A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 123: Grumpy Games and Glued Targets
[Gale’s POV]
I had already purchased an assortment of snacks. All thanks to Ray’s coin purse, I thought with a flicker of grim satisfaction. The General was useful for more than just looming and giving orders. I’d even caught a glimpse of Ann playing the hero, apprehending a pickpocket with a brutal efficiency that was almost artistic. It was a side of her I understood perfectly. Yet, the witch was still there. A persistent, silent shadow in the vibrant crowd. Every time I stopped at a stall, she would linger nearby, pretending to examine wares at the adjacent shop, her aura a muted, watchful glow in my peripheral vision. I was starting to get genuinely annoyed.
I continued my aimless walk, my eyes automatically scanning the sea of faces, hoping for a glimpse of Ovelia’s familiar red eyes. The need to know she was safe was a constant, low-grade hum in the back of my mind, separate from our bond.
"Hey, handsome man with the white hair!" a cheerful voice called out. I glanced over and saw a young woman at a pancake stall, waving a spatula at me energetically. Her smile was bright and unforced. With a sigh, I altered my course and walked closer, to her stall.
"Taste our famous pancakes!" she said, gesturing enthusiastically to a slate board listing the menu. "We have so many glaze flavors—rich chocolate, sweet caramel, fresh strawberry, zesty lemon—"
"I’ll take one order. The chocolate," I interrupted, my voice flat, cutting off her sales pitch.
"Okay!" she chirped, completely undeterred by my tone. "Coming right up!" Her cheerfulness was a stark contrast to my own mood.
She lit a small portable stove, poured a perfect circle of batter onto the hot griddle. The scent of batter hitting the hot iron griddle was simple and comforting. She poured, watched, flipped, and then slid a perfectly golden, fluffy pancake into a small cardboard box. With a flourish, she drizzled it with a rich, chocolate glaze, sprinkled on rainbow-colored sugar bits, and finished it with a few delicate chocolate shavings. She placed a small wooden spoon at its side.
"Here’s your order!" she announced, placing the box on the counter. The pancake inside jiggled gently, almost liquid in its softness.
I reached for the coin purse in my pocket.
"No need to pay, sir," she said, her smile softening. "It’s on the house."
"No," I insisted, my tone firm. I did not accept charity, especially not from humans who knew nothing of me. I pulled out a silver spina and placed it on the polished wood of the counter with a definitive click. "I can pay."
"Thank you," she said, her smile faltering just a fraction as she took the coin. I gave her a curt nod, picked up the jiggling box, and walked away without another word.
I took a bite with the wooden spoon. It was absurdly soft, melting on my tongue, the sweetness of the glaze perfectly balanced against the mild, eggy flavor of the pancake. It was... genuinely good. I wish Ovelia could taste this, the thought surfaced, unbidden. I scowled at the remaining pancake. Why do I keep thinking about that woman?
"Hey, mister... does that taste good?" A small voice piped up. A little girl, no older than six, was staring wide-eyed at my pancake, her small hand clutched in her mother’s.
"Just try it yourself," I grumbled, not in the mood for childish interrogation. I jerked my thumb back toward the pancake stall. "I bought it from there."
"Thank you," the mother said, giving me a nervous smile before gently steering her daughter away. The little girl looked back at me, not with curiosity now, but with a flicker of fear.
Did I have something on my face? I scowled, but the familiar, prickling sensation at the back of my neck returned. The witch was still there, a patient, unnerving presence.
"Twenty spina for every try!" a man bellowed from a gaming stall up ahead. His voice was a booming sales pitch. "Just knock down all ten of these little piano figurines standing on the shelf, and you can choose any prize you want! Any stuffed toy in the shop!"
I drifted toward the stall, more out of boredom than desire. The prizes were mostly oversized, garishly colored plush animals. But then my gaze snagged on one. Tucked in the back was a stuffed fairy. It had white yarn for hair, delicate, shimmering transparent fabric for wings, and it held a tiny felt flute. The resemblance was... unsettling. It looked like a caricature of me.
"Do you like that one?" the merchant asked, following my gaze. He was a broad-shouldered man with a too-wide smile.
I didn’t answer, just studied him. A low, steady hum of mana radiated from him. He was definitely a werewolf, using his strength to run this rigged game.
