When The Lycan Prince Marked Me Instead

I went back to The Ember on Tuesday.

I told myself it was because the bar was neutral ground, far enough from the packhouse that Marcus would lose me in traffic if he tried to follow. I told myself I needed a place to think, to review the coastal territory documents without Eva's spies watching over my shoulder.

I did not tell myself it had anything to do with the young wolf with the easy smile and the scent that made Lila claw at my ribs.

The parking lot was half-empty when I pulled in. Dusk again. The sky was the color of a bruise that had not quite healed. I turned off the engine and sat there, hands on the wheel, waiting to see if he would appear.

He did.

The knock on my window came thirty seconds later. Same dark jacket, same slightly messy hair, same warm brown eyes that looked like they had never met a problem they could not charm their way past.

"Evening," he said through the glass. "Back again?"

I rolled down the window. The scent hit me just as hard as it had the first time. Cedar and rain and something ancient I still could not name. Lila surged forward. I shoved her down.

"Keys," I said.

He grinned. "Yes, ma'am."

I got out. He opened the door for me with that same slightly ridiculous bow, and I dropped the keys into his hand without looking at him directly.

"You know," he said, "most people at least pretend to make eye contact when they hand over their car."

I stopped. Turned. "Excuse me?"

He held up both hands, still grinning. "Just an observation. No offense."

"I'm not here to socialize."

"Clearly." He slid into the driver's seat, adjusted the mirror, and paused. His eyes flicked to the folder on my passenger seat—the one with the coastal territory deeds visible through the clear plastic sleeve. "Heavy reading," he said lightly.

I said nothing.

He drove my car toward the valet lot. I walked into the bar.

I ordered coffee. Black. I sat in the corner booth with my back to the wall and spread the territory documents across the table. The inheritance clause my mother had buried in the trust was elegant in its simplicity: any contested Greene family land could be reclaimed by a direct heir if the claim was filed within sixty days of an external bid closing. Stefan's coastal bid was set to close in forty-two days.

I had time. Not much. But enough.

Footsteps approached the booth. I looked up.

The young wolf stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, head tilted slightly like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe I can help you."

I closed the folder. "I didn't ask for help."

"No." He slid into the seat across from me without waiting for permission. "But you look like you need it."

Lila purred. I ignored her.

"You're a valet," I said flatly. "What could you possibly help me with?"

He leaned back, arms draped over the booth like he owned it. "I'm a valet who parks cars for visiting Alphas. Which means I hear things. See things. Learn things most wolves don't."

I studied him. His posture was too relaxed for someone speaking to a Luna—even a rejected one. His eyes were too sharp for someone who was supposed to be nobody.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like the fact that Alpha Voss has been meeting with Alphas Crane and Halford at least twice a week for the past month. Always late at night. Always off-pack territory. And always with briefcases that look a lot heavier going in than coming out."

My fingers stilled on the edge of the folder.

"How do you know that?" I asked quietly.

He shrugged. "I park their cars. I keep my ears open. It's not complicated."

"And you're telling me this because?"

"Because you look like someone who could use the information. And because I'm good at finding things out." He leaned forward slightly. "You need someone discreet. Someone who can move around without drawing attention. Someone who doesn't belong to any pack and doesn't owe anyone loyalty."

I should have said no. I should have told him to go back to his valet station and stay out of my business.

Instead, I said, "What's your name?"

"Connor."

"Connor what?"

He smiled. "Just Connor."

I opened the folder again. Pulled out a pen. Wrote a number on the corner of a blank page, tore it off, and slid it across the table.

"This is what I pay per week," I said. "You drive me where I need to go. You find out what I need to know. You don't ask questions about why. And you don't tell anyone—anyone—that you work for me."

He picked up the paper. His eyebrows went up. "That's generous."

"It's fair. Do you want the job or not?"

He folded the paper and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "I want the job."

"Good." I stood. "I'll text you tomorrow with the first assignment."

He stood too. Held out his hand.

I looked at it. Then at him.

"We're working together now," he said. "Might as well make it official."

I took his hand. His grip was warm and steady, and the moment our palms touched, Lila threw herself at my ribs so hard I almost gasped.

Connor's smile did not waver. But something in his eyes shifted. Just for a second. Something that looked almost like recognition.

I pulled my hand back.

"Tomorrow," I said.

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

I walked out of the bar without looking back. But I felt his eyes on me the entire way to the door.