A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 34: Hidden Truths, Shared Meal

Ace’s POV

Khaleed’s pupils dilated like a cornered animal’s when our eyes met. The scent of his sweat—sharp with adrenaline and something sour, like guilt—hit my nostrils.

"What are you doing here?" I kept my voice level, but my wolf stirred beneath my skin, sensing deception in the way Khaleed’s pulse jumped at his throat.

"Ahhmm, I—" He wiped his palms on his trousers, leaving damp streaks on the fabric. "Just need to speak with Chief." He sidestepped me with the awkward haste of someone hiding something, his shoulder brushing the doorframe as he slipped inside.

The firelight revealed every microexpression as Khaleed delivered his report. "Chief, we’ve... removed the two bodies from the road." A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Villagers have been told... told everything’s safe now."

"Thank you, Khaleed." Chief Gareth’s response carried the warmth of long familiarity, but I didn’t miss how his eyes lingered on his subordinate’s fidgeting hands.

Khaleed retreated like a shadow at dawn—quick, silent, and avoiding every gaze. As the door clicked shut behind him, I exchanged a look with Ray. His barely perceptible nod confirmed what my instincts already screamed: This man reeked of secrets.

Returning to the table, I let the silence stretch before dropping my bombshell. "Chief, what if I told you Khaleed is your traitor?" The words landed like stones in a still pond.

Gareth’s chair screeched as he jerked backward. "Khaleed?" His laugh was too loud, too forced. "That boy’s like a son to me! He’d give his life for this village."

Ray’s quiet chuckle beside me spoke volumes. We both understood the gravity of our suspicions, but we lacked evidence to support them. It was best to let the matter slide for now.

"It’s better if we keep this conversation under wraps," Philip chimed in, his voice low and cautious.

"Chief," Ray added, his orange eyes glowing in the firelight, "Only those present in this room should be privy to our discussion. And you mustn’t say anything to Khaleed about what we’ve talked about today,"

"I don’t understand why you see Khaleed differently," Gareth replied, but there was resolve in his tone. "Fine, I’ll keep this secret from the villagers until the bandits are dealt with."

The tension broke as an irresistible aroma wafted from the kitchen—roasted meat, herbs, and something sweet that made my stomach growl audibly.

•Kitchen•

Ovelia’s POV

Steam curled from the stew pot as I gave it one final stir, the rich scent of thyme and slow-cooked venison filling the cozy kitchen. It was my first time cooking a proper meal again; mostly, I only made snacks at the palace.

Mrs. Melinda wiped flour from her cheeks, "Would you listen to that silence out there?" She grinned, nodding toward the dining area. "Our food’s struck them dumb with anticipation!"

I laughed, the sound mingling with the cheerful crackling of the hearth. "I think I might faint from hunger myself if we don’t eat soon."

"Lady—" Ann caught herself, a blush blooming across her cheeks. "I mean, Mother... shall I set the table?" The honorific slipped out despite our ruse, it overriding our temporary fiction.

"Of course, darling." I bit my lip to hide a smile as she gathered the hand-painted ceramic plates—each one unique, clearly collected over years of village life.

Mrs. Melinda chuckled as Ann disappeared through the doorway. "That girl looks at you like you hung the moon. Can’t blame her—you don’t look a day over twenty!" Her wink was playful, but it sent a pang through my chest.

The lie sat heavy on my tongue. "Oh, I—" I busied myself arranging bread rolls to avoid her kind eyes. "Youth runs in our family."

Together we lifted the laden tray, its weight a comforting reminder of this fleeting moment of normalcy before stepping into the charged atmosphere of the dining room.

[Evening]

Ace’s POV

Ann moved with precise grace, arranging tableware.

"Thank you, Ann." I allowed genuine warmth into my voice.

Her responding smile was shy as she mumbled, "You’re welcome, fa-father." The title came out stiff and uncertain, her ears turning pink. Whether from embarrassment at the deception or some deeper discomfort, I couldn’t tell.

Philip’s elbow jabbed the table as he leaned forward. "So you three—" His finger wagged between me, Ray, and Ann. "—are the werewolves that bandit mentioned. Which makes Lia human, yes?" His eyebrows waggled suggestively. "But everyone knows werewolves and humans can’t—" 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

My hand shot out, snatching the nearest apple and shoving it into his gaping mouth. The crisp crunch of fruit meeting teeth drowned out whatever vulgarity he’d been about to voice—especially in Ovelia’s hearing.

Chief Gareth’s eyebrows climbed his forehead, while Philip spluttered, juice dribbling down his chin. My growl was low enough that only the other werewolves could hear it.

The kitchen door swung open then, saving Philip from my claws. Ovelia and Melinda emerged balancing trays that filled the air with mouthwatering scents—herb-crusted roast, honey-glazed carrots, roasted chicken, stew, and bread so fresh it still steamed.

"Handsome gentlemen!" Melinda trilled, setting down her burden with a flourish. "Eat up before it gets cold!"

My earlier promise of a feast in Apple Forest seemed unnecessary now. As Ovelia took her seat beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, I realized no roadside meal could compare to this—the warmth of shared food, the glow of firelight on her smile, and the fragile peace we’d carved in this besieged village.

Ovelia’s POV

The mingled aromas of roasted meat, fresh bread, and herb-infused stew made my mouth water uncontrollably. Mrs. Melinda had taste-tested everything earlier, but when I reached for a spoon, she chided, "Patience, dear," with a wink. "The first bite must be a proper surprise."

Now we settled around the worn oak table, the candlelight flickering across the feast we had prepared.

