A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 138: Shadows and Debt

[Shin’s POV]

I kept my gaze fixed on Zane, refusing to be the first to look away. After a long, silent moment, he met my stare, his black eyes holding no warmth, only the flat assessment of a man who had just spent hours dismantling minds.

"The stray werewolf bandits and the witches you surrendered here," Zane began, his voice carrying the same dry, efficient tone he might use to report on prison supplies, "possess no knowledge of an active gun production operation. They all believe guns were banned and wiped out ages ago. Which, officially, is true."

The first lead, cold. I pressed on. "What about the mass collection of mana stones?"

"The strays confirmed that," Zane replied with a slight nod. "The stones were included in their general loot from raids on trade caravans and remote mining outposts. The witches then purchased the stones from them. The intended purpose, according to the witches, was for the fabrication of black magic restraints."

"Do you interrogated them about the reason for producing those restraints?" Kai interjected, his voice tense beside me. "And did you gain any information on the men commissioning them—the ones wearing masks?"

"Of course," Zane said, a flicker of something like professional irritation crossing his features. Did he think we doubted his thoroughness? "The stray werewolves only knew that black magic restraints existed because of the green-haired witch you previously mentioned—the one who has since escaped, or was perhaps kidnapped by the masked men. When I questioned the witches, their reason was singular: a huge sum of money. The masked man is the sole commissioner. They are contractors, not conspirators."

"That’s exactly what the green-haired witch told us when we questioned her with Sir Ace and General Ray," Kai whispered, his shoulders slumping slightly in disappointment.

"If only General Ray were here," Zane mused, a faint, almost wistful smile touching his lips. It was a disturbing expression on him. "With his particular... talent for discerning truth, I could have verified their statements with absolute certainty. And I suspect he might have even enjoyed assisting with the more persuasive stages of the interrogation." The smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. "Regardless, I pressed the witches on the masked man’s affiliation. What organization does they represent? The answer from all of them was uniform: they do not know. They accepted the commission anonymously, for the money."

"It looks like the green-haired witch is the only one who knows anything substantive," I muttered, the frustration a sour taste in my mouth. She was the lynchpin, and she was gone.

"If you manage to find that green-haired witch," Zane said, his voice dropping into a pleasant, conversational tone that was far more terrifying than any growl, "please do deliver her to me. I would be happy to... reacquaint her with our methods. Until she has nothing left to hide, or nothing left of herself."

"Suit yourself," I said, brushing aside his grisly offer. The bitterness of wasted time sharpened my words. "We’ve wasted a day traveling and waiting for information we already possessed."

"Thank you for your time and for the confirmation, Warden Asher," Kai said, ever the diplomat, offering a respectful half-bow of his head.

Zane acknowledged it with a slight incline of his own head, his smile returning. It was a perfect, polite curve of the lips that didn’t touch the cold calculation in his eyes. Not even a little.

"Zane," I said, turning to leave but pausing. "I need a horse. One of yours. The kind that runs fast and doesn’t tire before moon-high."

"Of course," he replied smoothly. "And the payment?"

"Kai," I said, jerking my thumb in the lieutenant’s direction without looking back. "He’ll cover it."

"What?" Kai sputtered, his composed facade cracking. "You know the bandits took most of my personal money! My purse is lighter than a feather!"

"And mine too," I shot back, finally turning to give him a flat stare. I then looked past him to Zane. "Charge it to the Crimsonheart Kingdom’s treasury. Official peacemaker travel expenses." Without waiting for an argument or an agreement, I turned on my heel and started walking down the stark corridor.

I was certain all the kingdoms were now aware of the black magic restraints circulating. But the guns... and the organized, masked operatives commissioning them... that was new intelligence. Fresh, dangerous, and still shrouded. I had no doubt Ace or Ray had already sent a carrier pigeon streaking back to Silverhowl with this update. I could only hope their group was faring better than we were. They’re probably in Meadowlark Village by now, gathering intel.

[Kai’s POV]

I watched Shin’s retreating back, his impatient energy seeming to ripple the torch-lit air in the corridor. I turned back to Zane, who was watching the same departure with an unreadable expression.

"I’ll have a messenger sent to the kingdom at first light to arrange for the payment to be delivered here," I said, forcing a tone of apologetic professionalism. "My apologies. Shin is... a profoundly impatient individual."

"It’s alright," Zane replied, his voice devoid of any real feeling. He reached for the heavy door to the interrogation chamber. "I’m used to it." He pushed the door open a crack, and a faint, metallic scent—blood and ozone—wafted out again. "Be careful on your journey back to Crimsonheart. It’s full night now. The roads between here and there are favorite lurking grounds for the kind of men who end up in my care."

"Thank you for the warning," I said, bowing my head once more. The gesture felt necessary, a ward against the pervasive coldness of this place.

"I’m just doing my job," he stated, as if that explained everything. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Take care, Lieutenant." With that, he slipped back inside the room of torment, closing the door with a soft, definitive thud that echoed in the now-silent hall.

I walked quickly, my own footsteps loud in my ears, following the path back through the clean, grim halls of Shadow Ridge, past the silent cells, and out into the receiving yard. The night air outside was shockingly fresh, cold and clean, scented with pine and damp earth from the surrounding mountains. It felt like emerging from a tomb.

A small group of my men from the Crimsonheart 2nd Division were waiting patiently by our wagon, their faces alert in the moonlight. Shin was already there, tightening the girth strap on a sleek, powerful-looking black horse. The horse stamped a hoof, its breath pluming in the cold air. Mon the monkey was perched on the saddle’s pommel, chittering softly.

"I’m heading back to Crimsonheart as well," Shin announced. His tone was matter-of-fact, as if stating the obvious. "I need to replenish my supplies. And get my travel allowance." He finally glanced at me, and the unspoken accusation was clear: This detour and the lost coin are your fault. And he wasn’t wrong.

I didn’t argue. I simply nodded and climbed up onto the wagon’s driver seat, taking the reins from one of my men. "Let’s move out," I called, my voice carrying in the quiet mountain night. "Back to Crimsonheart Kingdom. Stay sharp, eyes on the tree lines. It’s night, and bandits could be anywhere." My men nodded, their hands going to their weapons as they mounted up or took their positions on the wagon.

Shin swung up onto the black horse with easy grace. With a click of his tongue, he guided the horse forward, falling in beside the wagon as we began the slow, rattling descent down the winding mountain road from the prison. Mon scrambled to sit in front of him, small hands gripping the horse’s mane.

I looked up. The sky was a vast, deep velvet, speckled with countless stars. And there, dominating the heavens, was the moon—not just a crescent, but a perfect, luminous full moon. It glowed with a cold, brilliant silver light, so bright it cast sharp shadows and painted the rocky path ahead in monochrome clarity. It was a traveler’s moon, lighting the way.

Right now, I thought, the image clear in my mind, Ace and Ray are probably arguing about something trivial. Ann is standing watch, a silent shadow. And Ovelia... I pictured her maybe trying a sweet festival treat, her red eyes wide with simple pleasure, safe within their circle. They’re all at the Meadowlark music festival, the lanterns glowing, music filling the air. I let out a long, weary sigh, the sound lost in the creak of the wagon and the clop of hooves. The tension of the prison, the disappointment of the dead end, it all settled into a dull fatigue. I wanted to be there too, to hear the music and smell the food, to have a single night where the weight of kingdoms and conspiracies felt far away.

But the festival would surely be over by the time we reached the village. Our path was a dark road under a bright, lonely moon, leading only back to duty and more unanswered questions.