A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 55: The Scent of Blood and Trust

Ace’s POV

Ovelia’s hands trembled like leaves in a winter wind, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides. The sudden change in her demeanor struck me like a physical blow - one moment she’d been relaxed beside me, the next frozen in silent terror. My pulse quickened as I studied her face, searching for clues in the way her lips parted slightly, in the rapid flutter of her eyelashes.

"Ovelia?" I kept my voice low, the word barely more than a breath. She didn’t respond, but her breathing came faster now, shallow little gasps that made her shoulders rise and fall visibly. The warm kitchen light that usually brought out the gold in her red eyes now only highlighted how wide they’d become, the pupils dilated with unmistakable fear.

My own gaze dropped, following her line of sight to my shirt. There - nearly invisible to human eyes but glaringly obvious to me - a dark splatter of blood stained the fabric near my sleeve. The metallic scent hit me anew, that coppery tang from the bandit’s wounds that had soaked into my clothes during the interrogation.

Without thinking, I reached for her hand. The moment my fingers brushed hers, she jerked back as if burned, a small gasp escaping her lips. The hurt that flashed through me was sharper than any blade.

"Don’t worry," I murmured, keeping my voice steady despite the ache in my chest. I carefully took her hands again, this time giving her space to pull away if she chose. Her skin felt ice-cold against mine. "I didn’t kill anyone." The words came out softer than I intended, barely audible over the bubbling soup pot and Mrs. Melinda’s quiet instructions to Ann. "You don’t need to be afraid of me."

Her fingers still trembled in my grasp, but she didn’t pull away this time. I resisted the overwhelming urge to draw her close, knowing the scent of blood and violence still clung to me. The memory of our first meeting - of her terrified expression when I’d cornered her - rose unbidden in my mind. How far we’d come since then, and yet how fragile that trust still was.

"I think I can only help carrying the containers of leftovers," I said finally, releasing her hands with deliberate slowness. The confusion in her eyes as I stepped back made my throat tighten. "I’ll head to the dining area."

As I turned away, the weight of what I’d done tonight settled heavily on my shoulders. Each step toward the other room felt like walking through deep snow, my boots scuffing against the worn wooden floor. The cheerful clatter of dishes and Ann’s bright laughter from the kitchen only emphasized the darkness I carried with me - the things I’d done to keep them safe, the parts of myself I hoped Ovelia would never have to see.

•Dining Area•

The wooden table creaked as Philip slumped forward, his elbows denting the tablecloth. "Ace, is the food ready yet?" His voice carried a whining edge as he rubbed his stomach dramatically. "I’m starving." His fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the oak surface, the sound echoing in the quiet dining room.

"Yes, they’re making soup too," I answered, my gaze drifting to Ray across the table. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the faint smudge of dirt along his jawline.

Philip’s entire posture brightened, his shoulders straightening as he clapped his hands together. "Thank goodness there’s soup coming! It’ll warm us up; it’s so chilly tonight," He rubbed his arms vigorously, the fabric of his shirt rustling with the movement. The fire in the hearth crackled in agreement, its warmth barely reaching the far end of the dining table.

Ray’s fingers paused mid-air as he reached for an apple. His orange eyes narrowed slightly as they met mine. "Is something wrong, Ace?" His voice dropped lower, the usual playful lilt replaced by quiet concern. His nostrils flared almost imperceptibly - he’d caught me staring at the dark stain near his collar.

"We need to take a bath." The words came out more clipped than I intended. I flexed my fingers against the table’s edge, the rough grain pressing into my palms. The memory of Ovelia’s trembling hands flashed behind my eyes, the way her breath had hitched when she caught the scent of blood.

Ray’s expression shifted through several emotions - confusion, realization, then reluctant acceptance. The chair scraped against the wooden floor as he pushed back from the table. "Fine, I get it." His smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. "I’ll take a quick bath." His boots thudded against the floorboards as he stood, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the day’s weight.

Watching him go, something warm unfurled in my chest. Twenty-five years of shared battles had created this unspoken language between us - a glance, a tilt of the head, and entire conversations passed without words. The familiar comfort of it eased the tightness between my shoulder blades.

My gaze swept the empty chairs, landing on the vacant spot where Chief Gareth usually sat. "Where’s Chief Gareth?" I asked, scanning the dimly lit room. The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.

