A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 57: Close Call

•Kitchen•

Ace’s POV

The kitchen door swung open with a soft creak, revealing Ovelia, Ann and Mrs. Melinda elbow-deep in soapy water. Three pairs of hands froze mid-scrub as our sudden entrance startled them. Ovelia’s wet fingers dripped onto her apron, leaving dark spots on the fabric as her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. The sharp scent of lemon soap hung thick in the air.

Mrs. Melinda’s soapy sponge plopped back into the basin. "What in the—" she began, her voice rising before I pressed a finger to my lips. Understanding flashed across their faces, and without another word, they resumed washing, though their movements became more deliberate, quieter.

I jerked my chin toward the large spice rack in the corner - its shelves crammed with jars of herbs and dried vegetables. Ray moved first, his boots silent on the stone floor as he ducked behind the shelves. Philip followed with considerably less grace, knocking his elbow against a hanging pot with a dull clang that made us all wince.

"Why here?" Philip hissed, brushing dust from his sleeve. His nose wrinkled at the strong aroma of dried herbs surrounding us. "The storage room has actual doors!"

I crouched lower, the wooden shelf digging into my shoulder. "We need to hear Khaleed’s conversation with the Chief," I whispered. The rough grain of the shelf pressed into my palm as I steadied myself.

Philip rolled his eyes. "If that traitor walks in here, he’ll spot us immediately," he muttered, picking at a splinter in the wood.

I shook my head, peering through the gaps between spice jars. The distorted view showed Ovelia’s back still turned at the sink, her shoulders tense. "He won’t look this way," I murmured confidently.

Ray stiffened suddenly, his hand clamping down on my forearm. "The wagon," he breathed, his orange eyes widening. "It’s still out front."

My stomach dropped. I smacked my palm against my forehead hard enough to sting. "Damn it," I growled through clenched teeth.

Philip’s quiet chuckle vibrated through the cramped space. "Relax," he said, a smug tilt to his mouth. "I covered it with that old tarp and moved it beside the house. Your horses didn’t even fuss." He puffed out his chest slightly. "They’re surprisingly well-mannered."

Ray clapped Philip on the back with a soft thump. "Because they’re properly trained," he said, then added with genuine warmth, "Good thinking."

A knot of tension loosened in my chest. For all his bluster, Philip had proven reliable when it counted.

"You know," Philip whispered sharply, his earlier pride twisting into something bitter, "it would’ve been nice if you’d backed me up earlier when I told them I’m actually a merchant spy. Now they all think I’m joking."

I bit back a sigh. Of course he’d bring that up now. The scent of dried rosemary tickled my nose as I turned to face him. "That’s exactly what a good spy would want," I pointed out, keeping my voice low. "No one suspects the court jester."

Philip opened his mouth to retort when the front door’s hinges screamed in protest. Our heads snapped toward the sound in unison. The heavy thud of boots on hardwood echoed through the house, followed by Khaleed’s gravelly voice calling out for Chief Gareth.

•Dining Area•

Gareth’s POV

The sharp rap of knuckles against wood echoed through the house. "Chief Gareth! You in there?" Khaleed’s familiar gravelly voice called from the doorway. The door creaked open before I could answer, revealing his stocky frame silhouetted against the moonlight. Ace’s warning rang in my ears - this was exactly who we’d expected.

"Khaleed," I said, rising from my chair with deliberate calm. The wooden legs scraped against the floorboards. "It’s late. What brings you out tonight?" I kept my voice even, but made sure to inject just enough concern to sound natural.

Khaleed’s eyes darted around the room, lingering on the empty chairs and half-finished meals. His nostrils flared slightly as if searching for something. "Chief," he began, his words measured, "I checked the northern road earlier. No bodies. No wrecked wagons." He rubbed his jaw. "Looks like those outsiders made it out of Thunoa safely."

My fingers tightened around my tankard. The way his mouth twisted at the words ’safely’ sent ice down my spine. This wasn’t relief in his voice - it was bitter disappointment.

"That’s... good news," I said slowly, watching his face closely. The candlelight flickered across his features, revealing a tightness around his eyes. "But you don’t sound pleased about it."

•Kitchen•

Ace’s POV

From our hiding spot behind the spice rack, I watched Khaleed’s every movement through the kitchen doorway. The man’s posture was all wrong for someone delivering good news - shoulders hunched, jaw clenched.

Philip’s breath hit my ear, warm and agitated. "He wanted to find our corpses," he whispered, the words vibrating with barely-contained anger. His fingers twitched toward his own blade. "Why are we hiding? Let’s gut this traitor now."

I grabbed his wrist, my grip firm enough to make him wince. When he turned to protest, I fixed him with a glare that silenced him instantly.

"When you consider killing someone’s lifelong friend," I murmured, keeping my voice low enough that the clatter of dishes covered it, "think first. Remember what Gareth said? Khaleed’s like a brother to him."

Ray’s elbow dug into my ribs. "Shut it, both of you!" he hissed through clenched teeth. His orange eyes burned with warning. "That human’s ears are sharper than you think."

•Dining Area•

Gareth’s POV

Khaleed’s face went slack for a heartbeat, his pupils dilating before he recovered. The silence between us grew thick enough to choke on. His fingers twitched near his knife hilt, the leather of his belt creaking with the movement.

"Just stating facts, Chief." His voice came out too high, cracking on the last word. He cleared his throat and rubbed his neck. "I’m just exhausted—that’s why I might’ve sounded off about the good news."

