Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 169

Caelan's POV

I could smell it on her the moment we left the garden.

As we walked through the moonlit paths back toward the guest quarters, the scent clung to Natasha like a second skin—another male Lycan's scent, mixed intimately with her own, unmistakable in what it meant.

Mordred.

I recognized his scent immediately, of course. How could I not? The King's presence was distinctive, powerful, carrying notes of dark spice and raw dominance that were impossible to mistake for anyone else. And it was all over her—on her skin, in her hair, mingled with the sweet floral scent that was uniquely Natasha.

They'd been together. Had touched, certainly. His scent was concentrated around her neck, her chest, her mouth. I could piece together what had happened even without asking.

I should have been surprised, should have felt some kind of shock or moral outrage. But instead, I felt only a weary sort of inevitability, mixed with a growing concern.

They were mates. The bond between them was undeniable, a force of nature pulling them together despite every obstacle, every reason they should stay apart. Of course they'd found each other tonight. Of course they'd been unable to resist the pull.

I just hoped their encounter hadn't accelerated what was already coming.

Because beneath Mordred's scent, beneath the perfume and the soap, there was something else. Something that made my instincts sharpen with alarm.

Natasha was chattering beside me, more animated than I'd seen her all evening, her words tumbling over each other in a rapid stream that wasn't quite natural.

"—and the music was lovely, wasn't it? I've never heard anything quite like it. The way the drums and the pipes blended together, it was almost hypnotic. Do you think they'll play again tomorrow? I'd love to hear more. And the food! Did you try those little pastries with the cream filling? They were divine. I should have eaten more. I'm suddenly quite hungry again, isn't that strange? I ate so much earlier but now I feel like I could eat a whole feast by myself. Do you think there will be more food tomorrow? Maybe we could—"

"Natasha," I interrupted gently, placing a hand on her arm to slow her frantic pace.

She stopped mid-sentence, looking up at me with eyes that were too bright, pupils slightly dilated even in the moonlight. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was a sheen of perspiration on her forehead despite the cool night air.

"Are you feeling alright?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

"Of course!" she said, her smile a bit too wide, a bit too manic. "Why wouldn't I be? It's such a beautiful night, and the festival was wonderful, and I'm just... I'm fine. Completely fine. Better than fine, actually. I feel amazing. So energized. Don't you feel energized? I could walk for hours. We should walk more. Let's walk to—"

"Natasha," I said again, more firmly this time.

She blinked, seeming to realize she was rambling. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm talking so much. I just feel so... restless. Like I can't quite settle. Is it warm? It feels warm. Are you warm?"

She was fanning herself with one hand, her other hand fidgeting with the fabric of her dress, unable to stay still.

But she wasn't fine. I could see it in the way she couldn't quite stand still, in the restless energy that seemed to vibrate through her entire body, in the way her hands kept moving—touching her face, her hair, her arms, as though seeking some kind of sensation she couldn't quite find.

And I could smell it—that sweet, intoxicating scent that was growing stronger with each passing moment.

We passed a group of Lycan soldiers on patrol, and I saw their reaction immediately. Their heads turned in perfect unison, their nostrils flaring as they caught her scent. Their eyes fixed on her with unmistakable hunger, tracking her movement as we walked past, their bodies tensing as though preparing to give chase.

One of them—a young soldier who couldn't have been more than twenty—took an actual step forward, his hand reaching out toward her as though drawn by an invisible string. His companion grabbed his arm and yanked him back forcefully, hissing something I couldn't hear.

But the damage was done. They'd noticed. They'd scented her.

My stomach dropped, cold dread flooding through me.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

Natasha seemed oblivious to the soldiers' reaction, still chattering away, her movements becoming more agitated, more restless with each passing second. She was sweating now, I noticed, small beads of moisture forming on her forehead and upper lip, running down her neck to disappear beneath the collar of her dress.

I quickened our pace, guiding her away from the main paths, taking us through the more secluded areas where we were less likely to encounter others.

Finally, when we were momentarily alone, I stopped walking abruptly and turned to face her.

"Natasha," I said, keeping my voice low and calm despite the urgency I felt. "Your scent..."

She stopped in front of me, her expression confused, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "What about it? I took the suppressants today, just like always."

"Did you?" I asked, my nose twitching as I scented the air more deliberately, analyzing what I was detecting. "Because they're not working. I can smell you. Very strongly."

I paused, watching her face carefully as I voiced the terrible suspicion forming in my mind. "Or perhaps your heat cycle has started early."

The color drained from her face instantly, her eyes going wide with shock and fear. "What? No. It can't be. Tamsin said I had a few more days at least—"

"Tamsin said it was imminent," I corrected gently but firmly. "She said you should be nowhere near Modred, but you were anyway. And based on what I'm smelling, I think it's started."