The Lycan King Faceless Mate

19

Margot

The car pulled up to a massive glass structure set back from the main avenue. I sat straight in my seat, staring up at the tiered stone terraces and the sleek line of vehicles parked along the curved driveway. I had never crossed the bridge into the northern district before today. This was the kind of architecture that only existed on the glossy pages of magazines the older pack girls brought back from the city.

Dorian cut the engine. “We are here.”

I kept my face toward the glass, tracking a group of people dressed in tailored suits walking through a set of high glass doors.

Dorian shifted in his seat to look at me. “What? Why are you staring like that?”

“Where is the restaurant?” I asked, keeping my tone tentative.

He gave me a puzzled look. “This is the restaurant.”

I turned my head slowly to meet his gaze. “What?”

“I own this place,” he said, reaching for his door handle. “Come on, let’s go.”

My grip tightened on the strap of the garment bag in my lap. The Lycan King didn't just hold territory; his reach extended straight into the human commercial sectors.

I waited in the passenger seat until Dorian walked around the front of the Mercedes and pulled my door open. He extended his palm. I placed my hand in his, stepping out onto the clean ground, but his fingers tightened around mine for a brief second. A sharp line formed between his brows as his gaze dropped to our joined hands.

“What is it?” I asked, drawing my hand back slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, pulling his hand away and shoving it into his coat pocket. “Nothing. Don’t mind me.”

He led the way through the glass entrance. The staff didn't offer menus or ask for a name; they simply guided us to a private alcove in the back, shielded by low wooden panels. A waiter appeared immediately, pouring water into heavy crystal glasses before looking toward Dorian.

Dorian ordered two starters without looking up, then glanced across the small table at me. “What would you like for the main course?”

“I want to try whatever the kitchen does best,” I said.

He gave a short nod to the waiter, who disappeared behind a velvet curtain.

While we waited, Dorian pulled a sleek phone from his pocket. A low chime sounded, and his thumb flicked across the screen. I kept my eyes on him, tracking the shift in his posture. The relaxed tilt of his shoulders vanished. His jaw went rigid, his teeth clamping together as he stared at the display.

The silence between us stretched until the waiter returned, setting down two small plates of seared meat. Neither of us moved.

Dorian slowly lowered the phone onto the table, face up, though the screen had already gone dark. He raised his head, his cold grey eyes locking onto mine with a flat, unreadable intensity.

“Are you sure you are the one?”

Luciens’ pov

The truck engine cut out, leaving the front yard in complete shadow. I stepped onto the gravel, staring up at the unlit windows of the house. Not a single light filtered through the glass.

"Where is she?" I adjusted my jacket, keeping my eyes fixed on the porch. "Do you think Margot is even home?"

Richard closed his door with a dull thud. "It’s past midnight, Lucian. Where else would she be?"

I didn't move toward the porch right away. The stillness of the place ground at my nerves. "Every light is out, Richard. That isn't like her."

He waved a hand dismissively, stepping past me. "You're reading too much into it. She’s probably asleep."

I followed him up the steps, the wood creaking under our boots. Richard reached out and knocked on the wooden door, but the impact sent it swinging inward. The lock hadn't caught. We exchanged a look, the silence between us instantly sharpening, before we moved inside.

The living room was stripped of life. We moved through the dark space, checking the kitchen, then the bedrooms, finding nothing but empty corners. In the kitchen, the sink was piled high with crusty, dried plates, and the countertop held a couple of greasy pots. I pulled the fridge open; the yellow bulb illuminated nothing but a half-empty jar of condiments and an expired carton. Out the window, a basket of laundry sat forgotten on the grass.

Standing in the kitchen, the neglect of the house pulled me back two years. The morning the pack elders told me Margaux had crossed the border and vanished. Back then, I told myself it was the necessary outcome. A rejected mate couldn't stay in Ashmere, not while I took the Alpha seat with another woman beside me. I had expected her to fall in line, to accept the new dynamic for the sake of the pack. She’d looked at me then, asking if losing my closest companion meant nothing to me. I had shrugged it off, believing my twin sister’s presence would fill any void.

But the years since had proven how deeply I miscalculated. The pack's spirit seemed to leave with her; my father's health failed soon after, my mother left, and the stability we took for granted began to fracture.

Richard walked back into the kitchen from the rear exit, his shoulders tight. "The backyard is empty."

I let the fridge door click shut, staring at the dust settling on the table. "She didn't just go for a walk."

Richard rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to the floorboards. "Something feels off. Ever since Margaux left Ashmere, everything has felt muted. My senses... it's like tracking through mud. It's gotten worse tonight."

"That doesn't make sense," I said, leaning against the counter. "Margaux's binding ceremony was powerful enough to anchor the line."

"You made the choice to cut her twin sister loose," Richard said, his voice flat. "You wanted the title. This is what follows."

I narrowed my eyes. "We aren't debating the past. We're finding Margot."

We left the house behind and walked down the main road of the compound, knocking on the nearest doors. The neighbors who answered offered little more than confused glances and shrugged shoulders. None of them had seen her since the morning. Richard kept his hands shoved in his pockets, his jaw set as he tried to catch any lingering trace, but his frustration was obvious.

"I can't reach her mind link at all," he muttered.

Near the edge of the residential path, an older pack member paused as we approached, wiping his hands on a rag. "What's the urgency, Alpha?"

"We're looking for Margot," I said.

The man relaxed, tossing the rag over his shoulder. "Oh, she left hours ago. Saw her heading out toward the main road in a black dress. Looked like she had plans."

A slight shift of relief hit me, but the choice of attire didn't fit a casual evening. Before I could ask more, another man leaning against a fence nearby spoke up. "She wasn't alone, though. A sedan pulled up, and she got into the passenger side with a guy."

The first neighbor quickly nudged him, frowning. "Shut it, you don't know who that was."

I stared down the dark road leading out of Ashmere. She was alive, but she was gone, and she hadn't gone alone.