I caught the way his left eyelid flickered when he lied, just like when we were boys stealing apples from Old Man Harkin’s orchard. His boots shuffled against the wooden floorboards, leaving scuff marks on the freshly cleaned surface.

"You look worn out," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "What kept you so busy today that you’re only now checking in?"

Khaleed’s entire body stiffened. His hand flew up to adjust his collar, fingers trembling against the fabric. Before I could press further, he suddenly stood so fast his chair screeched backward.

"Chief," he blurted, eyes darting toward the kitchen, "I think I heard something from in there. Let me check—"

My fingernails bit into my palms under the table. Every instinct screamed to stop him, but calling attention now would only confirm his suspicions.

"Go ahead," I managed, forcing my voice steady even as my pulse hammered in my throat. The floorboards groaned under Khaleed’s heavy steps as he marched toward the kitchen.

•Kitchen•

Ovelia’s POV

The last dish clattered into the drying rack as I stole a glance toward the spice rack. Ace’s silver eyes glinted from the shadows between jars of rosemary and thyme. My fingers tightened around the damp dishcloth.

The kitchen door swung open with a whine of hinges. Khaleed’s bulky frame filled the doorway, his beady eyes sweeping across us before settling on my face. A forced smile stretched his lips, revealing his teeth.

"Oh, there you are," he said, his voice dripping with false warmth. "Where are those traveling companions of yours?" His knuckles whitened where they gripped the doorframe.

My breath hitched. Before I could respond, Mrs. Melinda stepped forward, her floral apron swishing. She positioned herself between Khaleed and me, her spine straight as a sword.

"They’ve left the village this afternoon," she said smoothly, wiping her hands on a towel. The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Why the sudden interest in our guests?"

I marveled at how easily the lie rolled off her tongue. Ann edged closer to me.

"Mother," Ann piped up, her voice trembling just enough to sound convincingly worried. "Is Father alright? You look..." She trailed off, letting her wide eyes convey the rest.

Khaleed’s nostrils flared. "No need for concern," he said, the words coming too fast. "I checked the northern road—no bodies, no wreckage. Your men must’ve left safely." His grin didn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes.

I forced myself forward, reaching for Khaleed’s hand. "Thank you for easing my worries," I said, pouring every ounce of sincerity I could muster into my voice. My thumb brushed over his knuckles. "I’d been so afraid..."

For a heartbeat, his fingers flexed against mine. Then he pulled away abruptly, his boots thudding against the floor as he retreated. "It’s getting late; I need to go." he muttered before disappearing into the kitchen.

The moment the door clicked shut, our shoulders slumped in unison. Mrs. Melinda’s knees buckled slightly before she caught herself on the counter. Ann’s breath came in shaky little gasps against my shoulder.

"He believes it," I whispered, pressing a hand to my pounding heart. The shared relief between us was almost tangible, wrapping around us like a warm blanket. Mrs. Melinda’s lips quirked upward, and suddenly we were stifling giggles like children, the tension dissolving into quiet, giddy laughter.

Behind the spice rack, I heard a soft thump—likely Philip bumping his head in relief. The sound only made us laugh harder, our mirth a fragile but defiant light against the looming shadows of danger.

Ace’s POV

The tension drained from my shoulders as we saw he left the kitchen. Philip exhaled loudly, his breath stirring the dust motes floating near the spice rack. His fingers flexed as if he were already imagining wrapping them around Khaleed’s throat.

"Finally!" Philip hissed, rolling his stiff shoulders. "If he finds us here, behind this shelf, I won’t hesitate—" He mimed a sharp chopping motion with his hand. "I’ll knock him out, tie him up, and stash him in the storage room."

Ray snorted softly beside me, his orange eyes glinting with amusement. I pressed my lips together to suppress a smirk, knowing Philip’s bravado was mostly bluster. The wooden shelf creaked as we shifted from our cramped positions.

Khaleed’s muffled voice carried from the dining area: "Chief, everything seems normal with the women." His boots scuffed against the floorboards. "I’ll take my leave now."

"Travel safely," Chief Gareth responded, his deep voice steady. The front door hinges groaned open, then clicked shut with finality.

We emerged from behind the spice rack, my joints protesting after being folded in hiding for so long. Ovelia stood by the washbasin, her fingers still dripping soapy water onto the floor. Her red eyes were wide with unasked questions. Beside her, Ann clutched a dishtowel so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Only Mrs. Melinda appeared composed, though her grip on the countertop betrayed her nerves.

Ray ducked his head slightly, his usual confidence tempered with genuine remorse. "We owe you an apology," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Putting you in that position wasn’t fair."

Mrs. Melinda waved a dismissive hand, her wedding band glinting in the lantern light. "Nonsense," she said, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "When three warriors hide from one man, we knew enough to play along."

Ovelia’s lips curved into a small smile that sent warmth spreading through my chest. I couldn’t resist teasing them. "You three should take to the stage," I said, grinning. "That performance was worthy of Silverhowl’s royal theater."

Philip nodded vigorously, his earlier bravado replaced by open admiration. "I believed every word! Especially Ann’s ’Is Father alright?’" He mimicked her quivering tone with surprising accuracy.

The kitchen door swung open, revealing Chief Gareth’s broad frame backlit by the dining room’s firelight. "Khaleed’s gone," he announced. "Let’s proceed discussing our plan."

Ray and I exchanged a glance as we followed him out. My pulse quickened with each step toward the dining table.

Soon—very soon—we would complete our mission.