A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 156: Aftermath and Affection

[Ace’s POV]

I held Ovelia as she slept, her weight a perfect, trusted burden against my chest. Her whispered confession—"I love you..."—still echoed in the silent spaces of my mind, a fragile, radiant ember in the gloom of the evening’s horrors. A fierce, possessive joy surged through me, so potent it made my blood hum. My wolf, Fenrir, stirred with a satisfied, rumbling purr deep within, his primal instinct to claim her, to make the bond absolute, rising to a near-overwhelming crescendo. I closed my eyes for a long moment, focusing on the steady rhythm of her breathing against me, using it as an anchor to leash the wild impulse. Not now. Not here. Not with an audience.

I heard Ray exhale a long, slow sigh. I opened my eyes to find him watching me, his orange gaze thoughtful. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"She just confessed," he stated, his voice quiet, devoid of judgment.

I met his look. "I heard." 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

"What will you do?" he asked. It wasn’t a challenge, but the question of a strategist assessing the next move.

"I need to fulfill my promise to Eliana first," I said, the words feeling both necessary and hollow. "I need to see her. To settle things. Properly." It was a debt of honor, a closed Chapter that needed its final sentence written before a new one could begin.

Ray watched me for a second, then gave a single, slow nod. A small, approving smile touched his lips—not happy about the situation, but acknowledging the necessity. He understood duty.

My gaze shifted to Gale. The fairy was methodically working his way through the remaining food, his movements deliberate, as if concentrating on each bite could block out the world. "Gale, aren’t you full yet?" I asked, the mundane question a feeble attempt to normalize the atmosphere. He didn’t look up. "Do you want me to order more?"

He finally swallowed, setting his chopsticks down with a soft click. "No need. I’m just... savoring it. In my natural size, I can only finish a cupcake’s worth. This," he gestured vaguely at the spread, "is a feast." He finally looked at me, his gray eyes sharp. "Also, Ovelia’s asleep, right? In that position, with her face pressed like that, she’ll have trouble breathing. Fix it."

I looked down. He was right. She was slumped forward, her face buried in the wool of my tunic, her neck at an awkward angle.

"Ace, you’re going to wake her," Ray cautioned softly.

"No, I won’t," I said, confidence in the feel of her deep, even slumber. I slid my hands carefully to her waist. With slow, gentle pressure, I lifted her—she was surprisingly light—and settled her onto my lap so she was facing me, her legs dangling over the side of mine. I guided her head to rest against my left shoulder, tucking it securely into the crook of my neck. Then I wrapped my arms around her back, holding her firmly against me, supporting her entire weight. It was a more intimate, encompassing hold.

"Hey, what’s with that awkward position?" Gale grumbled, pointing at me with his chopsticks. "She’s not a child, you know."

"I know that," I said, meeting his gaze steadily over the top of Ovelia’s head. My voice dropped, but it was firm. "But she is my wife. And she is my fated mate. I want her to feel safe. Here. In my arms." The words felt foreign and true at the same time.

"What a corny statement," Gale muttered, turning his attention back to his bowl with a dismissive shake of his head. "I didn’t know you had it in you to say things like that."

"I’m surprised, too," Ray chimed in, a genuine, amused grin spreading across his face.

"Just shut up, both of you," I muttered, but I could feel the tell-tale heat burning at the tips of my ears. I focused on the feel of Ovelia’s soft hair against my cheek.

Gale fished the last coil of noodles from the pot. "When she wakes up," he said, his tone flat and utterly serious, "don’t ask her anything."

"Why not?" I asked, my protective instincts bristling. I needed to know what had hurt her.

"If you don’t want to see her look like a broken doll again, make her believe it was all a bad dream. Nothing more." His gaze was unwavering, leaving no room for argument. He then turned to Ray, his manner abruptly practical. "Ray, do you want the last mushroom?"

"No, I’m full. Thank you," Ray replied, his eyes narrowing slightly at Gale’s sudden shift.

"Did you just ask Ray for permission?" I couldn’t help the note of shock in my voice. It was such an un-Gale-like gesture.

Gale shot me a withering glare. "Let me make this clear," he said, his voice dry. "I am fully aware that I am grumpy. But I am not greedy." With that, he speared the last mushroom and ate it.

A faint smile touched my lips, but it vanished as quickly as it came. I looked down at Ovelia’s sleeping form, at the faint, worried crease still visible between her brows even in sleep. What had just happened to her? Was the instinct Fenrir and I shared correct? That the entity—the presence that had made us forget her in Timberline—still lingered within her somehow, and that was what had triggered this episode?

But even if I asked Gale directly, I was certain he would deflect, evade, or simply refuse to answer. Some truths, it seemed, were buried too deep for easy digging, and the questions would have to remain, for now, like stones in my gut.

[Ray’s POV]

I watched Gale as he meticulously cleaned his bowl, his earlier intensity banked back into his usual gruff exterior. A dozen questions clamored in my mind—about the ’pest’ he had mentioned, about what had happened to Ovelia. But I forced them down. Pressing him now would yield nothing but more evasion. Some answers only reveal themselves when the ground is ready to receive them.

My gaze drifted to Ace. He was staring out the darkened window, his hand moving in slow, absent circles on Ovelia’s back—a gesture of such unthinking tenderness it made something tighten in my chest. For so long, he had cloaked his feelings in duty and denial, but now the lock was broken. His affection for her was a constant, visible force, spilling out in every protective glance and careful adjustment. It was there in the quiet, unwavering certainty with which he’d said, "my wife and my fated mate." This vulnerability, once a weakness he would have hidden, was now the armor he wore. He was no longer just protecting a ward; he was cherishing his fated mate.

I looked back at Gale. He was wiping his mouth with a cloth, his meal finished.

"Why?" he said abruptly, not looking at me, as if he could sense the weight of my unspoken inquiry.

I decided to go for one of the many. "Thaumamorphs," I said, keeping my voice low and even. "Tell me what you know about them."

He finally lifted his head, his gray eyes meeting mine. They held a weary frustration, as if he’d been hoping to avoid this very topic. He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a long, slow sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a century.