A Graveyard of Secrets

ROMAN

Blood trickled down my lip as I ducked another of Gage's jabs. The morning sun beat down on the Silverclaw training grounds, where we'd been sparring for nearly an hour. Sweat soaked through my shirt, muscles burning with familiar strain.

"Getting slow in your old age, Alpha?" Gage taunted, bouncing on his feet.

I spat blood onto the dirt. "Just warming up."

Without warning, I feinted left, then drove my right fist into his ribs. He grunted, stumbling backward.

"Like I said," I growled. "Warming up."

The pack members watching from the sidelines cheered. These daily training sessions had become essential since the attack at the Alliance Summit. We couldn't afford to be caught unprepared again.

I was about to continue when Marcus strode across the field, clutching a folder with the Silverclaw insignia. The tension in his shoulders told me this wasn't routine business.

"Alpha," he called. "We need to talk."