I figured it was better than ripping it off her head. Anyhow, I touched it and tried to call Bhrunyz, but nothing happened. She gave me the oddest look when I handed it back to her.

Well, I don’t want to miss out on watching you being awkward with your pack. Where are you?

Sparring room. I’m working with Ian. I’m glad you’re coming here. I’d feel much better if you were in my sight.

He was worried, but I was going to be fine. We’d find the brooch before I ran into Bhrunyz again. We had to. The alternative wasn’t an option.

I found my way through the stronghold maze with a little help from Donovan. If I couldn’t figure out how to get around, I was going to need him to make a map for me. This place was ridiculous.

At least I didn’t have to find my way to his quarters first. I’d dressed for a fight, assuming I’d find the brooch and our traitor right away. Apparently, I’d been overly optimistic, but the leggings, kicks, layered flowy shirts, and a hoodie meant I was set for pretty much anything. I might freeze my ass off if I had to leave the stronghold, but I was hoping to stick close by. At least for now.

When I reached the sparring room, it was crowded. Small groups had formed. Some were working out and some were sparring, but most were chatting while watching Donovan and Ian’s fight at the center of the room.

I paused in the doorway to watch. Donovan spun to avoid a hit, and Ian lost his balance. He slammed into the floor with a sickening crunch.

I winced as Ian got to his feet, his arm tight against his body. I wasn’t sure if the bone was broken, but if it was, it would take a few hours to heal. This room made no sense to me. The only space that wasn’t gray stone was the wooden doorway. With stone walls and floors, a simple wrong move could send you to the pack medic. Not fun.

Why not pad this place? I asked Donovan through the bond.

Aye. We should. I’ve been meaning to make this room more modern, but some of the pack members like things the way they are. Donovan bounced on the balls of his feet. His sweatpants rode low on his hips, but not a single drop of sweat glistened on those perfect abs. What a shame.

Ian, on the other hand, was dripping. His T-shirt was stuck to his skin, showing his muscles. He was cut well enough, but a little too thin. His face was beet red as he tried to catch his breath and figure out how to take down Donovan.