The Witch's Betrayal: a Fated Mates

Shifter Romance (The Raven

Chronicles Book 3) Missy De Graff
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THE WITCH’S BETRAYAL
THE RAVEN CHRONICLES: BOOK 3
MISSY DE GRAFF
STONE PHOENIX PRESS
Copyright © 2023 by Missy De Graff

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Edited by Zero Alchemy

Cover design by Paradise Cover Design

ISBN 978-1-7370270-4-1
ASIN B0C57C9Z1X
When hope is sparse, you always have faith…
 CO N T E N T S

Prologue
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25

About the Author

Also by Missy De Graff
PROLOGUE
 CAIDEN

KNEELING on the hardwood floor of my bedroom, I stare at my bloodstained hands. The trail of
crimson footprints across the room haunts me. What have I done?
“Caiden!” Mia cries out via the mindlink. Her fear and heartache seep through as her thoughts
jumble together.
I jump to my feet and race toward the door, but I skid to a stop as it swings open. Mia’s eyes are
pink and puffy. She collapses into my chest.
“What’s wrong?” I hold her tight and rub her back.
More blood covers the edge of the door near the handle, and my stomach churns.
“G-Gavin’s g-gone,” Mia says between sobs.
“I’m sure he’ll be back.” I stroke her hair. A nice distraction from the bloody mess.
Mia sobs uncontrollably into my chest. “He left with Leah.”
What the fuck is going on?
“Caiden!” Sabrina’s annoying high-pitched voice hollers from downstairs.
I send through the mindlink, “Not now.”
“Yes now, it’s important,” she yells, and the sound echoes through the empty house.
Her scent grows stronger, and I roll my eyes. She has some nerve coming upstairs.
“Caiden—” Her eyes widen and follow the trail of blood leading down the hall to my room. She
gasps. “What have you done?”
Mia pulls away from my chest. She examines my bloodstained body and then the footprints on the
floor. She takes a step away from me, and then another.
“Mia?” I reach out to her.
Sabrina closes the distance between her and Mia. They stand side by side and watch me with
fearful eyes.
Sabrina whispers, “The patrol found Garcia.”
“Where?” I ask.
“In the forest. His body was strung to an old tree and his skin was shredded down to the bone. He
was flayed alive.”
So it’s true. I am a monster.
CHAP T E R 1
 LUCINDA

