A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 53: Twilight Justice

Ace’s POV

The wagon groaned beneath our weight as we settled onto the weathered bench, its wood rough against my palms. The horses snorted plumes of mist into the cooling air, their muscles twitching beneath dark coats before pulling us forward. Ray sprawled beside me, his mud-caked boots propped carelessly on the wagon’s edge, while Chief Gareth sat stiff as a board between us.

Ray broke the silence first, his voice stripped of its usual playful edge. "I... might’ve lost control back there." He turned his hands over in the moonlight, studying the dried blood caked beneath his nails. His fingers trembled slightly before curling into fists. "But when I saw those bandits suffer—when I thought about what they did to those merchants, those travelers..." His jaw worked, the muscle jumping along his cheekbone. "Torturing them felt like justice. Like they deserved to pay."

Moonlight carved shadows across Ray’s face, hardening the princely features that usually charmed court ladies and stablehands alike. I reached over, my grip firm on his shoulder. "I know," I said quietly, letting the weight of those two words carry decades of shared battles, shared losses. The scent of iron still clung to both of us, mingling with the crisp night air.

Ray tilted his head back, his orange and silver hair brushing his collar as he stared at the emerging stars. A wry smile ghosted across his lips—the same expression he’d worn as a boy when caught stealing pastries from the palace kitchens.

My attention shifted to Chief Gareth, who sat rigid between us, his breathing shallow. The village leader hadn’t spoken since we’d left the bandits in that abandoned house. His silence was heavier than the chains we’d left them in.

"Chief Gareth." I kept my voice measured, but he still flinched as if I’d shouted. The reaction sent an unexpected pang through my chest. "Is there a doctor in the village? That wound on Mush’s arm needs stitching, or he won’t see sunrise."

The chief’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. For a moment, he simply stared, as if trying to reconcile the man who’d methodically broken prisoners with the one now asking to save one.

"Th-there’s a clinic," he stammered finally, pointing a shaking finger toward a thatched building ahead. Golden light spilled from its windows, painting the dirt road in warm stripes. "Stop there."

"Tell them not to remove the magic chains," I added sharply. "No matter how pathetic they seem."

Chief Gareth nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

The clinic’s herbal scent—sharp with antiseptic and something earthy—hit us before the horses fully stopped. Chief Gareth practically tumbled from the wagon, his boots kicking up gravel as he hurried toward the door.

Ray watched him leave, then tilted his head. "Think we broke the poor chief?" he mused, stretching his arms behind his head. "He’s trying to play it cool, but it’s your fault for acting like a merciless prince."

I elbowed him hard enough to knock the smirk off his face. "You’re the one who looked like a storybook villain, grinning while pulling out fingernails."

Ray’s laughter burst forth, sudden and bright in the heavy night air. "Oh please," he wheezed, clutching his stomach. "You were worse! All calm and princely while threatening to skin them alive."

I shoved him, but couldn’t stop my own chuckle. The sound felt strange after hours of grim work

The clinic door creaked open, revealing Chief Gareth flanked by two hulking werewolf medics. Their eyes flashed in the moonlight as they adjusted leather satchels bulging with medical supplies. The taller one curled his lip when our gazes met, but gave a stiff nod before stalking toward the abandoned house with his companion.

"They’ll tend to them," Chief Gareth said as he hauled himself back onto the wagon bench. His fingers trembled slightly against the wood, but his voice held steady. "They hate those bandits as much as we do, but... they’ll do what’s right."

"Thank you," I said, meeting his eyes. Something shifted in his weathered face - not quite approval, but perhaps the beginnings of understanding.

The wagon lurched forward, leaving the clinic’s golden glow behind. Fireflies danced along the path like scattered embers, their flickering light illuminating Chief Gareth’s troubled expression.

"That werewolf," he began suddenly, twisting the silver band around his finger. "Aldrin. He called you... prince." His calloused hands stilled. "Are you truly Silverhowl’s second prince?"

Ray went rigid beside me, his boot scraping against the wagon’s edge. I exhaled through my nose, the truth pressing against my ribs like an over-tightened bandage.

"Yes." The word landed between us with finality. I straightened, feeling the weight of my title settle back onto my shoulders after days of pretending. "Ace Draven, second prince of Silverhowl." I jerked my thumb at Ray, who groaned as the wagon wheel hit a rut. "And this is my half-brother, Ray."

"Ace!" Ray’s voice cracked with indignation. He raked a hand through his orange and silver hair. "You think I want every villager knowing my identity? I’ve got enough trouble with—"

"Shared burdens," I interrupted, grinning. "If I’m exposed, you’re going down with me."

Chief Gareth’s sudden laughter startled us both - a deep, rumbling sound that shook his broad frame. "Forgive me," he managed, wiping at his eyes. "It’s just... watching you with those bandits earlier, I thought you were demons made flesh." His mirth faded into something softer. "Now I see it. Royals with steel in your spines... and hearts too stubborn to admit they care."