Without a word, I placed a twenty-spina coin on his counter. He grinned and handed me a toy bow, sized for an adult but clearly a cheap replica, and a quiver of fifteen arrows. The arrowheads were flat disks of red rubber.
I notched an arrow and tested the draw of the bow. It was flimsy, the string offering little resistance.
"Now, no cheating," the man said, his grin turning sharp. "No magic. Pure skill only." He’d sensed my mana, too. I met his gaze directly, holding it for a cold second before turning to the ten tiny wooden pianos lined up on a shelf. I pulled back the string and released. The rubber-tipped arrow flew straight and hit the center of a figurine with a solid thwack.
It didn’t fall.
The man chuckled, reached over, and peeled the arrow off the figurine, which hadn’t so much as wobbled. "Tough luck," he said, his smirk widening.
I looked from the unmoved piano to his smug face. This mutt is definitely cheating. There was probably a dab of strong glue or a hidden pin under each base. I could use a whisper of wind magic to nudge them over without him detecting it, but the idea of cheating to beat a cheat felt... beneath me. And unsatisfying.
"I’ll pay for another round," I stated, my voice devoid of emotion. I placed another coin on the counter. "Add another fifteen arrows to my quiver."
"Sure thing! Absolutely!" he said, his delight palpable as he handed over more arrows. Greedy mutt.
I now had twenty-nine arrows.
This time, I took two arrows and notched them together on the single string. The man’s eyebrows shot up, his smile slipping into confusion. He probably thought the arrows would interfere with each other or that my aim would be hopelessly off.
I drew the string back, focused, and released. Both arrows flew in a tight spread. One struck a figurine dead center, the other hit the shelf just below it. The combined impact—a direct hit and a sharp jolt from beneath—was enough. The piano figurine tipped forward and clattered onto the counter.
A gasp, then a smattering of applause came from the few spectators who had gathered. The merchant’s jaw went slack.
I didn’t pause. I repeated the process: two arrows, two careful angles of attack. *Thwack-thud. Clatter. Thwack-thud. Clatter.* One by one, the pianos fell, defeated by physics and precision. The crowd grew, their cheers becoming louder with each victory. The merchant’s face was a storm cloud, his earlier confidence gone.
Finally, only one figurine remained. I fired another dual shot. The arrows struck, but the last piano stubbornly stayed upright, rocking slightly on its glued base.
The merchant let out a strained, relieved laugh. "So close! Try again next time, friend."
"I still have nine arrows left," I said flatly. This time, I carefully notched three arrows, angling them to create a trifecta of force. I took a breath, focused, and let them fly.
*Thwack-thwack-THWACK.*
The final figurine didn’t just fall; it flew off the shelf and landed with a plastic rattle on the ground behind the counter. The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles.
"I want that one," I said, pointing directly at the white-haired fairy plush. "The fairy holding the flute."
The merchant glared at me, his face flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation. He snatched the toy from its hook and practically threw it at me. "Don’t ever come back here," he growled, the words a low, venomous whisper meant only for my ears.
I caught the toy and looked past him at the fallen figurines. In the bright lantern light, I could now clearly see the shiny, clear smear of adhesive on each wooden base. I met his furious gaze one last time. "Sure," I said, my voice dripping with icy satisfaction. "I have no desire to play again at a stall run by a cheating mutt who glues down his targets. Enjoy explaining your ’game’ to your new fans." I gestured to the murmuring, now-suspicious crowd.
"You—!" he snarled, but I was already turning my back on him, the cheers of the onlookers and the sound of his angry sputtering a sweet melody to my ears.
As I walked away, cradling the ridiculous fairy plush, a genuine, if grim, smile touched my lips. I looked down at its yarn hair and stitched smile. I wonder what Ace’s reaction will be when I give Ovelia this, I thought, the anticipation a pleasant thrill. He’ll probably look like he swallowed a lemon.
The momentary amusement faded. The plush toy was a distraction. My primary target was still out there. I adjusted my grip on the toy, my senses stretching out once more. The witch’s muted aura was still trailing me, a persistent shadow in the festival’s light. It was time to stop being the prey and start leading this hunt to its conclusion.
