Chapter 16 Marcus
MARCUS
As I sit cross-legged on the floor of the hotel suite, I have to fight the urge not to fidget while Minerva’s fingers move through my hair with ease. It isn’t the floor—I like being grounded, low to the earth, where I can feel steady—it’s the braids themselves.
The braids should feel like armor, like a tether to my father, to the blood that runs in me.
Instead, they make me hyper-aware of the split, of how I’m always caught in between.
Too much of one thing to belong fully to the other, too little to ever be whole.
My wolf doesn’t care; he claims all of it as ours without question.
But me? I can’t shake the voice that whispers I’m a fake.
Minerva shakes out her hands, flexing her fingers as though to chase away the burn. Our gazes catch in the mirror, and she tilts her head. “Mind if we take a break?” Her smile is sheepish, soft around the edges. “I’m a little out of practice.”
I push to stand, ready to give her the space she’s asking for, when movement in the corner of my eye stops me. Esmerelda straightens from where she’s been leaning against the door, arms folded like she’s been there for a while.
She strides across the room. The movement is fluid, purposeful, and it attracts my attention like a magnet. My wolf perks up instantly, tail lashing, as if her crossing the room is a threat or a promise. I can’t decide which.
“Here, let me,” she says, voice steady, allowing no room for argument.
Minerva flashes her a grateful smile and rises, brushing her hands off on her skirt. “I’ll get us something to drink. Lemonade okay for everyone?”
Her words barely register. My focus is still on Esmerelda, the way she takes up the space Minerva leaves behind as though it belongs to her now.
The shift in the air is subtle but undeniable.
I should say something. I should move. Instead, I just watch, pulse thudding, waiting to see what she’ll do next.
Eventually, I remember that Min asked a question, and I nod. “Yes, please.”
As though my words are a reminder to Esmerelda, she nods.
Min heads to the kitchen, her footsteps fading, and Esmerelda moves into the space behind me.
I catch the subtle tug of her presence before she even sits—the scent of her skin, the quiet strength in her posture—and my body reacts before my brain does.
I shift instinctively, scooting back so she can reach.
Huge mistake.
My bare shoulders brush against the warm, taut muscles of her inner thighs, and the contact sparks through me like a short-circuiting wire. Heat travels up my spine, leaving me breathless.
I freeze, caught between the urge to jerk away and the dangerous pull to lean closer.
The rational part of me screams retreat, but the rest, the part that’s bone and blood and wolf, aches for more.
Gods, even that fleeting touch is enough to unravel me; to remind me how impossible it is to be this close to her and not burn.
Our eyes catch in the mirror, and we stare at each other longer than we should. Heat climbs Esmerelda’s throat, blooming red along her neck, but she drops her gaze quickly, hiding in the motion of her hands as they work through my hair.
After a while, she catches my gaze in the mirror again. “Don’t look so surprised,” she murmurs, voice low, almost intimate. Or maybe that’s my brain short-circuiting. “Didn’t think I could do this, did you?”
My mouth moves before my mind can catch up. “No. Honestly, I figured you were the type to let servants handle everything for you.” The words come out harsher than I intend, and I instantly feel regret.
I brace for the familiar snap of her temper. My wolf even pricks his ears, anticipating the clash, but nothing comes.
She keeps working with a quiet focus, her silence somehow louder than any retort she could’ve thrown. And that silence twists inside me, settling heavy in my gut, because I don’t know what it means. Have I finally landed a blow too deep, or is she tired of me? Of the fighting?
“Yeah, I don’t blame you for thinking that,” she says finally. “After all, I do walk around with a lady-in-waiting.”
Her voice dips lower, softening in a way I’m not used to. “Truth is, it’s always made me feel guilty to have Min doing things for me. My father assigned her to me when I was sixteen, but I’ve never been able to treat her like she’s just…staff.”
The admission catches me off guard. Esmerelda rarely offers pieces of herself so openly. Usually, she throws out sharp words like armor, all bite and bravado, but this feels unguarded. Human. My wolf goes still, like even he understands this isn’t a moment to interrupt.
“So, where did you learn to braid?” The question slips out before I can stop it. It’s like I’m trying to soak up as much of this conflict-free interaction as I can.
