Chapter Forty-Three
The small snores of the female shifter Benic had taken to bed gave him no comfort. Inacio had left a larger hole in his life than he’d considered possible. He would have laughed if someone had told him so a few weeks ago. He hoped the incubus was safe since his kind was hunted almost to extinction in this part of the world, though they still thrived in the humid jungles of South Amerigo.
Maybe that was where he was heading.
Benic stared at the old maps he’d collected over his decades of traveling. His most recent edition of the West lay unrolled in front of him. He poked at a tear in the middle. There was a trail of sorts that began there. It spanned across the country to the West and could only be traveled by foot or horse. Fur trappers and slavers used it. They called it the Trail of Tears.
If he sent Ewald along this route, he’d have to cross at least five shifter territories. The ones closest to east were familiar with vampires and would do trade for passage. It was the great expanse of mountains where things would become deadly.
The Tseena tribe claimed most of those lands and made wild shifters in the east seem like tame house cats. Many a vampire fang hung off their jewelry. They were the reason expeditions west didn’t return. That tribe consisted of twelve huge packs.
He could sneak across that territory alone but not with a pack of untrained shifters from Europa. He might as well hire a marching band and let them lead Ewald’s group of settlers. Benic took another long draw on the bottle of hard cider next to the map. He didn’t bother with a glass anymore and his fucking cellars were still empty of wine.
Ewald’s expedition stirred a lot of old memories. At the time, Benic had thought his life terrible. He’d been penniless, landless, and everything wanted to eat him. How naïve he’d been. He was free then. No responsibilities—he could follow any whim that drew his attention, and the adventure had sent his blood pumping. Not the easiest feat for a vampire. He chuckled and drank some more.
What did he have now? A castle with no wife to bear him any children, a forest filled with shifters who hated him, and a Grand Lord who would eventually figure out he had assisted in killing a slave compound owner and stolen his slaves. He foresaw a guillotine in his future.
How poetic.
If he was executed, the people of this castle would barely notice. The way he organized his staff the castle ran itself. He’d been too efficient. No one needed him, no one would miss him, and he hadn’t anyone to blame but himself.
He stared at the map some more. That wasn’t completely true though. Someone did need him…
He rose to his feet and grabbed the edge of the table to steady his stance. The cider bottle tipped and rolled to the floor to join the others. On unstable legs, he crossed the room and slowly made his way to the south tower.
Even this late in the evening, people still carried out their chores. The staff seemed accustomed to seeing him in this state since they just moved out of his way. He climbed to Ewald’s rooms and opened the door without knocking. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
Ewald lay on top of Pemma in bed. It still swayed from their fucking. “Benic.” The young lord’s face pinked. “Get out.” He pulled the blanket to cover Pemma, who peeked at him and winked. The little minx.
“What did you come here to propose?” Her smile grew salacious.
“Uh…” He glanced from her to Ewald and leaned against the door frame. “I’m game.”
Ewald scowled. “I’m not. So if you are done, my lord, I’d like to finish.”
“Actually, I came for a different reason.” Ewald was too masculine for his tastes anyway. He preferred riding his lovers, not the other way around, and he suspected Ewald did as well.
With a heavy sigh, Ewald slid out of bed and dressed in a pair of pants. He gestured to a chair by the fireplace. “Please, do come in.” His words were laced with sarcasm.
Benic took the seat and relaxed into the cushions. The edges of Ewald’s eyes seemed more strained than when they first met. After what they’d done to the slavers together, it shouldn’t surprise him. Ewald buried himself in Pemma for comfort and Benic buried himself in drink. Neither would help. He was sure those screams would haunt Ewald as long as they haunted him.
Leaning forward, Benic patted him on the knee. “It had to be done.”
Ewald jerked his leg from Benic’s hand and looked away. “If you came to discuss—if you think I want to talk about that this evening, you’re wrong.”
“No, I came to discuss your journey west.”
The tension in Ewald’s shoulders melted and he gave him a shy look. “And?”
“After this recent ordeal, I find I’m yearning to travel again.”
Pemma lay in bed and listened to Benic and Ewald make plans to travel west. They would send someone to Lord Weis’s estate and bring her pack here. Once all the provisions were together, they’d set out on the first leg of their journey to a trail that led west. She set the details to memory so when her alphas arrived, she could report well.
She would also request they find her a replacement. She was tired of Ewald and these games. Dreams of a good hunter and pups were becoming more demanding lately. Could she find those on their journey? She doubted it. Not when the path they followed was called the Trail of Tears. Egads, who named it that?
If it was to deter anyone from going, they’d done the job. The prospect of adventure didn’t seem so grand anymore.