THE COOL NIGHT air sends chills rippling through my body, and the stench of death accompanies the
light breeze. My stomach quivers. Dylan, Cody, and I stand in the shadows outside St. Lucian’s
Cathedral—the old, spooky gothic home of bloodsucking vampires—and wait for Braeden, my
dearest twin brother, to bring us our transportation.
Up until now, I thought him dead. My entire life, I was told a lie. The Alpha of the Dark Raven
pack is not my father, though he raised me as his own, and I am not an Alpha’s daughter. I’m
something else entirely. My mother was a wolf shifter and my father was a vampire.
It’s odd to think of Braeden as my twin brother, but I can’t deny the uncanny resemblance. His
vampiric half is dominant, whereas my wolf shifter half is dominant. I’m sure we have nothing in
common other than our looks and parents. But I am curious to know more about him.
I squat and trace old markings in the broken cement walkway with my fingers. “Someone needs to
go back to Felix’s house and box up the records in the library. If that information gets into the wrong
hands, I have a feeling it will be disastrous for everyone.”
My chest tightens when I say Felix’s name. I clench my fingers and make a tight fist to stop my
hand from shaking.
Dylan places his hand on my shoulder. “I agree.”
Cody kicks a rock off the pathway. “No, don’t worry about it.”
I stand and face Cody.
Dylan’s eyebrows knit together. “Why not?”
“Felix’s dad has a sister, and she has a son. Felix’s aunt is the last remaining Noir and will know
what to do with the Crescent Noir pack records.”
Cody’s calmness keeps my heartbeat steady as I process more secrets kept from me. But the
growing sense of betrayal gets the better of me, and I growl. “Felix has an aunt and a cousin?”
Cody takes a slow step away from me. “Yes.”
“Were you ever planning on telling us?” I ask.
His gaze darts to Dylan.
Dylan steps away from Cody. “Don’t look at me, man. You got yourself into this mess.”
Cody knits his hands together and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I was going to tell you. I just hadn’t
found the right moment.”
Dylan slaps Cody on the back and grunts. “Nice save.”
I narrow my eyes and tilt my head. “And just how will this aunt and cousin find out that Felix is
dead?”
“I’ll call her.” Cody shrugs, then his forehead creases and he flashes a shy grin. “Can I borrow
your phone… little sis?”
I roll my eyes and hand him my phone. Another secret revealed was Cody is my real-life big
brother. This is an easier adjustment, though, since I’ve always thought of him as my big brother
anyway.
Cody takes my phone and turns his back to me. I glare at the back of his head, but I calm my
breathing and use my acute hearing to eavesdrop.
A woman’s voice answers.
Cody peers over his shoulder at me, then walks down the pathway to talk in private.
Right now, I’m grateful for the mindlink—a wolf shifter’s ability to communicate internally with
others in their pack. The ability helps us talk while we’re in wolf form, but sometimes the mindlink is
handy to have private conversations when in human form too.
I say to Dylan through the mindlink, “Apparently, my dear half brother doesn’t want us to overhear
their conversation.”
Dylan steps next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. “Hey, cheer up. Look at it this way,
now you have the aunt’s phone number.”
I cross my arms over my chest and smirk. “I already thought of that. Got another one?”
“Always one step ahead.” He turns to face me and rests his forehead against mine.
My shoulders relax and the tension in my neck fades as his closeness calms my nerves.
Cody clears his throat. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Dylan steps away from me. “Nope, just calming her down. You should take some pointers.”
I playfully punch Dylan in the arm and then stare at Cody. “Well?”
Cody rubs the back of his neck. “She’s saddened to hear the news of her nephew passing, but she
also fully understands the situation at hand. She’s heard a lot about you, Cinda, and hopes to meet you
one day.”
My nostrils flare. “Oh, joy.”
Dylan steps closer to tighten our group. “But what about the records at Felix’s house?”
“She’ll take care of them,” Cody whispers.
I drum my fingers on my arm. “Is there anything else you haven’t told us? If so, there’s no time like
the present to wipe the slate clean.”
A flash of panic crosses Cody’s face, his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he flinches.
There is more he’s not telling us. I grind my teeth and fight back the urge to shift. My wolf is
frustrated and wants control.
Braeden rounds the corner of the stone cathedral, and his presence breaks the tension in the air.
He tosses a set of keys to Dylan. “Here. And here is a map with contact information of where you
need to go and who you should meet with.”
I reach for Dylan’s hand. “Are you sure this is necessary?”
Cody and Braeden answer in unison. “It is.”
Dylan pulls me in to a tight hug, and I melt into his warm embrace. A calmness washes through
me, easing my tense muscles. He whispers into my ear, “Be careful.”
I place a gentle kiss on his cheek. “I have my cell, keep in touch.”
He nods and walks over to a black four-door car with tinted windows.
Cody takes a hesitant step toward me, and all my frustration from this new information vanishes.
I’ve never been able to stay angry with him.
I open my arms wide. “Come here.”
Cody steps into the hug.
 “We’ll continue this conversation next time, okay?” I say.
He laughs. “You can count on it. Until then, take care of yourself. And trust no one.”
I pull back and peer into his hazel eyes.
“I mean it, Cinda,” he says. “Trust no one. Not even Caiden.”
I nod because I can’t form the right words. As Cody slides into the car, my heart races and
thoughts of Caiden float through my mind. Does Cody know something? Has something happened to
Caiden? Oh dear god—
“Hey sis,” Braeden says. His voice startles me, and I jump. “Whoa, easy now tiger.”
I turn around to face him and cock an eyebrow. “Tiger?”
“It’s an expression.”
“Good. Because my wolf is much more fierce than a damn scrawny tiger.”
“I would expect nothing less.” Braeden smirks. He twirls a key ring on his index finger. “Are you
ready?”
Morticia insisted we take her car. She said it is the only way to travel if we must travel among
humans.
I was expecting an old Rolls Royce, Gatsby style, from the 1920s. Instead, Braeden unlocks the
doors to a fully tinted black four-door sedan. He smirks and swallows a laugh.
I reach for the keys. “I’ll drive.”
He slides into the driver’s seat. “Nope. I’m driving.”
I take a deep breath and open the rear passenger door. I toss my overnight bag into the backseat
and then slide into the front, slamming the car doors. Sitting with anticipation in going home, to finally
be with my mate again, but bringing the news of what I’ve done…that I killed Felix. And, who I am…
a monstrous half-breed.
This may be the longest car ride I’ve ever been on.
The new car scent, mixed with leather, overwhelms my senses and my head spins. I wipe my
palms on my thighs, then fumble with my phone as it rests on my lap.
“Go on, give him a call,” Braeden says.
“What?”
He jerks his head toward my phone. “Call Caiden, the beastly Alpha of the Blood Moone pack.”
“And say what?” So much has happened, where do I even start?
“That you’re coming home?” His voice raises at the end, signaling a question.
I don’t know Braeden well. Damn, I’ve only known him a few hours. However, I’ve noticed he
can be self-centered and arrogant. But right now, he’s just being normal. I like normal.
Rubbing my forehead with the back of my hand, I pick up the phone. Before calling Caiden, I
check the call history. Bingo. The number Cody called is still here, and surprisingly, he already saved
it to my phone under Aunt Noir. My lips curl into a grin.
Braeden taps his fingertips on the steering wheel. “Are you going to call or what?”
I press Caiden’s name. He picks up on the second ring.
“Hello,” he says.
“Hey.” I try to keep my voice as cheerful as possible. Why is it so hard?
“Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.” His voice sounds strained.
My stomach twists, and I pull the phone from my ear to look at the screen, as if I could see him.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
That was quick. Too quick. He isn’t fine.
 I wipe my free hand on my thigh and clear my throat. “Well, guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m coming home.” Just saying those words sends my heart thumping. And my wolf yearns for
her mate.
“Good. Just you?” And, just like that, my heart drops. His tone is dry and flat. I was hoping for
more enthusiasm.
I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. “Yes.”
“What about the others?”
I bite my lip and fiddle with the hem of my shirt. “They’ll be back later.”
“Are they okay?”
“Yup, they’re fine.”
Well, except Felix. Felix is dead, by my own hand. I’ll tell him in person, though. It’ll be better
that way.
“When will you be home?”
I peer out the car window and the background blurs. Braeden doesn’t adhere to the driving rules
or speed limits of mere mortals.
“I’m not sure, it’ll depend upon traffic. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“Where are you now?”
“In the car.”
Braeden stifles a laugh and says under his breath, “Nice one, idiot. He probably meant where as
in what city or state.”
Caiden snarls. “Is someone with you?”
“No. I’m alone.” I shoot dagger eyes at Braeden.
“I thought I heard someone. A man’s voice,” Caiden says.
“Nope. Must’ve been the radio.” I bite my lip again so he won’t hear my voice quiver.
Caiden’s tone turns deep, and there’s a rumble in his chest. “Lucinda, are you lying to me?”
“What? No. Why would I lie to you?” I gnaw at my fingernails. Why am I lying to Caiden?
“Never mind.” He sounds tired and stressed. “I need to go. Drive safe.”
“Hey, Caiden,” I whisper and wait for his grunt. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” His tone radiates with more warmth and energy than before, but he’s still not his
usual self.
After hanging up, I lean against the window, and the warmth of the glass helps me to relax. But, a
growing ache in the pit of my stomach makes me ill. Something isn’t right with Caiden, he isn’t
himself and that concerns me, especially with the news I bring home.
I bite my lip, drawing blood, and fidget with the hem of my shift. Nausea rolls through my body
and my mouth waters in anticipation of dry heaving. Choking down the lump in my throat, I push aside
my worry over Caiden and finally rest my eyes.
Hopefully, sleep will calm my racing nerves…

