Lysander Zalik's eyes snapped open and he was sitting up on his throne before he even fully registered what had woken him.
The scent hit him like a freight train to the chest, and for a second he couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except sit there like an idiot while his brain tried to process what his nose was telling him.
A Lycan.
A goddamn Lycan had just awakened.
At forty years old, Lysander had thought he'd seen everything the supernatural world could throw at him. He'd built his empire from nothing, clawed his way to the top of the werewolf hierarchy through blood and brutality, and ruled his territory with an iron fist for over two decades. Nothing surprised him anymore.
Until tonight.
He dragged a hand through his dark hair, still thick despite his age, with just enough silver at the temples to make him look distinguished rather than old, and leaned back against the cold obsidian of his throne.
His heart was pounding like he'd just run ten miles, which was ridiculous. He was Lysander fucking Zalik. Nothing made him lose his composure.
Except apparently this did.
This was impossible. Absolutely impossible.
He'd killed the last two Lycans himself fifteen years ago, had watched them bleed out in that pathetic little house.
But there was no mistaking that scent threading through the night air. Rich and wild and so powerful it was making his wolf pace restlessly under his skin, demanding he shift and hunt and claim whatever was putting off that intoxicating energy.
The communication crystal embedded in his throne started glowing before he even reached for it.
"Alpha?" Marcus's voice crackled through, rough with sleep. "Sir, it's past midnight. Is everything—"
"Do you sense anything unusual tonight?" Lysander's voice came out rougher than he'd intended, the words practically a growl.
There was a pause as his second-in-command presumably reached out with his senses, testing the wind currents that flowed across their territory.
"No, sir," Marcus replied eventually, confusion clear in his tone. "All patrol reports have been normal. The borders are secure, no unusual scents or movements detected. Why? What's—"
"Silence."
The single word carried enough authority to make Marcus fall immediately quiet. Lysander's grip tightened on the crystal until his knuckles went white, his claws extending slightly from his fingertips.
Of course Marcus couldn't sense it. The bastard was powerful enough as werewolves went, but his bloodline was diluted, weakened by generations of breeding with lesser wolves. He lacked the ancient sensitivity that flowed through Lysander's own veins, the genetic memory that could recognize threats from the old days.
But Lysander could sense it. Even from here, even with miles separating his stronghold from wherever the awakening had occurred, he could feel the pulse of raw, primal power that marked a true child of the Moon Goddess.
"A Lycan," he said aloud, testing the word on his tongue. "The first children of the Moon Goddess herself."
His expression darkened as old memories surfaced, stories his grandfather had told him about the old days, when Lycans ruled over werewolf packs like gods walking among mortals.
How they'd been bigger, stronger, faster than any werewolf. How each one had been blessed with unique gifts that made them nearly unstoppable in battle.
How they'd treated his ancestors like servants.
Lysander's free hand clenched into a fist, his wolf snarling at the insult to their bloodline. Never again. He'd made sure of that when he'd hunted down the last breeding pair. Or so he'd thought.
"But I killed the last two," he growled, his voice taking on the rough edge that indicated his control was slipping. "I made goddamn sure. I watched them die."
Unless...
His dark eyes widened as realization struck him. The child. There had been a child that night, hadn't there?
A small female who'd somehow escaped into the forest during the chaos. His hunters had searched for days but never found a body, never caught so much as a scent trail.
He'd assumed she'd died from exposure, or been taken by some wild animal. A five-year-old child couldn't have survived alone in the wilderness.
Apparently, he'd been wrong.
"Magnificent," he breathed, and this time his smile held genuine appreciation alongside the predatory hunger. A Lycan who had not only survived but had remained hidden for fifteen years, her power dormant until tonight's awakening. The strength emanating from her even at this distance spoke of incredible potential.
What a waste it would be to kill her quickly.
But kill her he would. He couldn't allow any Lycan to live, not when their very existence threatened everything he'd built.
His pack was the strongest on the continent, his territory the most expansive, his rule absolute. A single awakened Lycan could challenge all of that, could rally the other packs against him, could upset the carefully balanced power structure he'd spent decades perfecting.
"Kade!" he called, his voice carrying clearly through the stone corridors of his fortress.
Heavy footsteps approached within moments, and his head of military operations stepped into the throne room. Kade Steele was a mountain of a man, standing nearly seven feet tall with shoulders broad enough to block a doorway.
His dark hair was cropped short in military fashion, and battle scars crisscrossed his arms and chest like a roadmap of violence.
Most notably, his left eye was milky white from an old injury, giving him a permanently unsettling appearance that had made more than one enemy piss themselves in fear.
"You summoned me, Alpha?" Kade's voice was a low rumble, respectful but confident. He was one of the few wolves in the pack who could meet Lysander's gaze directly without flinching.
"There's a Lycan," Lysander said without preamble, watching Kade's scarred face carefully for his reaction. "Newly awakened. I can sense her power from here, and it's..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Intoxicating."
Kade's good eye widened slightly, but to his credit, he didn't question the statement or ask for clarification. He simply nodded and waited for orders.
"She's emitting enough energy that any wolf with decent bloodlines should be able to track her general location," Lysander continued, rising from his throne. At six-foot-four and built like a tank, he was imposing enough in human form. "I want you to find her."
"Alright, my lord. How many men?"
Lysander considered this carefully. A single Lycan, even a newly awakened one, was extraordinarily dangerous.
The old stories spoke of individual Lycans taking on entire werewolf packs and winning. But she would also be confused, frightened, unable to control her new abilities. Still, better to be cautious when dealing with something that could potentially rip his throat out.
"Take fifty of our best hunters," he decided. "Spread them out in teams of five. Cover every territory within a hundred-mile radius if you have to. When you find her..." He paused, his dark eyes glowing with anticipation. "Bring her to me alive. I want to look into her eyes when I kill the last of her kind."
"And if she resists?"
Lysander's smile reeked of malice. "Then do whatever is necessary to subdue her. But Kade?" His voice dropped to a deadly whisper that seemed to echo off the stone walls. "She dies by my hand and my hand alone. No one else touches her unless I give explicit permission. Is that understood?"
Kade nodded sharply. "Yes, Alpha. I'll have the teams ready to deploy within the hour."
"Good." Lysander settled back onto his throne, already planning the hunt that would cement his legacy forever. "Go. And Kade? Be discreet. If word gets out that there's a living Lycan, every pack in the country will be scrambling to either claim or kill her. I want her found before anyone else even knows she exists."
As Kade's footsteps faded down the corridor, Lysander allowed himself a moment of pure, savage satisfaction.
Fifteen years he'd ruled without challenge, his power absolute and unquestioned. But this... this would be the ultimate victory.
Not just defeating an enemy, but eliminating the last trace of the bloodline that had once dared to consider his ancestors beneath their notice.
The Moon Goddess might have created the Lycans first, but tonight, Lysander Zanik would prove that evolution belonged to the wolves.