“Thanks, Connie.”
We surveyed the new wall and floor. Connie had done a good job. If I looked closely, I could see evidence of magic work, but that would fade in a few hours. Thank fuck none of the teachers had been around when Raven had her meltdown.
Luckily for us, the only classroom at this end of the corridor belonged to Professor Oakman, and he would have teleported away after his last class finished. The lazy bastard didn’t walk anywhere if he could avoid it.
“You can buy me a drink at the next shifter party,” Connie said coyly while batting her lashes at me.
“Sure.” Another time, I’d have flirted. But I wasn’t feeling it, and from the way her smile dropped at my lukewarm response, Connie knew it.
“Right. Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and sashayed away.
I glanced at my watch. I’d promised to meet Arron at the gym for a workout. Thanks to the witch, I was now thirty minutes late. No doubt he’d sent half a million angry messages, but I didn’t bother checking my phone.
The shifter coach’s strange behavior had left me scratching my head. Everyone knew shifters were protective, but to act that way around a random student, a witch, no less, made no sense. He’d behaved as if she were his mate.
I chewed my lip as I left the building and headed toward the gymnasium.
Soul-bonds were rare between shifters and witches or mages, with my parents being one of the few pairings I knew about. Was it possible the little witch had a soul-bond with the shifter?
If she did, that meant she now had two mates because, as much as I wanted to deny the existence of a mate bond, I couldn’t.
The little witch was my mate. My magic knew it, and so did I. Fortunately for both of us, my father had no fucking clue.
Just as I reached the central quad where the paths diverged, with one path leading to the dorms and the other to the sports block, the man himself appeared, Montgomery trotting behind him like a lapdog.
“Alaric. I was about to call you.” Dad fixed a benevolent smile on his face. Acting like a loving parent was something my fatherexcelled at in public. And here on campus, he had no choice but to pretend all was well in our dysfunctional family.
I ducked my chin in a show of respect, while inwardly ruing the day my mother had met the bastard.
“Father. How can I help?”
“We’ve had a bear shifter check the forest for clues as to the identity of the person responsible for the wolf murders. Only he found nothing but some bloodstains.”
He’d asked the coach to get involved in the investigation? That surprised me. He must be under pressure to find the culprit. I knew the Shifter Council had sent investigators, as I’d seen them around campus, but they must have found nothing.
“I have to leave now, but I’d like you to visit the crime scene, both in the shifters’ room, and also in the forest. See if you can pick up any unusual magical signatures.”
“Haven’t you checked yourself?” I feigned innocence. My father had a lot of power, and as far as the magical world knew, he was the strongest mage in existence right now, but we both knew my power exceeded his. I’d inherited powers he lacked, such as the ability to read traces of magical activity and link them to the user.
Thank fuck he didn’t have that talent or he’d have sensed Raven’s magic all over me.
Being able to read magical signatures was why I wanted to join the Magical Bureau of Investigation (MBI) when I graduated, but, of course, Father overruled me. He had plans for his only son to go into politics and, one day, take over his position on the council.
Father’s jaw clenched in annoyance at my question. “I don’t have time, sadly, but I trust you to get the job done.”
I smirked. “Of course. I’ll head that way after my workout.”
“No, Alaric. I need you to do it now before all traces are lost or wiped. It’s vital we solve this heinous crime before people become hysterical.”
Ah. So he was getting shit about it. Thanks to social media, news of the murders had spread like wildfire. Magicals were worried. There had been a sharp increase in suspicious deaths lately, and even though my father had done his best to bury the stories, news had got out.
Demon activity had caused most of the deaths, but the council didn’t want that known. Instead, they publicly blamed the fatalities on feral shifters or random magicals who had nobody to defend them.
Nobody cared if a few shifters and islanders got thrown in the penitentiary on trumped-up charges, locked away, where they would eventually die.
My father’s investigation was less about finding the truth and more about covering his ass so the council didn’t lose faith in his ability to lead the magical community.
“Fine, I’ll do it now and report back later.”