The crisp evening sends a rush of icy pinpricks upon my warm skin. And I cry out, but no one
notices. Braeden sits in the driver seat next to me, however he doesn’t respond. Strange. It’s as if
he didn’t hear me at all.
 “Braeden?” I ask.
But he doesn’t even flinch. He continues to drive, keeping his attention on the road ahead. Am I
dreaming?
I glance out the window. It’s almost dusk but I recognize this town, Floyd. We’re well into pack
territory and almost to the Pack House. How did we get here so fast?
The other half of my soul, my wolf, snarls from within, and my stomach churns. Something isn’t
right.
A haze covers the surrounding area, blurring my vision. Fog drifts along the ground, dancing a
trail around the car.
Braeden turns to me and flashes a wicked grin exposing of his sharp pearly white fangs.
Suddenly, almost magically, I’m in the driver seat, and Braeden transforms into his creepy bat,
flapping his wings so hard that air blowing against my cheek. His beady eyes glance at me as he
flies out of the car window, almost as if giving me a warning with his glare. Is there danger ahead?
Thanks, dear brother, for leaving me to face the wolves alone—literal wolves. I let out a deep
sigh. What am I doing?
I race up the road leading to the Pack House, and gravel taps against the undercarriage of the
car. The constant rattle sends dark images through my mind—a thousand fingers trying to stop me
or worse, capture me.
The next thing I know, I’m standing outside the dark Pack House and the car is gone. I know I
must be dreaming, but the dread in my heart pounds as if it were real.
The fog creeps up to knee height and a shadow moves across the living room windows.
Chills race up my back, and an eerie sensation rolls through my body. I need to find Caiden,
fast. I need to safe him, but from what?
I turn to gaze at the forest. The pavilion.
It’s the day of our ceremony.
I take off running. There’s still time; I’ll make it.
Why won’t my damn legs run any faster? I’m wading through the darkness, like molasses.
A dim light glows ahead; I’m getting close.
My pulse quickens, and my palms begin to sweat as the sweet scent of bergamot swirls through
my nostrils. Heaven. Caiden is near.
I suppress my wolf and the need for her mate. This is a dream and I need to wake up.
Something isn’t right. I need to wake up right now!
I stop dead in my tracks and try to make out images under the darkening sky. The pavilion is in
view and I’m standing half behind a tree, but the fog has thickened and creeps up to my waist.
Caiden stands waiting for me. His posture tall and demanding. He’s alone in front of the crowd.
Many I recognize as pack members, but other’s I don’t recognize at all.
He looks down at his hands, then squares his shoulders to the front with a grimace. Caiden is
on display for all to see. Does he think I left him at the altar?
Caiden, I need to talk to you, I want to shout, but is it safe?
Another whiff of bergamot, and my heart races with excitement. If I can sense him, why can’t he
sense me?
Sabrina and Nyla step up next to Caiden and whisper in his ear. Their hands caress his
shoulders, and he nods without lifting his head. What are they doing to him?
Stabbing pain hits my gut and I hunch over. My wolf is taking control, she wants out. No, she
wants to run.
 I can’t leave Caiden. Can I?
A rumbling of voices spread through the crowd and echoes in the silent forest.
My head hurts as I try to open the mindlink to reach him. “Caiden?”
Caiden’s head snaps up and his onyx eyes bore deeply into my soul. I stumble backward and
fall on my butt.
What happened to him while I’ve been away?
“Lucinda.” Even through the distance, I know his eyes soften as he speaks my name. But all
too soon, his deep and husky voice rings through the mindlink again. “I’m afraid the man you
loved is no longer.”
CHAP T E R 2
 CAIDEN

