Jaxon
The scent of blood clung to the air.
I stood at the edge of the clearing, my boots rooted in crimson-stained petals, roses crushed underfoot, the sweet scent tainted with the thick, metallic smell of blood. The festival grounds had emptied in chaos after the scream, but I remained, staring down at the body lying unnaturally still beneath the ornate lights and decorations.
Alpha Miras. A visiting alpha from Rivershade pack. His throat had been slashed with surgical precision, one clean, fatal swipe. No scent, no sound, no trace of struggle. The work of a rogue, one from the Blood Moon faction if I had to guess. They were silent, calculated. They were called ghost in the night for that.
I clenched my jaw, feeling my wolf pacing inside me.
‘It’s not Elvira’ Lynx muttered, for th