Ray slung an arm around the chief’s shoulders, his princely charm sliding back into place. "Don’t worry, Chief. We’ll purge every bandit from these woods. Your people will sleep safe again."

"Thank you," Gareth murmured, his voice thick.

"Save your thanks," I said, nudging Ray away. "We’ll share a proper drink when this is done."

"I promise to share our special rum when this is over," the chief said, his chuckle fading as his expression grew serious. "Now that we know their hideout... what’s the plan?"

"Ray, Philip and I will handle the infiltration," I said.

"Just three of you?" Chief Gareth’s hands clenched on his knees. The veins stood out along his forearms. "I may be old, but I can still swing an axe. There’s ten, maybe fifteen of them. Even for princes—"

"Chief." Ray’s hand closed around Gareth’s wrist, his touch firm but not unkind. "Your place is here." His hazel eyes held the weight of command. "If Khaleed comes sniffing around, he can’t suspect anything. And when our reinforcements arrive..." He let the implication hang.

I leaned forward, catching the chief’s troubled gaze. "You know the location. You’ll guide Crimsonheart and our Silverhowl reinforcements." My voice dropped. "And you’re the only one I trust to protect Ovelia and Ann if things go wrong."

The fight drained from Chief Gareth’s shoulders. He stared at his work-roughened hands for a long moment before nodding. "I... understand."

Ray halted the wagon outside Chief Gareth’s house, its windows aglow with hearth light. My pulse quickened as I remembered Ovelia—her warmth, her steady presence.

I leaped down before the wagon wheels had fully stilled, my boots thudding against the packed earth with enough force to send up small puffs of dust. As I stepped inside, the sight of Ovelia greeted me—slumped at the dining table, her blond hair spilling across her folded arms like sunlight poured over silk. A woolen blanket lay draped over her shoulders, its edges slipping slightly as her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm with the crackling fire. The flickering light painted soft shadows across her face, catching the curve of her cheek and the faint part of her lips as she breathed.

Behind me, Chief Gareth and Ray stepped inside, their boots scuffing against the threshold.

Ann stood near the sink, her hands submerged in soapy water. She turned, pressing a finger to her lips as her gaze flicked meaningfully toward Ovelia.

"Ann, where’s Melinda?" Chief Gareth whispered, his voice barely louder than the settling embers in the fireplace.

"Asleep upstairs, Chief, " Ann said, drying her hands on a well-worn towel. The fabric rasped softly against her skin.

Ray sank into a chair with exaggerated care, the wood creaking under his weight. His smirk stretched wide, full of mischief, and I glared at him. He mouthed, "What?" with exaggerated innocence, his hazel eyes dancing in the firelight.

"Ann," I whispered, stepping closer. The floorboard beneath my foot groaned in protest. "Why is Ovelia here?"

Ann arched a brow, her lips quirking in a knowing smile. "She waited for you. Refused to eat until you returned."

"But why?" I hissed, frustration and guilt twisting like a knife in my gut.

"Because she’s your wife, you oblivious fool," Ray drawled, loud enough to make Ann wince.

I shot him a venomous look. "You’re too loud," I muttered through gritted teeth. "You’ll wake Ovelia, you idiot."

As if summoned by my words, Ovelia stirred. Her lashes fluttered, and my breath caught in my throat. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just her—the way her fingers twitched against the table, the sleepy furrow of her brow, the soft sigh that escaped her lips before she lifted her head.

The moment shattered as the door slammed open, crashing against the wall. Philip barged in, his boots tracking mud across the floor, his face flushed from running.

"Ace! I spotted more bandits near the—" He froze, gaping at Ovelia, who jolted fully awake, her wide eyes locking with mine.

Damn it, Philip.

"A, R, everyone?" Ovelia whispered, her voice thick with sleep. She blinked, the firelight catching the gold flecks in her red eyes. "You’re safe and... back."

I stepped toward her, my earlier ruthlessness dissolving into something tender. "We are," I said softly. "And you... shouldn’t have waited."

She stood, the blanket slipping from her shoulders in a rustle of fabric. "But I wanted to." Her smile was small but unwavering, and it sent warmth flooding through my chest.

Laughter bubbled up in the room—Ray’s loud and unrestrained, Ann’s quiet and relieved, Chief Gareth’s deep and rumbling—a cascade of sound that swept through the remnants of the evening shadows like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

But as Ovelia’s smile lingered, Philip cleared his throat. The levity vanished like mist under morning sun.

"I know this moment is precious," he said, his voice low and urgent, "but I have to say something about Khaleed and the bandits I saw in the forest."

The weight of his words settled over us, heavy as a blade balanced on a thread. The laughter died. The warmth faded.