THE IMAGE of my room blurs behind me as I peer into the mirror. A ghostly reflection of a man
resembling myself stares back at me. He must be the devil himself with flaming red eyes—the beast
vying for control.
Under my grip, the edges of the wooden dresser splinter. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath
and shake my head. Lucinda is on her way home; she can’t see me like this. I glance into the mirror
again, and the red eyes swirl black. My arm muscles bulge and my shoulders tighten as I squirm in
agony over what Lucinda will think of me, of what I’ve done to Garcia.
But more so, I’m fearful that the beast will take complete control over me.
A light tap sounds on the bedroom door. My claws extend and dig into the dresser. I need to get
control of myself.
The sweetness of cinnamon and honey drifts through the air with another round of light tapping.
“Caiden, are you okay?” Mia calls through the door.
My nostrils flare. With one last glance at my reflection, I dart across the room and crash through
the window.
Mia bursts through the door and races toward the window, reaching out to me. “Caiden!”
Brushing off pieces of broken glass, I run across the rooftop, and shingles loosen underneath my
feet, flying through the air to fall on the ground.
When I near the end, I spring off the edge of the roof and shift midair. My body contorts. This is
no ordinary shift, the beast is vying for control. My skin peels off my body and my bones break and
reconstruct.
All four paws land on the grassy ground with a loud THUMP. The forest—my escape, my
salvation—is within my grasp. Shadows creep in from the edges of my vision, narrowing my sight,
and the world takes on a reddish hue.
I will not lose control, not now.
I sprint to the tree line. Upon crossing the threshold of the forest, chills race up my spine and my
hackles bristle. Rumors around the pack state that the woods now have eyes. Perhaps they are right.
My ears pull back and I snarl. I’m being watched.
A soft hymn drifts in the air.
I prick my ears, and the melody calms my wolf. The heaviness within me lifts until my full vision
returns.
Animals no longer scurry over the crunching leaves that little the floor. Birds cease their chirping
overhead in the canopy, or worse, maybe they’re not even there now. The silence of the woodland
creatures should give me concern, but the chanting captivates so much that I dismiss all other worries.
 Where is the soothing sound coming from?
Prowling through the forest like a wild dog, I burst through briar patches and tear down wild
grape vines that loop over and hang from tree branches. My heart pounds. A warm liquid drips from
my muzzle from taking one too many thorns. But, I pay the cuts no heed. I’ll heal.
I must reach the source of the alluring hum.
My paws skid and I kick up loose dirt as I come to an abrupt stop. My cabin.
The sound is coming from within my cabin.
Smoke billows from the chimney and the amber glow of fire blazes through the window. Strange
scents, a mixture of sickly sweet and hot rotten garbage, flood my nostrils.
My lips curl up, displaying my sharp incisors, and I snarl. Who dares to trespass in my cabin?
I circle the cabin and observe the perimeter. Nothing else out of ordinary. Time to make my
presence known and see who’s inside. Whoever is inside is not one of my pack. And with that stench,
the intruder is no wolf.
Salvia pools in my mouth, and I hold down a growl. Remaining in wolf form, I push open the side
door. Whispers linger in the air, but the speakers quiet upon my entry.
Two dark-haired women turn from their seat on the couch and have the audacity to glare at me.
One woman stands. “Who dares enter our house?”
I stroll stiff legged through the kitchen, my tail straight out, remaining parallel with the ground. A
growl vibrates up my throat.
The woman’s eyes narrow and then the crease in her forehead disappears. She nods and takes her
seat.
“Alpha Caiden, we would prefer to speak with you in human form, if that suits you,” she says.
These women dare to enter my house and then give me orders? I grunt.
However, I head to my room and search for spare clothes. In the living room, the women speak in
a foreign tongue. The words sound eloquent, intricate, and sophisticated. I would never be able to
speak that language.
Upon dressing, I slip into the bathroom and splash my face with cold water. Peering into the
mirror, blue eyes stare back at me. I am myself. I am in control.
The whispers die down as I unlatch my door and reenter the living room. I cross my arms over my
chest and stand, hovering over the two ladies seated on my couch.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” I ask.
The woman that previously spoke stands up and slinks toward me. Her once dark chocolate eyes
now swirl in shades of all colors, resembling the aurora borealis.
“Who we are will come in time.” She drapes her hand upon my shoulder and walks a circle
around me. “We came here to discuss things with you.”
I grasp her wrist and squeeze, before tossing it aside. “What things?”
The other woman stands and stalks toward me, swaying her hips as she moves. She drums her
unnaturally long and glossy red nails upon my chest, then she flicks her pointer finger into the air. Her
lips curl into a mischievous smirk.
An uncontrollable burning sensation begins to itch my left arm. I tear into the soft flesh, my claws
extending to dig deeper and quench the antagonizing itch.
The first woman snaps her fingers. “That’s enough!”
“I was just having fun.” The other woman’s shoulders drop, and she turns her back from me and
goes to stoke the fire.
“You’re witches,” I mutter under my breath. I’m tired of witches strolling around my territory as
if they’re in charge.
The two women scoff. The one with the color-changing eyes shakes her head. “Tsk. Tsk. Insulting
us is how you want to begin this relationship.”
A fuzzy-headed mental fatigue rolls through my head and I shake it off, but then a searing pain
races up my arm. I clench my jaw and flex my biceps. These damn witches have no respect or
control over me.
I walk over to the armchair next to the couch and sit down. “We are beginning no relationship.
You may leave, now.”
A loud hiss comes from the fire, and I flinch. The woman with red fingernails throws another
handful of powder into the fire. The flames rise higher, and the orange tips dance in the air as they
turn a rainbow of colors.
“Caiden Lee Moone, my sister and I have been waiting for you, for a very long time.” The woman
with brown eyes creeps toward me. “I am Daphne, and that is my little sister, Auren.”
Daphne reaches out her hand, and against my own will, I take it. She leads me into the kitchen and
points toward the table. “Sit.”
I stumble toward one of the wooden chairs. A searing pain erupts in my veins, shooting up my arm
and through the rest of my body. I clench my fist and slam it against the tabletop. A foggy sensation
confuses my thoughts and blurs my vision.
“What have you done to me?” I growl.
Daphne laughs from across the room. “Nothing, you fool.”
Auren walks toward the stove just as a kettle starts to whistle. When did she turn that on?
She pours boiling water into a mug and carries it over to the table. Placing the mug on a coaster,
she slides it across to me. “Just try and relax. The more you resist, the more pain you’ll experience”
My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s about to burst. A tightness squeezes my lungs like all the
air is being sucked out. Relax they say? How am I supposed to relax.
I watch the tendrils of steam drift into the air. “What is it?”
“Just some herbal tea. It’ll help you to relax so we can discuss business.”
I lift the mug and my nose twitches as I sniff. The smell is similar to something I’ve had before.
But whose tea—Sabrina or Leah’s?
“What’s in it?”
“A little of this and a dash of that. It’s an old family recipe.” Auren stands and wipes her palms on
her pants. “Drink up.”
The tea is warm as it trickles down the back of my throat. I sigh in relief as my muscles relax.
“What is it that I’m not supposed to be resisting?”
She takes a deep breath and smiles. “The Fae charm.”
I blink several times, then take a closer look at Daphne and Auren. Their dark hair glistens in the
dim light of the fire, and their golden brown skin sparkles with a mysterious dewy glow. Daphne’s
eyes dance with the flames, and when I look close enough, she has small jewels outlining her eyes.
Beautiful. Captivating.
I shake my head. No. This isn’t real. “What are you doing to me?”
Daphne reaches out and strokes my arm. “Don’t fight it. Now you can see our true form. And it’s
time to discuss business.”
“What do we have to discuss?”
“We’ve been waiting for you for a very long time. You and your lover are destined to break the
spell so we can finally go home.”
 “Lucinda?” I stand, and my chair falls backward to the ground. “Leave her alone.”
Auren struts across the room and picks up my chair. She places a hand upon my shoulder and
guides me back to my seat. “You, and you alone, can perform this task. Lucinda, and only she, can
save you after the task is complete.”
“What is it you want me to do?”
“Kill the High Witch.”
“Why would I do such a thing?” I cross my arms in front of my chest and blow out a deep breath.
Daphne leans forward and kneels in front of me. “She is a wicked monster. Centuries ago, her
jealousy closed all gates that connected our homeland to this realm. We’ve been stranded here ever
since. We just want to go home.”
Auren kneels beside me and grasps my hands. “Only with her death will the spell be broken. Only
with her death will the gates reopen so we can finally return to our home.”
I throw her hands down and stand. Pacing back and forth, I ask, “Why me?”
The two sisters give each other a sideways glance. Auren shrugs and walks toward the fireplace.
Daphne takes my hand and brings it to her lips. “It’s written in the stars. This is your destiny. The
journey won’t be easy, but you need to remain true to yourself. You need to follow your heart.”
I rip my hand out from her hold and stumble back a few steps. “This is crazy.”
She glides forward until her chest rests against my chest, and her warm breath tickles my neck.
“Mark my words, Caiden Lee Moone, if you don’t kill the High Witch, you will be imprisoned
forever as the raging beast within you. Kill the witch, control the beast.”
Auren crosses the floor to stand behind her sister. Raising her hand, she snaps in the air. “But
now, it’s time to wake up.”

