A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 40: Thunoa’s Shadows

Ace’s POV

My fork hovered over the steaming dishes when Ovelia’s hand darted in front of me, depositing a glistening piece of roasted meat onto my plate. Her fingers brushed the plate with a soft clink.

"A, try this first!" Her eyes sparkled with barely-contained mischief, lips pressed together in that telltale way she had when hiding a secret.

I speared the morsel carefully, the tines scraping against the plate. The meat tore easily under my teeth—tender, with an unexpected sweetness beneath the savory crust. As I swallowed, I became acutely aware of six pairs of eyes locked onto me.

"It’s good," I said, wiping my mouth. "Tastes like rabbit but... sweeter?"

Ovelia’s face lit up like a festival lantern. "I’m so glad you like it! That’s ricefield rat. Mrs. Melinda says they’re very clean—only eat grains and—"

My throat constricted mid-swallow. The utensil slipped from my fingers with a clatter. Across the table, Ray’s shoulders shook violently, his knuckles white where he gripped his knees to contain his laughter.

"Hahaha—" Philip’s guffaw cut off abruptly as he choked, his face turning an alarming shade of red. Chief Gareth lunged forward, thumping his back while shoving a water cup into his flailing hands.

"Food stays in the mouth until swallowed," the chief chided, though his beard couldn’t hide his own twitching lips.

Mrs. Melinda patted my arm. "Don’t look so pale, dear. We prepare them just like chicken—plucked, gutted, soaked in vinegar water for hours." Her reassuring tone did nothing to settle my rolling stomach.

"Pleasant," I managed to grit out, my smile straining against the nausea. My gaze darted across the spread—which dishes hid more rodent surprises? The stew? The fried dumplings? Sweat prickled along my hairline as I nudged my rice into a protective wall around the remaining meat.

Ovelia’s POV

Laughter and lively chatter filled the dining area, utensils clinking against plates. Yet my attention kept drifting to Ace, who sat pushing rice grains around with mechanical precision, his untouched egg growing cold.

Guilt twisted in my chest. I leaned closer, catching the scent of pine soap clinging to his collar. "A," I whispered, "only the roasted pieces are rat. The rest is chicken and rabbit."

His head snapped up. For a heartbeat, those gray eyes searched mine—then crinkled at the corners as a real, warm smile spread across his face. He reached for the chicken with renewed vigor, his shoulder brushing mine.

Something fluttered wildly beneath my ribs at the contact. The novels I’d secretly devoured in Timberline’s attic described this exact sensation—palms growing damp, cheeks burning, the impossible urge to both flee toward and away from someone all at once.

I stuffed a too-large bite of vegetables into my mouth to hide my traitorous face. The crisp carrots did nothing to cool the heat spreading down my neck. Across the table, Ann’s knowing smirk told me I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Ace’s POV

The lingering aroma of roasted meats and spices clung to the dining table as Chief Gareth’s animated voice filled the room. His calloused hands gestured broadly while recounting a village festival, the lines around his eyes crinkling with mirth. Across from me, Ovelia and Mrs. Melinda moved in synchronized harmony, their sleeves brushing as they passed dishes to Ann, who piled our plates with alarming generosity. Ray ate with military precision, while Philip shoveled food into his mouth like a man who’d missed three meals.

My fork scraped against the porcelain as I savored the last bite of rabbit stew—definitely rabbit this time—the rich gravy coating my tongue. Around the table, laughter rang out as someone finished a humorous story, the sound warm and comforting.

As the meal ended, Mrs. Melinda, Ann and Ovelia, began clearing plates with efficient clatters. I pushed back my chair, the legs scraping against the wooden floor. "We should head out," I said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "Early start means early finish."

Chief Gareth stood with a grunt, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards. "Just checking on the bandit victims at the inn, darling," he told his wife, squeezing her shoulder. Her fingers lingered on his wrist for a heartbeat too long.

I caught Ovelia’s gaze across the table. Sunlight streamed through the window, catching the gold flecks in her red eyes. "We’ll be back soon," I promised, surprised by how much I meant it.

Her smile sent an unexpected warmth through my chest. "Take care," she murmured, her fingers tightening around the stack of plates she carried.

Ann gave me a knowing nod—she’d keep them safe while we were gone.

