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of a dead animal, so don‟t ask again.”
    “Fine, continue on with your tragically dull existence. You look more like a native than a French trapper, anyway.”
    It was true. The waist-length braid branded him as a native or—worse, to some bigoted minds—a half-breed. This had been kindly pointed out to him by the reactions of many of the more . . . aromatic denizens of the few villages they‟d bothered to stop by on this mission.
    One or two of the bolder ones had ventured a comment along those lines. Then they‟d caught sight of the well-worn hilt of the sword sheathed diagonally across his back. Or maybe they‟d simply seen the promise of an unmourned death in his eyes.
    Either way, not one of them had ever dared a second comment.
    Justice understood the inherent hypocrisy in his naming another a predator. But, then again, self-awareness was simply a more enlightened kind of freedom. If freedom could be claimed by one promised—sword, sweat, and soul—to the sea god.
    “Imagine Poseidon‟s reaction if Atlanteans signed a Declaration of Independence,” he said dryly.
    Ven‟s mouth dropped open, and then he threw back his head and let loose with a belly laugh so loud and long that it made the horses restless.
    “Why horses, again? When we can travel by mist with far less struggle?” Justice deliberately stepped a few paces away. “Not to mention with far less stench.”
    “Vamps don‟t expect much resistance from a group of fur trappers,” Ven said. “Be a lot different if a group of supes materialize in their midst.”
    “At least we‟d have the element of surprise,” Justice said, again. Knew he‟d lose the argument. Again.
    “Oh, they‟ll be surprised. Anybody would be surprised to find out a pretty boy like you actually knows how to use that sword.” Parting shot delivered, Ven walked, still chuckling, back toward the campfire to join the others.
    Justice couldn‟t help the smile twitching the corners of his lips. Ven was everything an older brother should be. Too bad they‟d all be rotting in the lowest of the nine hells before anybody would learn he really was Justice‟s brother.
    His smile died before it had had a chance to form. Much like any hope he might have harbored that he‟d ever have a family.
     
    Dinner caught, cooked, and mostly eaten, except for Bastien and his sixth or seventh helping, Justice settled in next to the fire to await full dark. Not knowing where the vamps nested, the best recourse was to wait for them to rise and go on the blood hunt. The small town that had served as the vamp feeding ground for far too long lay nearby.
    This vampire‟s blood pride was strange enough to draw Atlantean attention, even more so than the usual type. Unlike most vamp groups that stayed small due to the natural disinclination of the bloodsuckers to form any kind of allegiance or bow to any authority, this nest was rumored to be enormous. Maybe hundreds of vampires, all in one spot.
    The stories held that the vampire leader had a special weapon. A jewel that could destroy his own kind and worked as a great deterrent to any of them bold enough to want to leave him.
    Stories and gossip had a tendency to spread like wildfire out here on the frontier, but Conlan had wanted them to investigate. So here they were, camped out like real fron tiersmen.
    Or so Ven would have it, spurs, grit, and all. Justice shook his head, smiling, and looked around at the small, unobtrusive camp. They‟d set it up as camouflage. Close enough to hear the prearranged church bell signal; far enough away to seem harmless to any vampire sentinel.
    So now they waited. Seemed like more of a warrior‟s life was waiting than Justice had ever expected. It‟s why he‟d started carving in the first place. A way to focus the mind before the clashing sound and fury of battle.
    He turned the block of wood over and over in his hands, wondering what shape he‟d discover in its smooth grain. The small wagon, the fat,