A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 130: Lost and Found

[Ovelia’s POV]

Ace and I continued to walk, but the comfortable silence from before had turned heavy and strange. I had finished the last sweet, sticky bite of the puto bumbong, but he hadn’t said a word. He just kept walking a half-step ahead of me, his gaze fixed forward, never glancing back to check on me. The distance between us, though small, felt like a growing chasm.

My fingers rose to touch the red rose hairpin he had bought for me, its cool metal a small comfort. I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm the sudden, irrational flutter of anxiety in my chest.

"Ace?" I ventured, my voice small against the festival’s noise. "Should we try to find the others now?"

He didn’t respond. He didn’t even turn his head. My chest tightened.

I stared at his back—the set of his shoulders. Something was wrong. The easy, protective way he usually held himself was gone, replaced by a stiffness that felt... off. "Ace?" I asked again, more insistently. I reached out and grasped the sleeve of his tunic, giving it a gentle tug.

He stopped and turned to face me.

"Is something wrong, miss?" he asked.

But the voice was all wrong. It was higher, lighter, devoid of the low, resonant warmth that was uniquely Ace’s.

My heart gave a violent, sickening lurch. I lifted my head, my eyes traveling up from the tunic sleeve to the face of the man I had been following.

It wasn’t Ace.

The man looking down at me was a stranger. He had dark brown hair, not silver. His eyes were a plain, muddy hazel, not piercing silver, and he didn’t even wear spectacles. He was roughly the same height and build, and from behind, in the chaotic crowd, wearing similar clothes... I had made a terrible, terrifying mistake.

He simply looked at me, a polite but confused expression on his face, waiting for an answer.

My mouth went dry. "N-no... no, I’m so sorry," I stammered, forcing a weak, apologetic smile onto my face, hoping it looked natural. "Wrong person. My mistake."

He just shrugged, offered a noncommittal nod, and turned away, quickly disappearing into the flow of people, leaving me standing alone.

I whirled around, my eyes desperately scanning the crowd, searching for a glimpse of silver hair, for the familiar set of broad shoulders. The vibrant colors and moving faces blurred into a meaningless, threatening swirl. Nothing. He was nowhere.

In the roaring din of music and laughter, I could hear nothing but the frantic, deafening hammer of my own heart against my ribs. A cold dread seeped into my bones, making my hands tremble violently. I clenched them into fists, but it didn’t help.

I’m alone... again. The thought was a cold stone dropping into my stomach. The familiar, suffocating fear from my years in Timberline Village rose up, threatening to choke me. The safety I had felt just moments ago, walking at Ace’s side, was ripped away, exposing the raw, scared girl beneath. I’m scared... My breath came in short, shallow gasps. Everyone... where are you? Ace... Ann... Ray... Gale...

[Gale’s POV]

A sudden, violent tremor shot through my hands, making the ridiculous fairy plush I was still holding shake as if it were alive. I stared at my fingers, bewildered. I hadn’t commanded them to move. Then the feeling hit me—not through my hands, but through the center of my being. A cold, sharp wave of pure, undiluted fear that was not my own. It sliced through the psychic tether of our pact, a silent, psychic scream that made my own breath catch in my throat and my heart clench.

Ovelia.

The recognition was instant, a name etched in fire on my mind. What happened to her? Why is she this terrified? This wasn’t the mild anxiety of being in a crowd. This was the bone-deep terror of abandonment, of being truly, hopelessly lost.

My mind raced, discarding possibilities. Ann hadn’t been with her; I’d seen her playing vigilante elsewhere. So Ovelia should have been with Ray and Ace. Protected. Safe.

The witch—the persistent, annoying shadow—was still there, hovering at the edge of my awareness. This game had to end. Now. I needed to find Ovelia.

To my left, I spotted a narrow, unlit alley, a dark slit between two bustling taverns. It was empty, a pocket of silence. I turned and walked into it without a backward glance. As I expected, I felt her muted aura follow me in.

Once we were both shrouded in the deep shadows, away from the festival’s glow, I turned to face her. She stopped short, her eyes widening behind. Before she could spin and flee, I raised my hand, palm out. I didn’t speak an incantation; I simply willed the air around her to solidify.

