The Lycan King Faceless Mate

17

Margot

The stranger by the bridge stood with a posture that didn’t belong to these docks. His trousers had a sharp, tailored crease, and his dark shirt hung with the heavy drape of expensive silk. My eyes tracked down from his shoulders to his wrist.

The metal band of his watch caught the gray light.

Lucian used to keep a magazine clipping of that exact watch pinned to his wall, talking about the millions it cost and the waitlists required to even see one.

I looked back up at the man's face. A small silver ring pierced his bottom lip, contrasting with his sharp jawline and cold eyes. He was watching me, waiting for a reaction.

Everything clicked.

He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Margaux.

A heavy silence stretched between us until he finally broke it. “Have you remembered me now?”

I tilted my head, letting a slow, familiar mask settle over my features. “Yeah. I remember you.”

The tension in his shoulders dropped instantly. He stepped forward, closing the distance between us. “Yes. Finally. I woke up and you were gone. I searched everywhere.For months and now I found you.” He grinned

Four months of tracking a ghost. I kept my face blank, but my mind was already calculating the distance between the muddy pack village I was coming from and the kind of wealth standing right in front of me. If he cared enough to chase a memory for a third of a year, he was usable.

“Are you there?” he asked, his voice softening. “You’re just staring.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing the rough fabric wrapped around my shoulders.

I clamped my hand over the cloth, pulling it tighter to hide the heavy silver chain resting against my collarbone.

“I’m sorry,” I said, dropping my voice to a weary whisper. “I’ve been walking all morning. I’m just exhausted.”

“Come into the car,” he said, gesturing toward the sleek black Mercedes parked near the curb. “We can talk inside.”

Margaux wouldn't just get in. She was always cautious, always playing the timid dove. I took a deliberate step back, shaking my head. “I don’t go into strangers’ cars.”

His eyebrows lifted, a faint, amused line forming between them. “Strangers? We have something between us.”

I didn't answer. I simply turned my back and took two slow steps toward the path knowing fully well that he would chase me.

Predictably, heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me. A hand caught my arm, firm but careful, turning me back around.

“Hey.” He held my gaze. “My name is Dorian. Now you know it. I’m not a stranger anymore.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” I said, using the soft, breathy cadence my sister always used.

“Please,” he said, his hand dropping from my arm. “I won’t waste your time. Just give me a chance to talk to you. I don’t mean you any harm.”

I let a moment of hesitation hang in the air, looking down at the ground before nodding. “Okay fine but if you try anything stupid.” He raised his two hands up “I promise I won’t”

The interior of the Mercedes smelled of clean leather and nothing else. I sat low in the passenger seat, keeping my hands folded in my lap while he pulled out into the street. Up close, his authority was loud. It was in the way he steered with one hand, completely indifferent to the traffic around him.

“I want to invite you to dinner,” Dorian said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I want us to know each other again. I don't want to lose you a second time.” He paused, glancing over at me. “And I need your contact so I can get through to you in case this doesn’t go as planned.”

“I can’t give you that” I responded

“Why?” His eyes met mine

I looked out the window at the passing storefronts. “I don’t have a phone.”

The car slowed slightly. “You don’t?”

“No.”

He didn't need to know the old one was sitting at the bottom of a river three towns back.

Dorian veered the car toward a commercial strip, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “If you don’t mind, we'll stop here. I’ll get you one.”

My fingers twitched against my skirt, but I kept my voice flat. “No, I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You’re not,” he said, a small smirk touching his lips. “I already know you’re not someone who cares about money. I left something for you after that night, and you walked away from it. It made me want to understand you.”

I kept my stare fixed on the dashboard so he wouldn't see my eyes widen. Margaux had left money behind. The realization sent a cold jolt through me, followed quickly by a grim sort of amusement. My sister was even stupider than I thought, but her pride was about to pay my way out of the mud.

“Just let me help,” Dorian added, pulling into a parking space outside a glass-fronted shop. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go afterward.”

Ten minutes later, I was holding a heavy, metallic device that cost more than a year of labor in the pack lands. He entered his number, handed it back, and watched me slide it into my pocket.

“Now,” Dorian said as we got back into the car. He didn't start the engine this time. He turned fully in his seat, his grey eyes locking onto mine with a weight that made the air in the cabin feel thick. “I want to invite you to my home.”

I frowned, keeping the act alive. “Home? I thought we were going to a restaurant.”

“No.” His voice dropped an octave, scraping low and serious. “I know what you are to me. I know you’re my mate.”

The word hung between us, heavy and absolute. Mate, so this man over here is Margaux mate after Lucien rejected her? Perfect, the moon goddess knows why he saw me first before her, after all these years i will consider him as a blessing. “So where are we going to?” My lips curved

“My palace,” he finished.

The pieces fell into place with a deafening crash. The watch, the tailored clothes, the effortless power, and the name. Dorian Vale. The Lycan King of the 12 supernatural district.

The man who ruled the entire territory was sitting two feet away from me, looking for a girl who shared my face.

The fear that usually kept my shoulders tight vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp triumph. The pack village, the dirt, the running it was all gone in a single syllable.

I looked him dead in the eye, letting the timid act slip just enough to show a calm, steady resolve.

“Who am I to defy the Lycan king’s request? .”