A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 43: Simmering Fury

Ace’s POV

The wooden door of the inn groaned shut behind us as we stepped into the crisp afternoon air. A gust of wind carried the scent of damp earth from last night’s rain. I glanced back through the grimy window just in time to see Chief Gareth’s broad shoulders settle opposite Khaleed at a corner table. Chief Gareth’s eyes, normally warm with paternal kindness, now burned with quiet intensity as they locked onto his protégé.

"Khaleed," Gareth’s deep voice rumbled through the glass, "why don’t we stay for a bit? Let’s play chess for an hour."

A smirk tugged at my lips at Gareth’s smooth diversion. Khaleed’s face cycled through microexpressions - surprise giving way to suspicion before finally settling into eager compliance. "Sure, Chief! I’ll grab the chess board from the cabinet," he chirped, already half-rising from his seat. The forced enthusiasm in his voice didn’t quite mask the relief underneath.

Philip elbowed me sharply, his whisper dripping with amusement. "An hour of chess? I’d have flipped the damn board by minute twenty." His fingers twitched as if physically restraining himself from demonstrating. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Ray didn’t wait for further commentary. "Let’s go," he muttered through clenched teeth, already striding down the dirt path. "We need to stick to the plan. We’ve got exactly sixty minutes."

The three of us moved in synchronized haste, boots kicking up small clouds of dust that swirled in our wake. As we hurried toward Chief Gareth’s home, my mind raced through tactical preparations, while my wolf remained oddly preoccupied with thoughts of Ovelia—the way her hair had smelled that morning when she’d leaned close to me while we were sleeping.

•Chief Gareth’s House•

Ovelia’s POV

The kitchen air hung thick with competing aromas—the earthy pungency of curry leaves, the rich umami of pork stew, the peanutty depth of kare-kare. My fingers worked rhythmically through the dough, kneading small eruptions of flour onto the wooden countertop when an insistent itch bloomed along my neckline. Hands hopelessly encased in sticky dough, I craned my neck awkwardly.

"Ann, would you mind..." I began, only for Ann to already be reaching toward me.

"Right here, Mother?" Her touch was feather-light but precise, nails scraping just enough to banish the irritation. As soon as relief flooded me, she was already returning to the stove where annatto seeds bubbled in their water bath, their crimson hue bleeding into swirling patterns.

"Thank you," I sighed, but the gratitude caught in my throat as the front door banged open with unnatural force. Three sets of hands flew under the pump faucet—Mrs. Melinda’s weathered fingers, Ann’s delicate ones, my own still dusted with flour—washing in frantic synchrony before we spilled into the hallway.

The sight of Ace in the doorway sent an electric pulse through my chest. He looked perfectly clean, yet his usually immaculate shirt clung slightly to his torso, Ray and Philip hovered behind him, their controlled breathing belying their obvious haste.

"Mrs. Melinda," Ace’s baritone cut through the tension, "empty boxes. Do you have any?"

Mrs. Melinda’s hands fluttered to her apron pockets. "Yes, it’s in the storage room," she gestured automatically, before worry etched new lines around her eyes. "By the way, where’s Gareth?"

Ace’s jaw clenched—a telltale sign of restrained impatience. "Perfectly safe. Currently trouncing Khaleed at chess." The false lightness in his tone wouldn’t have fooled a child, but Mrs. Melinda nodded, already retreating toward the kitchen’s siren song of simmering broth.

Ray’s quick wink at me broke some of the tension as he and Philip disappeared into the storage room. I closed the distance to Ace, close enough to catch hints of pine resin and male sweat clinging to his collar.

"What’s really happening?" I kept my voice low, fingertips accidentally leaving flour prints on his sleeve when I touched his arm.

He finally looked at me properly, and for a fleeting moment, something vulnerable flickered in his gray eyes before his usual composure returned. "Nothing to concern yourself with," he said, his voice rough. "We’re just preparing for our next move. We’ll be leaving the village soon but will return."

The words landed like a physical blow, a cold weight settling in my chest at the thought of their departure.

"By the way," Ace added abruptly, his gaze dropping to my hair, "your hair looks nice today."

"Ann styled it," I murmured, tucking the rebellious lock back into its braid. "to keep it out of the food while we cook."

The moment shattered as Ray and Philip reappeared, arms laden with wooden crates. That’s when I noticed Ace’s entire body go rigid. His nostrils flared slightly before his gaze zeroed in on my neck with predatory intensity.

Every muscle in his body coiled like a spring. "What," he ground out, each word a controlled explosion, "is that mark on your neck?"

The atmosphere curdled instantly. Mrs. Melinda’s ladle clattered against the stove. Ann froze mid-step. Even Philip nearly dropped his crate.

"Mark?" My fingers flew to the spot just as understanding dawned. "Oh! That’s just from earlier when—"

"Did someone kiss or suck it?!" Ace’s voice dropped to something barely human, his grip tightening on my arms enough to make the flour dust puff between us. His gray eyes weren’t just angry—they were wounded, betrayed.

Behind him, Ray set down his cargo with deliberate calm. "Ace. You’re hurting her."

Mrs. Melinda brandished her ladle like a scepter. "Young man, unhand her this—"

"STAY OUT OF THIS!" The windows rattled with his roar. "She’s my mate!" The unspoken claim—my property—hung poisonously in the air.

Then hands shoved between us with surprising force. Ann planted herself like a shield, her normally docile wolf flashing in her black eyes. "Don’t you dare hurt her!" Her voice cracked with the strain of holding back a shift.

The standoff might have lasted minutes or seconds before Ace abruptly dragged me toward the stairs. His grip didn’t loosen, but his thumb began making subconscious circles on my wrist—an apology his pride wouldn’t let him voice. As we ascended, the shocked silence below gave way to overlapping exclamations that faded with each step.