A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 151: The Void and the Tremor

[Ann’s POV]

The moment the words "Flesh Hunters" left Gale’s lips, my heart didn’t just skip a beat—it seemed to freeze solid in my chest. A cold, primal jolt shot through me, unrelated to any external threat. Inside, my wolf didn’t growl in warning; she recoiled. It was a visceral, instinctive flinch, a desperate, animal urge to forget I had ever heard that term. The reaction was so profound, so unlike anything I’d felt from her before, that it left me disoriented. Why? Why does that name frighten the very core of me?

Lady Ovelia was clearly in distress, her face pale, her hands trembling. Sir Ace’s worry was a sharp, metallic scent in the air as he grabbed her wrist. Gale’s grumpy facade had shattered into genuine alarm. I wanted to move, to speak, to offer the comfort I’d seen her give others, but my body had turned to stone. My jaw felt locked, my tongue a heavy weight. When I looked down, I saw my own hand resting on the table, trembling with a fine, uncontrollable vibration. Each breath I tried to draw was shallow, catching in my throat as if the air had thickened into syrup.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Sir Ray. His face, usually so composed, was etched with deep concern as he watched Ovelia. But his General’s discipline held; he did not speak, perhaps understanding that too many voices would overwhelm her. Then, his gaze shifted. It landed on me. His orange eyes, sharp enough to detect a lie by scent, now saw the tremor in my hands, the rigidity in my posture.

"Ann," he whispered, his voice so low it was almost inaudible beneath the others’ worried murmurs. He leaned slightly closer. "Are you all right?" A pause as his eyes darted to my shaking hand. "You’re shaking."

He reached a hand toward mine, a gesture of brotherly concern. I flinched back instinctively, my fingers curling into a tight fist so hard my nails dug into my palms. The pain was a focus. Breathe. I forced myself to draw in a long, ragged breath that shuddered in my chest. My hand was still trembling, but I willed it to move. I reached for the ceramic water pitcher, my grip clumsy. I poured water into a glass, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

"Lady Ovelia," I said, forcing the words out, making my voice as steady and clear as I could manage. I held the glass out to her. "Drink this. It will help you calm down."

She looked up at me. Her red eyes, still clouded with the aftermath of her vision, met mine. Sir Ace slowly released his grip on her wrist. Gale withdrew his hand from her shoulder. The space around her opened.

Lady Ovelia took the glass with one hand, the fairy stuffed toy still clutched in her other hand. She drank deeply, her throat working. When she lowered the glass, she offered me a faint, grateful smile. "Thank you, Ann."

As she spoke, as that small smile touched her lips, something shifted inside me. The violent trembling in my hand ceased, all at once. The constriction around my chest loosened, allowing a full, clean breath to fill my lungs. The inexplicable, formless terror that had gripped me at the sound of those three words receded, washed away by the simple, genuine warmth of her gratitude. It was as if she were a lit candle in a dark, cursed room, her mere presence pushing back the shadows that sought to claim me.

I managed to return her smile, a real one, small but sincere.

I turned back to Sir Ray. He would smell the lie, but the words had to be said. "I’m alright, Sir Ray," I whispered, my voice firmer now. "I think I was just... more tired than I realized. Thank you for your concern." He studied my face a moment longer. It was a flimsy excuse, and we both knew it. But he was a man who understood the need for privacy in one’s battles. He gave a slow, accepting nod, though the concern never fully left his eyes.

[Gale’s POV]

The turbulent storm of secondhand emotions that had been churning in my gut—the profound sadness, the icy anger, the clutching fear—finally subsided. The bond quieted, settling into Ovelia’s usual, steady warmth with only a faint, lingering ripple. So she’s regained her composure.

"Sorry for worrying everyone, my head just started to hurt," Ovelia said, placing the empty water glass back on the table. She offered us all that same brave, practiced smile. "But I’m okay now."

How can she smile like that when she doesn’t feel happy? The disconnect between her expression and the echoes I’d just felt was jarring. It was a skill born of a lifetime of hiding.

"Ovelia," I said, drawing her attention. She looked at me, her red eyes still holding traces of the storm. "Do you know something about the Flesh Hunters?"

I felt it immediately through the bond—a fresh surge of that deep, old sadness, and beneath it, a spark of sharp, personal anger. The name meant something to her, even if she didn’t know the facts.

"I’ve just... heard that word before," she said, her gaze dropping to the condensation on her water glass. "But I don’t personally know who they are." Her voice was carefully neutral.

I didn’t think she was lying consciously. But her emotional reaction was a truth in itself. Why does that name carve such a deep wound in her?

