Donovan strode to me with Ian tagging along behind him. “Ready?”

“Yup.” To be honest, I was really looking forward to seeing the inside of the stronghold, and I wasn’t disappointed. A portrait of Donovan in a kilt, with a broadsword, hung over a massive fireplace off to the right of the entryway.

“Sexy,” I muttered softly as we walked past it and down a corridor. Donovan shot me a wink and a grin.

Tapestries lined the hallways, depicting scenes throughout history. Some were faded in color, but other than that, they were beautiful. The floors were bare stone, which was best for Weres. When a bunch of us lived together, a fight was never too far away. Blood was much easier to clean off stone than carpet. And judging from the faded scents of fights, they’d done just that time and again. As I was picking out scents, one note kept coming back to me, drawing my attention away from everything else. It was really floral. I took a deeper whiff and caught even more threads of floral notes.

“The fey come here often?”

“The Lunar court is very close to this pack,” Ian said. “We’ve had children between us. Some have been more Were and joined the pack. They tend to scent a little floral. But, yes, there are fey who wander our halls regularly.”

“Vivian said that it was probably a fey that killed John. Anyone—”

“You’ll not start a witch hunt.” Ian spat the words.

I held up my hands. “I wasn’t trying to offend anyone. I was just going to say that maybe the fey responsible might have been here before. Maybe someone might recognize their scent?”

“No one will recognize this smell. It’s new to me, and I know everyone that comes in and out of our doors.”

“Okay.” I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but his tone was a little feisty. After that standoff on the tarmac, I wasn’t sure what to think of him.

He’s a little defensive.

It might be the grief. I’ll have a word with him.

Don’t. If anyone has an issue with me, it’s best if I handle it. At least for now. But still, I decided to keep my mouth shut for a little bit. I was too tired and didn’t want to make a wrong move.

Our footsteps echoed down the long hallways. The longer we walked, the less I paid attention to my surroundings and the more I tried to count how many turns we were taking. This place was more expansive than any stronghold I’d been to. Some sections of the castle were newer than others, but the materials blended together seamlessly. It was only the changing smell—some parts had more of a dust and dirt smell to them even if they were clean—that tipped me off to the age difference.

And then the smell changed again. The scent of dried blood and decaying flesh hit me, growing stronger with every step we took. I fought hard against the instinct to pinch my nose. After what felt like forever and an endless maze of stairwells and hallways, Ian stopped at a large wooden door. The black iron handle hung limply, barely able to do its job.