She shrugs. “I used to help Min with her siblings during sleepovers. Back when I liked to pretend I was just a normal kid.”
Something in her voice hooks me. A thread of longing, maybe, or loss. The image of Esmerelda, braiding children’s hair, laughing in some dimly lit room far from politics and titles, doesn’t fit the tough, controlled woman I know. And yet, picturing it softens something in me.
“It sounds nice,” I say, because suddenly I’m jealous of her childhood and the carefree moments she managed to steal.
She starts to answer, but Min sweeps back into the room with our drinks and a clear bottle. “You’re a lifesaver,” she beams, leaning down to hug Esmerelda quickly before handing her a small spray bottle. “Don’t forget to mist as you go. Otherwise the strands snag instead of sliding.”
My chest tightens as I watch the easy exchange between them. Min’s casual affection, Esmerelda’s quiet acceptance. She claims Min isn’t just staff, and seeing this, I believe her. Truth be told, she hasn’t treated Min like anything other than family.
My wolf huffs in agreement, ears twitching at the sight of Esmerelda’s smile—soft, unguarded, a glimpse of the girl she said she used to be. It hits me harder than it should.
Leonard walks in and snags the bottle off the bed. “This guy doesn’t need any more potions for his hair. You should see how many he packed. I bet he uses more product on his hair than you do, Esme.”
“Fuck you, that’s not true,” I snap back, glaring at him.
I don’t know why the idea of Esmerelda thinking I’m vain grates on me so much.
Because I do take care of myself. I always have.
An alpha doesn’t get to look unkempt, not if he wants to be taken seriously.
But the thought of her picturing me lingering in front of a mirror longer than she does, of her tucking me away in her mind as shallow or self-absorbed…
It unsettles something deep inside me.
She probably already knows how much I fuss—she was there on our honeymoon, after all. Still, it rankles, and the thought of her dismissing me as the kind of man who cares more about his appearance than his pack nags at me like a stone in my shoe.
Leonard shoves to his feet with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m going to grab something to eat before we’re subjected to more of this dress-up nonsense. Anyone want anything?”
Esmerelda and I both shake our heads. My stomach has been a hollow pit for days, but even if I was hungry, appetite feels like a luxury I can’t afford.
Still, my gaze flicks to her. She’s too pale, sharper around her face than she was a few days ago. It’s as if the grief is stripping her down to bone. I wish she’d eat, but I dare not make any suggestions that imply she can’t take care of herself. I don’t want to lose a limb.
When Leonard heads out, the room falls silent. We are fully aware we are alone. I hear him arguing with Minerva about the prosthetics she wants to put on him.
Esmerelda chuckles softly, the sound unexpected, like sunlight peeking through clouds. “You know, you’re giving me shit about staff, but you have a guy who opens your door for you.”
I chuckle. “That’s true. If it makes me seem less of a jerk, I used to try answer the door myself. It didn’t go over well.”
“I know what you mean. I made that same mistake. I thought he was either going to kill me or burst into tears.”
“My money is on the latter. He takes it as a personal attack if he can’t do his job.”
She smiles and it lingers. Something in my chest loosens with it.
Despite everything—despite the losses still raw in our bones, despite the shadow of danger pressing in—we sit there, trading stories about a man who cares too much about doors.
And for the briefest moment, it almost feels normal.
Almost like we’re just two people, laughing in the middle of the wreckage.
And that fleeting taste of normal is enough to make my wolf go still and breathe deep, as if daring to believe it could last.
Minerva walks back in the room. “Right, Esme. I’m ready to carry on. Eat, go take a shower, get ready. When I’m done with Marcus, I’ll start on your glamour.”
Esmerelda rises from her seat, and I swear she does it reluctantly. I feel the same. It was… nice, sitting here with her. Our guard had been down, and for a moment, it almost felt like normal conversation. Like what we might have had if we weren’t sworn enemies.
Minerva takes Esmerelda’s place and deftly finishes the last of my braids. She secures them with practiced hands, then reaches behind her for a wig cap, stretching it over the braids before settling the black wig on top. If I were outside at night, I’d be completely camouflaged.