"I’ve never heard the term before," Ace stated, his brow furrowed. "It wasn’t in any historical text I studied, nor was it taught in the royal academies."

"I have heard the words ’Flesh Hunters’ before," Ray stated, and we all turned to him. His expression was distant, combing through old memories. "It was before our grandfather died. He was speaking of it with our father in his private study. I was eavesdropping at the door." A faint, wry twist touched his lips. "But he caught me before I could hear what it meant. He was... furious. I’d never seen him look so grim. He forbade me from ever repeating the words." 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"Back in Elphame," I said, reclaiming the thread, "I read about them in a... let’s say, a heavily plagiarized and hidden text. A forbidden book. And the term appeared in a vision I had in that dark alley—a vision that hit me so hard I nearly collapsed."

"So that’s the vision you mentioned?" Ovelia asked, her voice laced with renewed worry for me, even after her own episode.

I nodded. "The Flesh Hunters existed centuries ago. And they wore masks. Like the men you are now pursuing." I let that connection hang, watching it land. Ray, Ace, and Ovelia all leaned in, their expressions hardening into masks of serious intent. Ann, however, kept her eyes fixed on the cooling soup in her bowl, her posture rigid.

"They were an organization dedicated to capturing and killing magical beings," I continued, the words from the crumbling pages of the stolen tome coming back to me. "Werewolves, elves, fairies, witches. Flesh hunters used specialized blades and... guns... infused with dark mana." I watched the shock register on their faces—Ace’s sharp inhale, Ray’s hardening stare, Ovelia’s hand flying to her mouth. "They were not hunters of animals. They were butchers of magical beings."

"Do you have any other information?" Ray pressed, leaning forward. "Their motive? Why they targeted all magical beings?"

I shook my head, frustration tingeing my own voice. "The book was incomplete, pages missing, information scrambled. I have no further details on their origins or their ultimate goal."

"You said they existed centuries ago," Ace mused, his strategic mind working. "But if they were such a significant threat, why is there no record of them in our official histories? Is it because they were eradicated over a century ago?"

"There’s also the distinct possibility," Ray said, his voice low, "that those in power—the kings and councils—know exactly what they were and have deliberately suppressed the knowledge. Our late grandfather knew. Our father almost certainly knows."

"Is there any chance... they also killed humans?" Ovelia asked suddenly, her voice small.

The specificity of the question struck me. Why is that her concern?

"I don’t know," I answered honestly. "If King Raymond possesses that knowledge, you two should be the ones to demand answers from him." I looked from Ace to Ray.

"But what if it’s just a coincidence?" Ann’s voice cut through, sharper than I expected. She finally looked up, her black eyes challenging. "The men we’re after wear masks, yes. But they are only collecting spent black magic restraints. We have received no reports of werewolves, witches, fairies or elves being slaughtered en masse. The evidence doesn’t match the legend."

"What if," I countered, holding her gaze, "they are collecting those restraints to harvest the mana inside? To power the specialized weapons I just described? It might not be a coincidence, after all, in Meadowlark Village Ray found out that the production of firearms has quietly begun again. It might be a piece of the same ugly puzzle."

I could see the argument forming on her lips, the logical counterpoint. But she bit it back, her jaw clenching shut. Something was wrestling inside her.

Curiosity, and a growing suspicion, prompted me to act. I focused a tiny, careful thread of my remaining mana and activated my fairy sight, just for a second. The world gained a translucent, overlapping layer of energy and color. Ace and Ray glowed with the faint, steady silver-blue current of werewolf mana, just as I’d described—a small but vibrant stream. Ovelia shone with a warm, golden radiance, her core a deep, controlled crimson—Firera’s essence.

But Ann...

My breath caught. Around her, a dark, smoky aura pulsed—not like the clean shadow of a werewolf, but something denser, hungrier. Unlike the first time I’d seen it back in Meadowlark Village, it was now expanding slowly, like ink bleeding in water. And within that aura, I could see... nothing. No discernible mana signature. It was a void. A seal. It was as if her very life force was locked away behind that growing darkness.

I had thought it was just a curse, but this sight confirmed a fear I hadn’t wanted to name. Yet, in that moment, a part of me still hoped this mutt was merely cursed.

"Ann," I said, my voice dropping, losing its edge for something more grave. "Have you ever heard of the Thaumamorphs?"

Her entire body went rigid. A violent, full-bodied tremor wracked her frame, worse than before. The glass she was holding rattled against the table. All the color drained from her face, leaving her as pale as parchment. Her black eyes, wide with a terror that went far beyond fear of a mere name, locked onto mine. She didn’t speak. She just couldn’t.