The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 18: The Delivery

Natalie~

My legs felt like jelly as I stumbled after the masked man, my breath hitching with every step. The image of Timothy's massive wolf form crumpling to the ground replayed in my mind, each detail vivid and terrifying. This man—this stranger—had taken down Timothy with a single blow. What could he do to ? The thought made my stomach churn. My instincts scread at to run, but I knew better. One wrong move and he might crush just as effortlessly.

The alley gave way to the bustling city streets, but the life around felt like an illusion. People moved about, cars honked, and streetlights blinked, yet no one paid attention to the masked man leading a trembling girl through the crowd. I scanned faces desperately, hoping soone would notice my silent plea for help. Nothing. No one even glanced my way.

When we stopped beside a sleek black car, my pulse quickened. He opened the passenger door and gestured for to get in. "In," he said, his deep voice as commanding as ever.

I hesitated, my heart hamring in my chest. "W-Where are we going?" I stamred, my voice sounding sheepish.

"Get in," he repeated, this ti more firmly.

A lump ford in my throat. I imagined his hand snapping out, dragging in by force, just as he had handled Timothy. Swallowing hard, I climbed into the seat, the soft leather cold against my skin.

The man rounded the car and slid into the driver's seat. As the engine roared to life, I instinctively reached for the door handle, considering escape. But the thought of his inhuman strength kept frozen as he drove off.

The dashboard clock read 10:35 PM, but the entire city was alive, buzzing with lights and sounds. Neon signs flashed outside the window, advertising everything from bars to theaters. Music blared faintly from sowhere nearby, mixing with the hum of traffic and the chatter of pedestrians.

It was so different from the quiet town Zane brought from or the controlled life of my forr pack. Here, people seed to move freely, unburdened by the rigid rules I'd grown up with. For a mont, I almost forgot about the man beside . Almost.

I stole a glance at him, his mask giving nothing away. His posture was relaxed, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his lap. He didn't speak, didn't even glance my way, and yet his presence filled the small space between us, making the air feel heavy. I wanted to ask who he was, why he was doing this, but fear clamped my lips shut.

Minutes passed in heavy silence before I finally gathered enough courage to speak. "W-Where are you taking ?"

He didn't look at . "To eat," he said simply.

I blinked. "What?"

"You need food," he replied, his voice matter-of-fact. "Then we'll get warm clothes and head to the night market."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Did I hear him right? My confusion deepened as he continued driving, offering no further explanation.

"What's your na?" I asked, my voice shaky.

He didn't answer.

"Can't you at least tell who you are?" I pressed, my frustration slipping through.

Still, silence.

True to his word, he pulled into the parking lot of a brightly lit McDonald's. The golden arches seed oddly out of place against the backdrop of the night, but the sight of it made my stomach growl. I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning at the hotel. And to eat at McDonald's? That was a dream co true, even though it was happening this way.

He parked the car and got out, walking around to open my door. "Co," he said, his voice leaving no room for argunt.

I reluctantly followed him inside, where the warm sll of fries and grilled burgers greeted . My stomach growled embarrassingly loud.

"Order," he said, gesturing to the counter.

I hesitated, glancing at the nu. "I don't have any money."

"I didn't ask if you had money," he replied curtly. "Order."

Too hungry to argue, I ordered a cheeseburger al. He didn't order anything for himself, which only made the situation stranger.

We sat down, and as I ate, I could feel his eyes on , unblinking and intense. It made my skin crawl, but hunger outweighed discomfort. I forced the food down, each bite chanical, all the while wishing I could sink into the plastic booth and disappear.

"Aren't you eating?" I finally asked, my voice small.

"No."

The one-word response was enough to shut up. I focused on my food.

When I finished, he stood without a word and motioned for to follow.

We drove again, the city lights blurring into streaks through the car window. My body was tense, every muscle coiled and ready to flee, but where would I go? The thought of him catching made my stomach churn.

The car eventually stopped outside a boutique, its glowing sign advertising late-night shopping. I hesitated at the door, but he gave a look that silenced my protests before they even began.

"Warm clothes," he said to the woman at the counter. "Good quality."

I shook my head, panic rising in my chest. "I don't need—"

"Take her," he interrupted, his voice sharp as steel.

The woman nodded and guided toward the dressing rooms. My protests fell on deaf ears, and before I knew it, I was trying on thick sweaters, jeans, boots, and jackets.

The outfit I settled on was simple yet practical: a soft cream sweater, dark blue jeans that fit snugly, and brown ankle boots. The jacket was a deep forest green, lined with fleece for warmth.

When we returned to the counter, the man surveyed with a single nod. "How much?"

The cashier rang up the total, and my knees nearly gave out. "Six hundred and fifty dollars," she said.

I stamred, shaking my head. "I can't— I don't—"

Before I could bolt back to the dressing room, he grabbed my arm, pulling to his side. With his free hand, he pulled out a sleek black card and handed it to the cashier. Her eyes widened, but she said nothing as she processed the paynt.

The drive to the night market was quiet, the tension in the air slowly fading. By the ti we arrived, I was too curious to stay scared.

The market was a riot of colors, sounds, and slls. Strings of fairy lights illuminated stalls selling everything from handmade jewelry to steaming bowls of noodles. Music played sowhere in the distance, and the chatter of vendors filled the air.

For the first ti in what felt like forever, I forgot to be afraid. I wandered from stall to stall, marveling at the trinkets and treasures on display. The masked man followed silently, paying for everything I picked up—a silver bracelet, a woven scarf, a tiny glass figurine of a wolf.

I felt like a child again, my fear replaced by a giddy excitent.

By the ti we left, it was 1:42 a.m. I was exhausted, my eyelids heavy. Back in the car, the leather seat was soft and comfortable and it made more drowsy but I didn't dare fall asleep. Not here. Not with him.

The car eventually stopped outside a holess shelter. Confusion washed over as he got out and opened my door.

"Go inside," he said, his tone as commanding as ever.

"You're letting stay here?" I asked, my voice tinged with hope.

He nodded.

Tears welled in my eyes as I stepped out. "Thank you for everything," I said sincerely.

As I walked toward the shelter, a commotion inside caught my attention. Several n, their faces hard and cruel, were searching the room. The staff and residents looked terrified.

I froze, fear gripping once more. Slowly, I turned and ran back to the masked man, hiding behind him like a frightened child.

"Please," I whispered. "Don't let them—"

But before I could finish, he stepped forward, calling out to the n.

"Over here."

They turned, their expressions lighting up as they saw .

The masked man grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful, and pulled forward.

"Here," he said, handing over like a parcel.

"No!" I scread, thrashing against their grip. "You can't do this to !"

But he didn't respond. He simply watched as they dragged away, his mask hiding whatever emotion—if any—he felt.

Betrayal burned through as I realized the truth. He hadn't saved . He'd delivered .

To who? I had no idea.