Then Eric turned and got into the car. The engine roared to life. The car peeled away, tires hissing against asphalt, and then he was gone.
Cyril stood there long after the sound faded. He exhaled slowly and pulled out his phone.
He turned back toward the house. The lights were low. The windows dark.
"She doesn't deserve any of this," Cyril said to no one. "Not one bit."
Too good a soul. Too kind.
Beautiful. Funny. Brilliant.
He groaned and slapped his forehead. "You have a death wish, idiot."
*****
The Blackwood estate felt crowded and empty at the same time.
Cars lined the long gravel drive. Pack members filled the house in low murmurs and careful footsteps.
Everyone had something to say to Claudia.
They came in waves. Women, men, younger wolves. Each one repeated the same sentiments in different words. He was loyal. He was kind. He was quiet but always watching. Always there.
Benedict's shadow loomed larger in death than it ever had in life.