I’m hunched over with my head on the kitchen table in my cabin. I wipe a string of drool off the edge
of my mouth as I move into an upright position. The cabin is empty. Where did the Fae Sisters go?
I stand, stretch my back, and peer around the room as my eyes adjust to the dim light. A few
glowing embers remain in the ashes of the fireplace.
While rubbing the back of my neck, I walk across the room.
Was it all a dream?
I search the cabin for any indication that Daphne and Auren were ever here. I find nothing. Not a
single thing out of place, except for a mug of tea on the table. I shake my head and take a deep breath.
I need to get control over these blackout moments.
The early morning sun peeks through the windows. I lost an entire day?
Lucinda…
I storm out the cabin door and transform into my wolf. The edges of my vision darken and my
chest tightens. My heavy paws crash on the forest floor as I blaze a trail back home.
Hopefully I can remain in control and the beast won’t consume me.
CHAP T E R 3
 LUCINDA

BRAEDEN ’ S VOICE echoes in my head. “Hey, sis, wake up.”

My heart pounds and I gasp for air. Sobbing, I catch myself waking from the nightmare. A lucid
dream, the details already beginning to fade. But it felt so real. So much pain and sadness.
I knew I was dreaming, caught in that horrible night terror, but unable to wake myself. Shivers
course up my spine.
When I open my eyes, it’s dark outside. I dab my eyes with my sleeve, and then wipe my nose.
We’re parked beneath a bright neon sign. It blinks the word danger. The hair on the back of my
neck spikes up. Danger, like in my dream.
But then I look again and it says vacant, except the bulbs for the v, c, and a are all burnt out.
Classy place.
I blot the sweat that’s formed on my brow line. “Where are we?”
“Not far,” Braeden says. “Only a few hours away.”
“Why are we stopping?” I rub my eyes and stretch my arms above my head.
“Because it’s dark,” he says.
“Are you scared of the dark?” I tease.
“No. But it’s hard to tell what mess you’ll be walking into, so I’d rather it be light outside when
you arrive home.”
“What? We’re this close and—”
“I’m looking out for your safety.” He gets out of the car and slams the door shut.
My shoulders roll forward and I slump. Pulling out my phone to call Caiden, shivers course up my
spine. That creepy dream lingers in my mind. I shake my head, but glance over my shoulder to ensure
I’m safe. Maybe Braeden is right about waiting until daylight.
The phone vibrates and a message from Caiden pops on the screen.
Caiden: What’s your ETA?
Do I call him or text him back? I’m a chickenshit. I’ll text.
Me: Stopping at motel for the night. See you midmorning.
Caiden: You are that close and are stopping?
Me: Yes. I’m tired.
Caiden: Seriously?
Me: Yes.
I wait several minutes for a message to come through. Nothing comes.
My heart aches from knowing we’re so close but still so far. I dial his number. I need to hear his
voice to help calm my wolf. But he doesn’t answer. I leave a brief message and climb out of the car.
 “What’s the matter, sis? All not well on the home front?” Braeden asks.
I shoot him a glare from across the parking lot. He’s sitting on a bench outside the main office. He
spins a set of keys with the number eleven written on the key chain.
Braeden stands up and asks, “What’s the big bad wolf upset over this time?”
“What did you say?” I look up to him and wrinkle my nose.
He cocks a puzzled look. “Your mate, the Alpha… what’s his name?”
“Caiden.”
“Right. What’s got him all up in a rage now?”
“No, you called him the big bad wolf—”
He snorts. “Yeah, you don’t like it? I think it’s catchy and fits him perfect.”
“So you know?”
“About that demon creature that lives within him? Yup.”
Demon, what? I’ll come back to that later.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“I saw it. I was there on the battlefield when his parents were killed. And then I was in the camp
when—”
“What do you mean you were there? I thought the vampires weren’t a part of that attack?” I say in
a high-pitched screech.
“Correct.”
“Explain.” I step in front of him, blocking his path.
“I watched from afar. I was perched on a nearby tree. I’m able to transform into a raven
sometimes, as opposed to a bat.”
“Really? How?”
“Morticia thinks it’s because of my mixed blood. But I’ll tell you what, it sure is exhausting.” He
stares at me, rubbing his fingers on his chin. “I wonder…”
“What?” I ask, anxious to hear more.
“If I can morph into a raven and a bat because of my mixed blood… The same blood that runs
through your veins—”
“I already shift into a wolf, remember?”
“But not a raven.”
“You think I can transform into something else too?”
His eyes widen. “Wouldn’t that be cool?”
I’m not sure how I feel about that. A shiver runs through me, and I rub my hands along my arms.
Looking over my shoulder, I gaze at the full moon as it sits peeking over the horizon.
“No, I can’t transform into anything other than my wolf,” I say with certainty.
“You know this for a fact?” He arches an eyebrow.
I reach for the keys that still spin on his finger.
He snatches them away from my grip. “Not until you answer me.”
“Yes. I know it for a fact. It wouldn’t be right if I could transform into something else. And quite
frankly, I don’t want to.”
He extends his hand and uncoils is palm, exposing the keys. Just as I grab for them, he closes his
palm. My fingers brush the metal, but then the keys are gone.
“What do you mean it wouldn’t be right?” he asks.
A growl slips up my throat. “My wolf, she wouldn’t like it much.”
“Your wolf?” He mocks me. “You talk to her too, don’t you?”
 I stare into his eyes; he has no idea the bond that we have with our wolves. I peek over my
shoulder as someone approaches and heads to the vending machines.
“We should continue this conversation inside,” I whisper.
He nods and leads the way to our room.
I hope he’ll drop this conversation. Talking about my wolf only makes me miss Caiden that much
more. She’s anxious from being this close to her mate.
We step into the dingy motel room and a foul smell hits me. Nausea rolls through my stomach as I
combat the dry heaving sensation.
Pinching my nose, I ask, “What is that horrid stench?”
“Nothing good,” Braeden says.
We walk around the dimly lit room, sniffing the air, looking for the source of the awful smell.
“Found it.” He holds up a dead rat. By the look of the bloating, it’s been dead a couple days. “It’s
a ripe one, that’s for sure.”
“Just get it out of here.” I push him toward the door.
While he’s outside getting rid of the dead rat, I test the water in the sink at the vanity. A warm
shower would feel so relaxing right now. It’s exactly what I need after all that’s happened.
