Jaxon

The intel came in just past dawn.

I was in the training yard, shirt soaked with sweat, fists wrapped in leather. Talon stood at the edge of the ring, arms folded, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything until I threw the final punch, letting the punching bag swing wildly like it had a grudge against me.

“My instincts was right,” he said flatly. “Bloodmoon really planted a spy.”

I stilled, my chest heaving, my heartbeat ...