The Lycan King Faceless Mate

18

Margot

Dorian leaned back against the leather seat, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the steering wheel. “Sit back down. You don't have to do that.” He studied my face, his eyes searching for something behind my expression. “You shouldn't just accept an invitation because of a title. If you want a restaurant first, we'll go to a restaurant. You can have whatever you need.” He paused, looking out the windshield before turning back to me. “But how do I reach you? I have your number now, but if I drop you off, where do I pick you up? Or will you just wait for me somewhere?”

“You don't need to drop me off or wait,” I cut in, keeping my voice soft but firm. “I’ll come to you. I’ll meet you right here at the same bridge. I won't run away.”

Dorian’s gaze hardened slightly, the skepticism clear in the line of his jaw. “For some reason, I don't trust you. Promise me you'll actually be here.”

I forced a reassuring nod, maintaining the gentle demeanor he expected from my sister. “I promise. I’ll be here. Besides, you have my number now. You can call.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, weighing my words, before finally shifting the car into drive. “Fine. But first, you need something else to wear.”

He drove to a high-end boutique in the commercial district. Inside, the racks were filled with bright silks and heavy velvet, but I bypassed them all and chose a simple, unadorned black dress. When Dorian asked if I wanted to use their salon for makeup and hair, the temptation to indulge pulled at me, but I clamped down on it. Margaux had never cared for luxury or spending a man's money. If I changed her personality too quickly, the illusion would shatter.

I shook my head, stepping away from the vanity mirrors. “No, thank you. The phone and the dress are already more than enough.”

Dorian watched me slide the garment bag over my arm. “At least let me know which neighborhood you're staying in.”

“I gave you my word about the bridge,” I said, offering a small, disciplined smile. “And I keep my promises.”

He sighed, pulling his keys from his pocket as we walked back to the sedan. “All right. I will wait for you by the bridge at six.”

I told him the southern district near the old boundary line would be fine for a drop-off, keeping the exact location of the pack house hidden. He drove me to the edge of the district, his lingering glances showing he still didn't entirely believe me, but he stopped the car and let me out.

I stood on the gravel shoulder, watching the black Mercedes accelerate toward the northern highway until its taillights disappeared. The moment he was out of sight, the submissive posture dropped from my shoulders. I spat into the weeds and let out a sharp hiss.

Three years of hiding, and my i***t sister had managed to run away from a second-chance mate who happened to rule the entire territory. Margaux always was a fool.

I turned and walked down the dirt path toward Silverwood Park. The pack house was entirely dark when I arrived, the gravel driveway empty. The grand setting was deceptive; ever since Alpha Lucien’s father died, the pack had been sliding into poverty, struggling to secure basic resources or sponsors. Tonight, the entire household had gone to a neighboring district for a regional vigil, leaving the corridors completely silent.

I hurried up the wooden stairs to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. The heavy black dress hit the bed, and I finally let out the laugh I’d been holding in since the docks. I was done with this muddy, stagnant territory. I was done watching Lucien and Richard scramble for scraps.

I filled the bathroom basin with water, washing away the dust from the roads, and began working on my reflection. I applied a sharp layer of red lipstick and pulled my hair up into a tight, elegant bun.

I paused, staring at the glass. My hand flew to my collarbone. If Dorian looked closely at the side of my neck, he would notice the lack of the faint, distinctive blemish Margaux had carried since childhood.

My fingers tore the pins from my hair, letting the dark strands fall back down around my shoulders. I plugged in the iron, straightening the lengths until they hung like a curtain down my back, completely obscuring my skin.

By the time I slipped out the back door, the sun had long set, and the first trucks from the vigil were rumbling back into the courtyard. I kept low, moving through the thick brush bordering the property until I broke onto the main road and hurried toward the bridge.

The Mercedes was already there, idling in the dark. The bright beams of the headlights cut through the gloom, casting long shadows across the wooden planks of the bridge.

I raised a hand as I approached. Dorian cut the high beams and stepped out of the driver's seat, his coat unbuttoned. “Hey. I thought you skipped out on me. I was about to start checking the local sectors.”

“You don't even know which pack I belong to,” I said, matching his casual tone as I reached the car. “You only know the southern district.”

“If I want to find someone in my territory, I find them,” he replied, though the tension in his forehead cleared. “I just assumed you’d changed your mind.”

I gave him a dry look. “I’m not stupid enough to break a promise to the Lycan King. That seems like a bad survival strategy.”

Dorian shook his head, a faint trace of irritation crossing his face. “Stop with the title. If I’d known it was going to make you this defensive, I wouldn't have mentioned it yet.”

“You were establishing boundaries,” I said, stepping closer to the passenger door. “You got your point across. Now, are we going to dinner or are we going to stand by the river all night?”

He didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched as he reached past me to pull the heavy car door open. I stepped inside, the leather warm against my skin, and waited for the engine to roar to life.