A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 68: The Reunion

Ovelia’s POV

The forest air rushed past my face in cold streams as Ann’s powerful strides ate up the ground. Pine needles whipped at my cheeks, their sharp scent mixing with the damp earth churned up by Ann’s paws. My fingers ached from clinging to her fur, but I didn’t dare loosen my grip—not when every heartbeat brought us closer to—

"There!" Ann’s voice cut through the rushing wind, her ears pricking forward. "I see them!"

My breath caught. Between the swaying branches, three familiar silhouettes stood outlined against the flickering campfire glow. Ace’s broad shoulders tensed as he turned, his silver fur catching the moonlight like polished steel. Beside him, Ray’s orange-and-silver pelt shimmered like molten metal—my first proper look at him transformed. Despite everything, my chest swelled seeing them unharmed, standing tall against the darkness.

My breath hitched as Ann skidded to a stop, sending a spray of loose earth into the air. My legs shook as I slid from her back, the adrenaline making my knees nearly buckle. The moment my boots touched ground, three pairs of eyes snapped to us—Ace’s silver gaze burning with intensity, Ray’s orange eyes narrowing, Philip’s brows shooting up in disbelief.

Ace’s POV

Every muscle in my body went rigid. Ovelia’s scent—that unique warmth that was just her—hit me like a physical blow. My wolf surged forward, howling with equal parts relief and fury.

"What in the gods’ names—?" The words tore from my throat in a growl so deep it vibrated in my chest. My tail lashed behind me as I stormed forward. "Ann! You knew the danger! Why would you bring her here?"

Ray moved like shadow, his massive frame cutting between me and the women. Though his voice remained measured, the fur along his spine stood erect. "You’d better have carved this in stone before coming, because I swear—"

Philip stepped between us, daggers flashing as he spun them in warning. "You need to turn back. Now." His eyes darted toward the camp, where shadows moved between the tents.

Ovelia flinched as if struck, her small hands twisting in the fabric of her dress. Then she squared her shoulders and stepped forward, putting herself between Ann and our wrath. The sight of my sword hanging at her hip—the blade nearly as long as her torso—sent an odd pang through my chest.

"Don’t blame Ann," she said, her voice quivering but clear. "I forced her to bring me."

I inhaled sharply through my nose, the scent of her fear souring the air. Fragile. So damn fragile. "Then explain," I ground out. "What was worth risking your life?"

Ann placed a protective hand on Ovelia’s shoulder. "Milo came," she said, her claws flexing. "The king sent warning—a coven of witches marches here tonight to reinforce the bandits."

The forest seemed to tilt around me. Ray’s ears flattened against his skull. "Kala made it through then," he murmured.

Philip’s daggers stilled. "That changes things."

I squeezed my eyes shut, my claws biting into my palms until I smelled my own blood. The metallic tang grounded me. We’d been so close—the bandits within reach, the villagers nearly freed. Now this.

Ovelia’s small hand brushed my arm, her touch feather-light. "Please," she whispered. That single word held more weight than any battle cry.

When I opened my eyes, the determination in her gaze mirrored my own turmoil. The mission or their safety? The choice shouldn’t have been this hard.

Ray’s claws dug into my forearm, the sharp pressure snapping me back to the present. His orange eyes locked onto mine, steady as stone. "Focus," his gaze seemed to say. I inhaled deeply, the crisp forest air filling my lungs, pushing back the frustration simmering in my chest.

"Ann," Ray asked, his voice measured but edged with urgency, "did the letter specify the witches’ purpose?"

Ann’s ears twitched as she nodded. "They’re collecting the stolen goods—merchandise from traders, supplies from travelers." Her claws flexed at her sides. "And they plan to sell the captured werewolves at auction."

Philip groaned loudly, his shoulders slumping dramatically. "So not only do I not get my stolen gear back," he whined, kicking at a loose stone, "but I’m still horseless too?" His petulant tone made my claws extend involuntarily.

Ray and I shared another glance—this time with identical expressions of exasperation. I exhaled through my nose, forcing my jaw to unclench. "We’re not retreating," I said, my voice low but firm. "I gave my word to Chief Gareth. His people need us. The stolen goods must be recovered."

The distress on Ovelia’s face was like a physical blow. Her small hands clutched at my sword’s hilt, her knuckles pale. Before I could think better of it, I closed the distance between us and pulled her against my chest. Her familiar lavender scent mixed with the sharp tang of fear-sweat as she buried her face in my fur.

"You reckless, stubborn woman," I murmured into her hair, my arms tightening around her. "I should be furious you came here." My throat tightened. "But gods, I’m glad you’re safe."

Ovelia’s POV

The weight of Ace’s sword at my hip suddenly felt unbearable. His words cut deeper than any blade—not from anger, but from the raw concern lacing his voice. This was the agony of love I’d never anticipated: this constant, gnawing fear that the person who held your heart might never return.

I pressed closer, my fingers tangling in his silver fur. The soft strands slipped between my fingers like liquid moonlight. He smelled of pine and iron and something uniquely Ace—a scent that had become home. My husband. My prince. My future Alpha.

Ray and Philip stood like sentinels at his side. They would protect him. They had to.

Ace’s POV

Reluctantly, I loosened my grip and stepped back, my hand lingering on Ovelia’s head. "Ann," I said, meeting her gaze, "get her out of here. Now."

Ann’s jaw set in determination as she nodded.

Ovelia fumbled with my sword’s scabbard. "Ace, wait—" she began, her voice trembling.

An earsplitting shriek tore through the night—a mechanical, pulsing wail that set my teeth on edge. My ears flattened against my skull as I whirled toward the sound.

"What the hell—?" I snarled.

Philip stood frozen, his boot planted squarely on a glowing circular device. The panicked look on his face told me everything.

"Witch alarm!" I roared.

Philip opened his mouth to apologize, but the words were swallowed by an explosion of light. A massive fireball hurtled toward us, its orange glow painting the trees in hellish light.

Damn it!