The village air smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke as we stepped outside, a stark contrast to the cozy warmth of the house. The bustling market from this morning had vanished, leaving only a few scattered stalls packing up for the day. The emptiness made the hairs on my neck stand up.

"First, we need to find Khaleed," Philip said, his usual jovial tone replaced by something sharper. His hand rested near the dagger at his belt.

As if summoned, Khaleed appeared down the lane. "Target lock," I muttered under my breath.

The others turned just as Khaleed called out, "Chief! Where are you off to?" His steps were too quick, his smile too wide.

"The inn," Chief Gareth replied evenly. "Interviewing the bandit victims."

Khaleed fell into step beside us without invitation. "Mind if I join?"

I exchanged a glance with Ray. This was almost too easy.

Ray casually adjusted his sword belt. "What kept you up last night, Khaleed? Saw you patrolling with a lantern well past midnight."

"You’re hiding something," Philip blurted, then had the decency to look sheepish when I glared at him.

Khaleed’s steps faltered. "J-just making rounds," he stammered, his fingers plucking at his tunic sleeves. "In case bandits slipped into the village."

Chief Gareth’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. The truth settled over him like a physical weight—his protégé was lying.

The inn loomed ahead, its stone walls weathered but sturdy. Compared to Meadowlark’s grand establishments, it was modest—two stories with smoke curling from the chimney.

•Thunoa Village Inn•

The scent of stew and ale washed over us as we entered. Humans and werewolves shared tables in uneasy truce, their conversations dying as we appeared. A spiral staircase led to the upper floor, its wooden steps worn smooth by years of use.

"Chief Gareth’s here," someone whispered. Heads turned, expressions shifting from wariness to cautious hope.

Ray surveyed the room. "All bandit victims?"

Chief Gareth nodded grimly. "Most northbound travelers end up here after attacks. We warn southbound caravans, but..." He spread his hands helplessly.

Before I could respond, Khaleed strode to the center of the room. "Listen up!" His voice rang with false confidence. "The chief needs your accounts of the bandit attacks. We’ll begin interviews after meals."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd, though many eyes remained fearful.

"Nice performance," Philip muttered in my ear.

We claimed a corner table, the wood sticky with ale residue. As the others discussed interview strategies, my gaze snagged on a cloaked figure in the shadows. The man’s hooded face lifted briefly—pale skin, a brown eyes—and icy recognition slithered down my spine. I knew that face from somewhere dark, somewhere violent.

Ray’s POV

My eyes followed Ace’s intense stare to a shadowed corner where a black-cloaked figure sat motionless. Though his face remained partially hidden, something about the sharp angle of his jaw and the way he held himself triggered a deep sense of recognition - yet I was certain we’d never met.

A low growl rumbled in my chest as my wolf stirred uneasily. The fine hairs on my arms stood upright as I scanned the crowded inn. That unmistakable prickle of being watched crawled along my spine, but when I inhaled deeply, the air carried only the expected scents of ale, roasted meat, and sweat. Nothing suspicious. Nothing supernatural.

"R, you alright?" Philip’s elbow jabbed into my ribs, snapping me from my thoughts.

I clenched my jaw before answering. "Yes." The word came out sharper than intended. Even as I spoke, the uneasy feeling persisted like an itch between my shoulder blades.

Then it happened - a faint but unmistakable pulse of mana (magical energy) that made my wolf snarl internally. Across the table, Ace shot to his feet so abruptly his chair screeched against the wooden floor. Our eyes locked just as the strange mana signature vanished into nothingness.

"R," Ace’s voice was tight, "did you feel that too?"

I gave a curt nod. "It’s gone now. Don’t waste energy chasing it." My fingers flexed near the hilt of my sword regardless.

Chief Gareth’s eyebrows drew together. "What are you two talking about?"

"We detected mana," I kept my tone even despite the adrenaline coursing through me. "Nothing to concern yourself with - it’s already dissipated."

My gaze flicked to Khaleed. The young guard’s fingers trembled where they gripped his tankard, his throat working as he swallowed convulsively. Sweat beaded along his hairline despite the inn’s cool air.

Through the grimy window, the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the village square. That fleeting mana signature - was it connected to the black magic chains? Or proof of a witch hiding among the villagers?

A sudden image flashed in my mind—Ovelia and Ann back at the chief’s house. My claws extended slightly, digging into my palms. I hope they are okay.