Philip shrugged, his mouth already full of bread. "Upstairs," he mumbled around the mouthful. Crumbs tumbled down his front as he added, "Said something about showering first." He brushed at his shirt absently, scattering more crumbs onto the floor.

I nodded, rolling my sleeves up past my forearms. "Right. Ray and I will go upstairs to shower as well,"

The stairs groaned under my weight as I ascended. The banister felt smooth and cool beneath my palm.

•Kitchen•

Ovelia’s POV

The kitchen door swung shut behind Ace, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My fingers clutched at the fabric of my dress, the material wrinkling under my grip as images flooded my mind - the sharp crack of a belt against skin, the metallic scent of my own blood staining torn clothes, the cold floorboards against my cheek as I curled into myself. My breath came in short, uneven gasps that burned my throat.

Even now, safe among friends, my body remembered. The phantom pains danced across old scars as my heartbeat thundered in my ears. I pressed my palms flat against the countertop, the cool surface doing little to ground me. Ace had his shadows, I knew this. But he’d looked me in the eyes and promised - no one had died tonight. I needed to believe him.

"Ovelia, calm down." Lady Firera’s voice cut through the haze in my mind, her mental tone firm yet gentle.

What was I doing? This was Ace - my husband, my mate. The man who’d risked himself to protect me. My fingers twitched at my sides before I suddenly brought both hands up, slapping my own cheeks with enough force to make my ears ring.

The sharp pain shocked me back to the present. My skin burned where I’d struck it. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

"Ovelia?" Mrs. Melinda’s wooden spoon clattered against the pot as she turned, her eyebrows knitting together. She wiped her hands on her apron, leaving damp streaks across the floral fabric. "What in the world—"

"Lady Ovelia!" Ann dropped the knife she’d been using to chop vegetables. It hit the cutting board with a loud clunk as she rushed to my side. Her fingers hovered near my face without touching. "Your cheeks are bright red!"

I forced a laugh that sounded brittle even to my own ears. "A mosquito bit both cheeks. I... got carried away." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

Mrs. Melinda’s eyes narrowed. She reached out, her fingers brushing my overheated skin. "There’s ice in the fridge," she said slowly. The doubt in her voice made my stomach twist.

"I’ll get it!" Ann was already moving, her practical maid instincts overriding her concern. She yanked the freezer door open with more force than necessary, the hinges protesting with a sharp squeak. "Mrs. Melinda, could you check the soup? I think it’s starting to bubble over."

"Oh! The soup!" Mrs. Melinda whirled back to the stove, her skirt swishing around her ankles as she grabbed the wooden spoon.

Ann returned with ice cubes wrapped in a thin kitchen towel. The fabric was rough against my stinging cheeks as she pressed it gently to my skin. Her other hand steadied my shoulder, her grip firm yet comforting.

"So," she said, her voice light but with an undercurrent of seriousness, "these must have been some enormous mosquitoes to make you react like this." Her eyes searched mine, seeing too much as always.

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "It’s Ace. His shirt... I could smell blood on it." My voice cracked. "It brought everything back - the beatings, the locked closet, the way they’d—" I cut myself off, swallowing hard. My hands had started trembling again.

Ann’s expression softened. She adjusted the ice pack with careful fingers. "Listen to me," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Ace would tear the world apart before he let anyone hurt you. We all would." Her thumb brushed my cheekbone, wiping away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. "You’re not alone anymore."

I leaned into her touch, the ice forgotten as I pulled her into a tight embrace. Her arms came around me immediately, her familiar lavender scent wrapping around me like a shield. For the first time since seeing that bloodstain, I could breathe again.

When we finally pulled apart, Mrs. Melinda was tactfully stirring the soup with exaggerated focus. Ann gave my hand one last squeeze before retrieving the fallen ice pack.

As we moved to help with dinner preparations, something inside me shifted. The memories still ached, but no longer threatened to pull me under. I watched Ann humming as she reheated the leftover dishes, saw Mrs. Melinda taste-testing the soup with a critical eye, and thought of Ace upstairs washing away the evidence of tonight’s violence.

Now there are people I can lean on. And for them—for myself—I would learn to stand tall. The past couldn’t be changed, but the future? That was ours to shape. My hands steadied as I picked up a serving spoon, ready to face whatever came next.