It's a man—no, a shifter—with a mane of auburn hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. His sharp features are softened by warm amber eyes that crinkle at the corners as he offers Clayton a respectful nod.
"The rogues have been taken care of," he says, his tone clipped and professional. "The authorities have been alerted, and our people are cleaning up the scene."
Clayton returns the nod, his expression grim. "Good work, Rowan. This is Ava—she was the target."
I study the newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. His nostrils flare as he takes in my scent, and his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Before I can react, he takes an impulsive step forward, his gaze locked on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.