Braeden reenters the room. “Taking a shower?”
I step away from the sink that is full of ice-cold brown water. “Nope. I don’t think I’d get too
clean bathing in dirty water.”
So much for a relaxing night.
One last glance to my phone, and my heart sinks when I see a blank screen. I lie on top of the bed
and close my eyes, trying to sleep. But, after that terrifying nightmare earlier, sleep is the last thing I
want to do.
“You sleeping?” Braeden asks.
“No.” I let out a deep sigh.
“Don’t try to pretend you were asleep. You can’t trick me. Remember, I can hear the difference in
your breathing.”
I roll onto my side and face him. “That’s reassuring.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he says.
“Forgotten what?” I ask.
“You were going to tell me about your wolf.”
“What do you want to know?”
He stands from his chair and paces in front of the television. “What’s it like when you transform?”
“Physically, the shift is painful. But you get used to it after a while and then it’s just part of you.”
He pauses his stride and stares at the ground for a moment. “What about mentally and
emotionally?”
I sit up in bed and tilt my head when observing him. What an odd question. What is the shift like
mentally and emotionally? I have no clue. Seriously, what type of question is that?
His eyebrows knit together and then he leans forward to take a seat on the foot of my bed. “Did I
say something wrong?”
“No. I just don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“Fair enough. Let’s see, for example, when I transform into my bat I have no emotional ties. I am
me, only in a bat’s body. Same with the raven. But I’ve heard stories about wolves and your mates.
What’s that like?”
“Whoa. Okay. So, yeah—” How do I explain my wolf?
 He starts to laugh and the bed shakes under his weight. The sound of his laughter is delightful. It
eases my worrisome heart, and the tension in my neck and back relaxes.
“Just slow down and try again,” he says between laughs.
I take a deep breath and release it slowly through my nose.
“My wolf has a mind of her own. She is the other half to my soul. She doesn’t speak directly to
me, but I sense her urges. She’s feral in nature. If she represents my emotional heart, then my human
side is my logical mind.”
He scoots further up the bed and leans against the headboard, crossing his legs. “You have split
personalities?”
“Kind of. I’ve never thought of it like that, but I suppose so. High emotions bring her forward.
Anger, aggression, fear—”
“Love?”
I grin. “Yes, that too.”
“What happens when she comes forward?”
“It’s a constant battle to keep her out of my conscious mind. It’s the fight or flight reaction. She’ll
do whatever she has to do to protect us. But sometimes, more often than not, I can calm the situation
without the wolf stepping in.”
“Does she resent you for that?”
“She’s not bloodthirsty, if that’s what you mean. She doesn’t want to harm people,” I say.
“No, I just meant keeping her bottled up inside.”
I fluff the flat pillow on my side of the bed. “She grows restless if I don’t shift and let her out
often.”
“What do you do when you’re a wolf?”
I close my eyes and think of Caiden and the forest. The breeze ruffling my fur and the leaves under
my paws. “I run.”
“And what about the mate thing?” Braeden asks.
“I don’t know. It’s just one of those things.” I wonder if any of those records at the Noir Manor
has detailed information on mates?
I peek one eye open and study Braeden. He’s lying on his back with his arms behind his head.
“Tell me about it,” he says. “It’ll make an interesting bedtime story.”
“Do vampires sleep?”
“Humor me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How do you know if one is your mate?”
“Well, there are two different types of mates. There is the Fated Mate, which you feel deep in
your soul. Your wolf senses the bond. It feels like you have a string coming out of your stomach that
pulls you through life. The connection pulls you to your mate that’s attached on the other end.”
“And then what?”
I shrug. “That pulling sensation is gone and your wolf is content.”
“But if you’re in a room full of other men, how do you know which one is your mate?”
“I can’t speak to that exactly, I can only talk about my experience, and well, that wasn’t normal.”
My heart falters. I’ve never realized how much I want something in my life to be normal. But it never
will be.
If, and that’s a big if, Caiden looks past my mixed blood and we have a future together, our family
will never be normal. If we have pups, will they all be wolves, or could one be a vampire? A shiver
runs through me.
“So you don’t know?” he asks.
“Not from personal experience.” I bite my lip and remember Dylan. “When the faux bond struck
me and Dylan, it was strong and powerful. I knew it was him, and my whole body reacted to him
while his wolf reacted to me.”
“Wait, you and Dylan?”
“Long story, but yes.”
“We have all night—”
“No, I plan to sleep.” I lay down and roll away from him. “Good night.”
“What’s the other type of mate?” he asks, ignoring me.
“Just someone that you chose. This day in time, actually finding your Fated Mate is a miracle. It
rarely ever happens anymore. Growing up, we thought it was folklore… well, until it struck us.”
“So Dylan is your Fated Mate and Caiden is your chosen mate?”
“No. Dylan was cursed. He’s nothing more than a friend to me. Caiden is my Fated Mate.”
“Interesting,” he says. “Does anyone ever have a Fated Mate that isn’t a wolf?”
I twist around to face him. “I don’t know, why?”
“We don’t have anything that compares, I’m just curious.”
I trace the silhouette of his body in the shadow of the moon. Has he never experienced human
emotions? He can’t have. Raised by the undead bloodsucking Queen herself, she must be too old to
remember what it’s like to be human.
“Is it lonely?” I ask. “Being a vampire.”
“It can be,” he says.
“What’s it like?”
“Death.” He turns away from me. I guess our little bonding time is over.
“Was Morticia really in love with Felix?”
“How should I know?” he says with bitterness.
“I think she was. Or else she’s a very good actress, which I’m sure she is. But I still saw it. The
way she looked at his dead body. She loved him.”
“Whatever.”
I hug myself tightly. “I’m just sayin’. If she can love, then you can feel emotion. You’re not dead. ”
“Good night, Lucinda.”
I must’ve struck a nerve. But in all honesty, I don’t know him very well. Maybe he’s normally like
this, inquisitive but defensive, shutting down when it’s time to talk about himself.
I pull out my phone one last time—still a blank screen. My heart pounds hard and fast as I type
Caiden a short message.
Lucinda: I love you.
I place my phone, face down on the nightstand next to me and hope I won’t obsess over it all
night.