I closed my fist.

An invisible vise of compressed wind clamped around her body, lifting her off the cobblestones. She let out a shocked yelp as she was carried, struggling against nothing, to float helplessly in front of me.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, but her voice betrayed her—it was higher, younger than her adult appearance suggested, laced with genuine fright. "Let go of me!" She twisted and kicked, but it was like fighting the atmosphere itself.

Did she drink a potion to appear older? Then I saw it—a glint of dull purple metal peeking from under the cuff of her sleeve. A magic-nullifying device, cleverly concealed. She tried to hide it—but it was too late; I’d already spotted it.

"Let’s cut the chase. I’m done playing with you, fizzer," I said, my voice flat and cold as I stared directly into her frightened eyes. "Why are you following me?"

"I... I saw you buy that hexagon stone at the keychain stall," she gasped, ceasing her struggles. "That’s a sealed elemental mana stone. I know it is. I want to buy it. Name your price. Any amount!"

So she had recognized it. Not a complete amateur, then.

I couldn’t stop the fine tremor in my hand that still held her captive. Ovelia’s fear was a constant, discordant buzz in my nerves, fraying my control.

"It’s not for sale," I snapped. Now that she was close, I could properly assess her aura. There was greed, curiosity, and poor judgment, but no real malice, no trace of conspiracy. She was a nuisance, not a threat. I opened my hand, releasing the wind. She dropped the last few inches to the ground, stumbling slightly.

"I’m in a hurry," I stated, turning my back on her. "So stop following me."

"Wait!" she cried out. Her hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

I looked back, irritated, and that’s when it happened. A puff of sickly-sweet purple smoke erupted from her pores. I jerked my arm back and covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve. The smoke coalesced and then dissipated, and where the young woman had stood, there was now a girl no more than twelve years old. She was coughing, her eyes watering.

I knew it. A transformation potion.

"What a fizzer," I muttered, the derisive fairy term for a bungling apprentice mage slipping out.

"Don’t call me a fizzer!" she squeaked, her real voice now matching her true form, thick with indignation despite her coughing fit. "I just haven’t perfected that age-alteration potion yet! That’s all!" She wiped her eyes and looked up at me, her curiosity instantly overriding her fear. "By the way, are you an elf? The mana flow in your body is different than any witch’s I’ve ever sensed." Her eyes were wide, hoping for a ’yes.’

"Do I look like I have pointed ears?" I asked dryly.

Her face fell. "No..." she admitted, disappointed. "But why are you trembling so badly? And you didn’t use an incantation to control the wind. How did you do that?"

"It’s none of your business," I said, my patience gone. "Go home, fizzer. Practice your potions somewhere safer." Using a gentle but firm gust of wind, I pushed her out of the mouth of the alley and back into the well-lit lane.

I couldn’t waste another second. I couldn’t transform back to my smaller form to conserve mana, but I could do the next best thing. I focused my remaining mana, drawing it inward, wrapping it around my body like a shimmering cloak. The light bent around me. To any human, werewolf, and witch looking into the alley, it would now appear completely empty. I was invisible.

Then, I poured more mana into my eyes, activating my fairy sight. The world shifted. The solid forms of buildings and people became faint, translucent outlines. And there, stretching from the center of my own chest out into the chaotic web of the festival, was a thin, luminous thread of gold—the tether of my pact with Ovelia.

I spread my invisible wings, the prismatic light of them concealed by my invisibility. The bond pulled at me, a taut, distressed line.

That old hag is inside of her, I thought, a desperate plea to the absent goddess. Firera. If you can hear anything in there... protect her.

Suddenly, a new sensation lanced through the bond—sharper, deeper, and more desolate than the fear. It was a hollow, aching loneliness, a profound sense of isolation that felt like a splinter of ice being driven directly into my own heart.

This hollow ache... The understanding was immediate and terrible. She thinks she’s alone. She thinks everyone has left her.

Ovelia, I thought, the words a silent vow as I launched myself into the air, following the golden thread through the night, unseen by the revelers below. Just wait for me. Don’t you dare give up. I’ll be there soon.