His Ghost

His Mate. 5

From my balcony, I surveyed the shifters below. Among them were the outcasts, the latent wolves, whom I had no interest in helping. Clara had a solution for them: fight until they shift or leave to find another pack. Accepted but controversial.

The old packs played it hardcore. If you couldn't shift, you ran and hoped the wolves wouldn't hunt you. Yet, they usually did - no wolf could resist the chase.

No one was hunting anyone here. They could live in Monet under our protection.

I surveyed the balcony. The entire 180 degrees that wrapped the gym was now filled with pack warriors and trainees.

The faint scent of earth and rain wafted into the room. It was an ancient scent that no shifter or supernatural could miss. Old Magic, Ancients, permeated the room as if multiplying. I could see the unrest, nervousness, tension, and fear.

It was a primal combination, alluring, intimidating and dangerous.

I focused my nose, hunting the base scent, giving away the species; was it a witch, vampire or something else? The woodsy, mellow musk scent hit me like a punch. My body tightened. Not the sweeter musk of a wolf, the mellow rich of a Lycan.

I followed the scent; my eyes scanned the crowd below. Landing on not one Lycan, females stood amidst the pack of shifters. They oozed power and did not attempt to hide it: a declaration, a challenge.

I linked Sam.

'Wherever you are, get to my office. We have a problem.'

I felt stunned. Lycans could mask their scent. Why the powerplay? My wolf told me it was not a threat. He seemed pleased.

I was always curious about Lycans despite my family's disapproval. Our history and creation in the Middle Ages tied us to them forever. My father was part Lycan, something we never discuss. I also knew how dangerous they were when provoked.

My instincts warned me of a darker history between Lycans and my family lineage. But I couldn't focus on that now.

Clara's voice came through the link.

"Are you picking up what I am? Who are those girls? They smell of the ancients?" she asked, her voice above a whisper. Clara, rattled by the new energy in the room, was not unusual. It happened when someone bigger, badder, and higher ranked presented themselves.

Clara talked a big talk; that was the extent of it.

"I don't know," I replied, my grip tightening on the railing. "Have the instructors start the warm-ups as usual. Don't try to break them up or challenge them. This seems more like a show of unity than a threat."

Ancients was a general term for anyone born from an Old World family or species. Their bloodlines' magic differed from modern new world shifters, witches, and vampires.

I motioned for her to join me on the balcony after she sorted the instructors and the teams out. I needed everyone bogged down in training for now. They were too busy to consider why their wolves got spooked.

Every shifter here was young and wouldn't know them as a Lycan, yet. Their wolf, however, was instinctually on guard, recognizing a threat in the room. Hence, the current unrest below. You had to fight one to identify a Lycan and its unique scent; after that, you never forgot it.

I had hoped never to fight a Lycan again. Across the balcony, a small group of visiting Enforcers watched the girls. I caught the eye of their Alpha, letting him know I had it in hand.

I thought back on the files from yesterday—a mixed bag of latent and lone wolves. Fiona, my father's PA, had not dropped over everything. I texted her.