The sunlight shining on my face wakes me in the morning. I squint as I open my eyes, but a smile plays
on my lips too. The warm and bright sunshine brings a happiness to my heart.
I look to my left and Braeden isn’t in bed. When I search the room with my gaze, he’s nowhere to
be seen. But there’s a note on the bed next to my phone.
Be back in a few.
Rolling onto my back, I lift my phone and check for messages. One new message pops up, and my
pulse quickens. Caiden. I’m giddy with excitement at the anticipation of what he’ll say.
Mia: What did you say to Caiden last night?
My heart plummets to the ground. Letting out a deep sigh, I scoot up in bed and respond.
Lucinda: I told him I was stopping for the night.
I wait a minute or two for a response, but when nothing comes, I stand up and stretch. Then I head
over to the bathroom and run the sink to splash my face with cold, dirty water. At the sound of a new
message, I lounge across the foot of the bed with my phone in hand.
Mia: Why?
Me: Tired. Zzz.
Mia: Are you back on the road yet?
Me: Soon. Just woke up.
Mia: K. Hurry home.
Me: Everything okay?
Mia: No.
Me: Where’s Caiden?
Mia: Out.
Me: Is he okay?
Mia: Just come home.
Me: What’s going on?
Mia: Please hurry.
Me: Mia?
Mia: Don’t trust anyone.
What the hell! I toss my phone across the room and growl. Luckily, Mia thought ahead and bought
me one of those heavy-duty, indestructible phone cases to protect the phone. She has foresight
sometimes.
CHAP T E R 4
 CAIDEN

