I started weaving through the room, making my way toward Donovan, but couldn’t get over the fact that the sparring room at the Irish stronghold didn’t hold a candle to the one at home. I sighed. The stone was dingy and smelled a little mildewy from absorbing so much sweat over the years. It looked like there was going to be a lot more to do here besides installing Wi-Fi and making an emergency plan. The entire stronghold needed an overhaul.

Ian tried a pitiful move to kick Donovan’s feet out from under him, and I almost laughed. This was ridiculous.

Werewolves were naturally stronger and faster than humans. Adding in our ability to heal, we were pretty unstoppable. At least, that was what some Weres thought until they had to go up against something that was bigger and badder than they were. That was why we Wayfarers trained so hard. St. Ailbe’s had a similar training philosophy, requiring two hours a day of intense training. Most young Were guys were also practicing for the Cazadores’ test, so they trained at least double that.

From what I knew about the Irish pack, they didn’t really leave their stronghold much. They kept to themselves, and they weren’t very welcoming to others. Donovan might like to have enough room for visitors, but the only person I’d ever known to have contact with the Irish pack was Shannon. And she’d never wanted to talk about her home pack. Ever.

It seemed like while they were hanging out in the stronghold, they’d let a lot of things go. They weren’t up to speed with technology or the modern era and their physical shape was pitiful.

Your fourth looks like he’s about to pass out. What’ve you done to him?

Nothing! I swear it!

I stopped next to a group of women. I’d been looking for Saoirse, but she wasn’t there. Thankfully, neither was Vivian. It took a minute for the group to notice me. Then, slowly, the little bits of chatter in the room died down as I stepped up behind Ian and tapped him on the shoulder. “You mind if I cut in?” I unzipped my hoodie and tossed it off to the side.

“No.” Ian bent over, hands on his knees. “Feckin’ hell. Been sparring with that bastard for two hours now, and I’m tapped out.”

I patted his shoulder. “I didn’t get to see all of it, but he’s a beast to beat.”

Straightening, Ian huffed. “Can’t be done. It’s impossible.”

“Challenge accepted.” I rubbed my hands together. “Let’s do this,” I said as I waved Donovan forward.

Donovan stopped his bouncing. “You’re not going to beat me.”