I stare into the mirror, startled. I hardly recognize myself. More than that, I see a younger version of my father staring back at me. The sight punches me in the chest, a harsh reminder of everything at stake.
“You ready to look like someone different?” Min asks.
I already feel like I don’t fit in my own skin. I nod, feeling less like myself as the moments pass.
She arranges the prosthetics before handing me a potion.
“Drink this and let the glamour begin!” She sounds like the ringleader in a circus, and I smile as I pop the cork and pour the violet liquid down the hatch.
Min begins placing the glamoured prosthetics on my face.
First, she covers my brows, making them appear thinner.
Then, my cheekbones shift subtly. My chin dimple disappears.
She flattens my nose, slips in blue contacts, even adds a glamoured ear piercing that looks real but is only a clip-on.
Piece by piece, she transforms me into someone else.
She really is a genius. I make a mental note that we might be able to use her skills again when we needed to smuggle clients under the radar.
With every adjustment, the reflection in the mirror looks less and less like me. It’s unnerving, and my wolf doesn’t like it. He stirs restlessly beneath my skin, as if each change strips away more of who we are.
“Do you want a break before we get to the outfits?” Min asks gently. “I haven’t seen you eat anything today. Honestly, not much since you got here.”
“I haven’t really been hungry.”
Her eyes soften. “Yeah. I know what you mean. It’s hard to eat with all this weighing on you. It has to be crushing.”
She’s taking a risk, saying that to an alpha, but she isn’t wrong. The responsibility is like an elephant sitting on my chest. I drag in air and it never feels like enough, like my lungs can’t expand fully under the weight of grief and expectation.
I get up and move into the kitchen. Leonard glances up, does a double take, and wrinkles his nose. “No, dude. I don’t like it.”
I shrug. “As long as no one recognizes me, that’s the point.”
He squints. “You look a lot like your dad.”
“Do you think that’s going to be a problem?” Min asks, worrying her bottom lip.
Leonard shakes his head. “Nah. The only reason I can tell is because I know him. No one else will connect the dots—especially with all that hair hidden. That was always a dead giveaway.”
Min exhales in relief. “Phew.”
I grab the last slice of pizza from the box. Eating feels strange with the prosthetics tugging at my skin, but they’re surprisingly light and hold up well. I pour myself a glass of milk, and Leonard immediately screws up his face.
“You don’t drink milk with pizza.”
I arch a brow. “Says who?”
“I do, you savage. The only drink you’re supposed to have with pizza is beer.”
I smirk. “And you’re the authority on that?”
Min snickers. “I agree with Leonard. Milk is for cookies.”
Before I can retort, Esmerelda’s voice cuts in from the door. “Yup, beer or nothing.”
I turn toward her voice. and holy shit!
She’s poured into a full latex gown, dark and gleaming, the sleeves cut short to show off the handcuff-style bracelets that cinch her gloves.
Every step toward us is smooth, deliberate, and I fight hard to keep my mouth from falling open.
I try even harder not to ogle. But she’s…
breathtaking. Dangerous and gorgeous in a way that makes heat pulse low in my gut.
When I finally drag my gaze away, Leonard is grinning at me. He drags a finger across his chin, mocking me for the drool I refuse to believe is there. I tell myself I won’t give in; I won’t wipe my mouth. But then, just in case, I do it anyway.
He throws his head back and howls with laughter.
Esmerelda glances between us. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Leonard says cheerfully. “I just think it’s going to be impossible for your hubby to get out of that chair right now.”
Heat floods my face. “I—what?”
Leonard snorts. “As if you don’t know what I’m referring to?” He cuts his eyes deliberately toward my crotch.
I swear, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.
Esmerelda follows his gaze. Her eyes widen when she realizes what Leonard is implying, and gods help me, the bastard isn’t wrong. Mortification scorches through me, but I refuse to flinch, refuse to cover myself like some awkward twelve-year-old.
I turn my glare on Leonard instead. “Why don’t you shut up and eat your damn pizza?”
He laughs even harder, and Min shakes her head with exasperation. Esmerelda just stares, stunned, as I sit there, burning alive in my own skin.
And all I can think is tonight just got a whole lot more complicated than I expected. How the hell am I going to get through this?