance and stand beside her. My heart was now pounding for a different reason. I dared one more glance back at the dark alley, my eyes straining against the gloom. But the man was gone. The alley was empty, a void of silence in the heart of the noise.
It must have been my imagination, I told myself, a cold trickle of doubt tracing its way down my spine. Just a shadow. Just my past playing tricks on me. But the feeling of being watched, of being singled out, clung to me like a shroud.
