Flynn
Alpha Asshole
The view from the saddle of my gelding is of fucking nothing. Not-a-fucking-thing. Dead mortal earth, left destroyed by a fire created by mages and dickheads thousands of years ago, but who cares about that? Not when I can't take my eyes off that Manor. My almost empty flask in my hand, which doesn't matter when it was only water anyway.
The manor is just a cluster of buildings in the middle of nowhere, stone dipped in dust. But I can smell her there – a shifter that shouldn't exist on the mortal side. In fact, I can feel her – which unsettles my nerves and puts me on edge.
Shifters are like a tingle down my spine that tells me two things – threat or friend. I can smell the wieldrons slipping along the edge of the forest, trying to find a way through the magic, a way to get to her – threat.
I can smell the feathers and down on her, an owl shifter – but it doesn't matter how hard I focus I can't decipher if she's a threat or a friend. And from this distance I sure can't see her. Whoever the hell she is. It's almost like she's lived here so long the whole place is dipped in her scent.
But is she friend or threat?
There's that stupid saying about keeping your enemies closer – I'd rather just kill them. I need to set my eyes on her before my brothers. If just one of our mob becomes affectionate before I've spent time with the newcomer, my senses are muffled, making a threat feel like a friend until I have the woman alone and her guard is let down. Six times this has happened. Six women who have come into our lives as a friend, then, when I've had her alone and pushed all her buttons, all I can feel is threat, threat, threat.
My mission alters: find the shifter and eliminate her before she becomes a problem. Steve can talk to the Manor Lord and deal with the original reason we're here. I don't care about a statue anyway. I cork my flask and slip it back into my saddle bag – at the very least, this will be fun.