Our seating arrangement was cozy:

Left side: Philip, Chief Gareth, Mrs. Melinda

Right side: Ray, Ace, me, Ann

"Wow!" Philip’s exclamation shattered the comfortable silence as he leaned forward, eyes gleaming like a child’s on festival day. "Did we stumble upon someone’s birthday feast?"

Chief Gareth’s deep chuckle rumbled through the room. "Just our humble thanks for your help today." His calloused hand covered his wife’s slender fingers with obvious affection.

Ray inhaled deeply, the steam from his plate curling around his face. "This is far beyond humble, Chief." His orange eyes met mine briefly, and something unspoken passed between us - gratitude not just for the food, but for this fleeting moment of peace.

I was just reaching for the ladle when Mrs. Melinda cleared her throat sharply. "Now, now," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "We’ll have none of that until we’ve given thanks."

The sudden command froze me mid-motion. A memory flashed - my small hands clasped in prayer at another table long ago, back when I still believed the people feeding me were my true family. The phantom taste of betrayal rose bitter in my throat, but I pushed it down, joining the circle of clasped hands.

Mrs. Melinda’s voice wrapped around us like a well-worn shawl. "Dear God, we thank You for this nourishment and the hands that prepared it. May it strengthen our bodies as Your love strengthens our souls. Remember those without bread tonight, and guide us to share our blessings."

"Amen," we chorused, the word hanging sacred in the air.

I descended on the rabbit stew first, the tender meat falling apart at the slightest pressure from my spoon. The first mouthful transported me - the rich broth, the perfectly balanced herbs, the surprising similarity to chicken but deeper, wilder. "Oh!" The exclamation burst from me unbidden. "This is incredible!"

Beside me, Ann practically glowed as she sipped her soup. "The flavors dance on your tongue," she murmured, her usual poise softened by culinary delight.

Philip was already attacking the roasted chicken with gusto. "Now this," he declared between messy bites, "this is what angels must eat in heaven!"

"I made that." Ann’s chin lifted with uncharacteristic pride. "And the bread too - notice how the crust crackles but the inside stays cloud-soft, perfect for soaking up stew."

Ace hummed in agreement, his shoulder pressing warmly against mine as he sampled everything. "Every bite is better than the last," he said, and the way his eyes lingered on me made my cheeks burn hotter than the hearth.

Ray leaned back with a contented sigh. "Food like this doesn’t just fill the stomach - it heals the soul."

Chief Gareth’s booming laughter shook the table. "Darling, I think these ladies have inspired you to new heights!" He kissed his wife’s flour-dusted cheek.

Mrs. Melinda waved off the praise, though her smile betrayed her pleasure. "Nonsense! Lia and Ann did most of the work with the rabbit dishes."

"But you taught us the secret," I countered, remembering how she’d shown me to massage the meat with rosemary first. "That patience makes perfect."

"Ace," Mrs. Melinda said with sudden mischief, "your wife is as wise as she is lovely." The teasing lilt in her voice made Ace choke on his wine, while across the table, Philip’s eyebrows shot up so high they disappeared into his hairline.

The moment stretched, golden and syrupy, the clinking of cutlery and contented murmurs weaving a tapestry of temporary peace. For just this evening, in this warm circle of light, none of us were royals or warriors or outcasts - just hungry souls grateful for good food and better company.

The clatter of silverware against porcelain stilled as Mrs. Melinda’s weathered hands descended on my plate with startling determination. Before I could protest, a mountain of steaming rice and succulent meat chunks tumbled onto the already generous portion before me.

"Eat up, Lia," she commanded, her voice carrying that particular maternal tone that brooked no argument. Her warm fingers brushed my wrist briefly as she withdrew, the calluses on her palms catching slightly against my skin. "You’re all skin and bones, child. Doesn’t your husband feed you properly?"

Across the table, Chief Gareth fixed Ace with a stern look that made even the confident werewolf prince straighten in his chair. "A merchant’s life keeps you busy, I know," the chief rumbled, his eyebrows drawing together, "but you must take better care of your family."

"Don’t worry, Chief and Mrs. Melinda," Ace chuckled, "they may look thin, but they eat well."

Suddenly, I smiled, remembering how much I had eaten during our meal at the Meadowlark Village inn.

Mrs. Melinda’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she chuckled. "Well, I guess I misjudged them, haha. Being a merchant does burn calories with all that traveling,"

As she turned to heap another serving onto Ann’s plate, something fragile and warm unfolded in my chest. The simple act of being fed, of someone worrying over my wellbeing - it struck me with sudden force that since beginning this journey, I hadn’t taken a single meal alone.

"Here now," Mrs. Melinda murmured, adding an extra drumstick to my plate. Her knuckles brushed my cheek as she tucked a stray hair behind my ear, the gesture so casually affectionate it stole my breath. "You’ll need your strength for tomorrow."

"Don’t hold back on our account," Chief Gareth added around a mouthful of bread, his smile visible through his thick beard. "There’s plenty to go around."

The lump in my throat grew too large to swallow around. I stared down at my overflowing plate, at the care manifested in every generous portion, and suddenly the dining room blurred at the edges. Their kindness wasn’t the perfunctory hospitality offered to guests - it held the same tender concern I’d only ever seen directed at family.

Around me, the conversation ebbed and flowed - Ray’s deep chuckle mingling with Philip’s animated storytelling, Ace’s quiet remarks punctuated by Ann’s rare, unguarded laughter. The candlelight painted them all in golden hues, softening edges and deepening shadows until the scene before me resembled one of those tapestries I’d secretly admired in Timberline’s chapel - depictions of families gathered for harvest feasts.

A single tear escaped before I could catch it, splashing onto the back of my hand. Then another. And another. Not the bitter, salt-heavy tears of my past, but something lighter - something that carried away decade-old loneliness like spring melt washing winter’s grime from the cobblestones.