WHEN I APPROACH the Pack House my wolf is tired and hungry. But I search for the scent of mint and
honey, instead Sabrina’s rotten stench consumes me. I burst through the back door and transform into
human form, then grab a robe to wrap around myself before entering the rest of the house.
Mia races down the hall and throws her arms around my neck. “Caiden! Where have you been?
I’ve been worried sick.”
Sabrina rounds the corner of the hall and twitches her nose. “Who have you been with, is a better
question. And, is anyone else dead?”
Ignoring Sabrina, I pull Mia away from me and hold her at arm’s length. “I’m fine. I went for a run
to clear my head and fell asleep. Is Lucinda home yet?”
“Not yet, but soon.” Mia’s eyes glisten with tears and small smile forms. She lunges into my chest
for another hug.
I wrap her in a tight bear hug and then release her, taking a step away. “I’m going to go get
cleaned up.”
She nods.
As I approach Sabrina, she says, “I’ll boil some water in the kettle for a nice cup of tea to help
you relax while you wait.”
I brush past her and jog up the stairs. A warm shower will help me relax.
Sabrina’s comment “is anyone else dead” squeezes at my heart. What will Lucinda think about
what I’ve done?
After I shower and dress, just as promised, Sabrina has a cup of tea waiting for me. I add honey
and sip the drink while pacing in the living room, anticipating Lucinda’s arrival.
When gravel kicks up in the driveway and the purr of an engine disturbs the quiet, I rush outside,
open the car door, and pull Lucinda into my chest. I need my mate.
With her in my arms, the mark she gave me tingles and a light rush of warmth spreads across my
skin. I pull her closer and relish in her scent.
“Lucinda,” I say through the mindlink.
She nuzzles into my chest and whispers, “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Me too.” I rest my forehead against hers.
“We need to talk,” she says.
Talk? Good things don’t usually come from that. And I need her now.
“Time for that later, but first…” I graze my lips across her jaw and down her neck. I stop and pay
special attention to my mark that sits in the sweet spot just below her ear. A soft moan escapes her
delicate lips, and my pulse quickens.
 Picking her up bridal style, I lock my lips on hers and make haste for the house.
When we near the front door, Sabrina is blocking the doorway. I have no time for her games.
Without removing my lips from Lucinda’s, through the mindlink, I order Sabrina to move out of the
way.
To my surprise, she complies with no backtalk. But as I enter the house, Sabrina’s smug voice
talks in hushed tones from within the kitchen. Ignoring her, I take my mate straight upstairs.
Once in my room, I place Lucinda’s feet on the floor and take another long look at her. Her face is
much paler than before, and her eyes are tired and weary. Dark circles lay under her eyes, which
droop in the corner where once they lifted. Her lips curve down, where before they naturally curved
up into a smile.
What has happened to my beautiful Lucinda?
Her fingers travel under my shirt, touching my bare skin, and I put my thoughts aside. A fire burns
in my soul, and I need to extinguish it. I need to reclaim my mate. I need my scent all over her,
declaring that she is mine.
I rip off my white T-shirt—shit, there goes another one—and her hands roam over my chest.
When I reach for her shirt, she playfully slaps my hands away and pulls it off over her head.
“I wasn’t going to rip it,” I tease through the mindlink.
Her smile brightens the darkened mood that covers her face. My lips find hers once again and I
guide her backward to the bed. I stop when her legs hit the mattress. My mouth travels along her neck
and continues down her chest and stomach. I unbutton her jeans and slip them over her hips, growling
at the black lace undies before me. She grabs my head and plays with my hair.
Biting the black lace with my teeth, I pull the item off, and she removes her matching bra. I press
into her and she leans back, lying flat on the bed.
It’s a constant fight for control with the beast within me. But I push him back and succeed once
again.
Her hands find the button to my jeans and she pulls them down. Before climbing on top of her, my
eyes roam my mate’s naked body. All prior control is lost.
The beast is loose.
I want to take her slow, but the beast takes her hard and fast. He ravages her body. I faintly hear
her call my name, and I hope it is in pleasure and not pain.
Grabbing my face with both her hands, she says, “I love you.”
Her gentle touch and loving words pull me from the fog, and I regain full control once again.
I roll onto my back, and she cuddles into my chest. I could stay like this forever.
Unfortunately, our reunion is cut short when Mia sends me an urgent message through the
mindlink. “Caiden, they’re on their way.”
I knew it was only a matter of time.
I toss Lucinda her clothes. “We have company coming.”
Her eyebrows lift and she glances toward the door.
We both finish dressing just as the door opens.
I charge to the door and stop the intruders. My power surges through the room. “How dare you
enter my room without knocking!”
Sabrina, her cousins, and the witch stand in the hall.
Nyla, the witch, spits back, “How dare you conceal a traitor.”
“Traitor?” I turn to look at Lucinda. “And just what did she do?”
The witch tries to enter my room, and I move to block her. “No. I am the Alpha of this pack, and
you are a guest in my house. Know your place, witch.”
“Caiden.” Sabrina’s silky voice drifts through the air and she reaches for my arm. “Hear her out.”
I pull my arm away from her touch. “Speak fast, I don’t have time for games.”
The witch peers over my shoulder, directing her attention to Lucinda. “Where are your
companions child?”
Lucinda stalks toward the door. Standing next to me, she glares at the witch. “Dylan and Cody
will return soon.”
Sabrina twists her head to make eye contact with Lucinda. “But what are they doing?”
“How should I know?” Lucinda crosses her hands over her chest. “Bachelor things in a city full of
single women I think is what they said.”
“Is Gavin with them?” Sabrina asks.
Lucinda’s eyes widen and she glances to me.
Through the mindlink, I say, “He’s missing.”
The corners of her mouth drop and a crease forms on her forehead.
She didn’t know.
“Answer, child. We don’t have time for your games,” the witch snaps.
“No. I don’t know where he is,” Lucinda says.
“And Felix?” the witch asks.
Lucinda’s face pales and her heart skips a beat.
“Lucinda, where’s Felix?” I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze.
Tears pool in her eyes. She whispers, “He’s dead.”
“How?” the witch demands.
Lucinda blinks back the tears and steps closer to the witch. I cross my arm in front of her chest to
stop her. I need to keep a barrier between these two, or things might get ugly.
“The assassin you hired to kill me shot him with a poisoned arrow.” Lucinda sends a force of
power rippling through the air.
“But we both know that isn’t how he died,” the witch says. “He died by your hand. You killed
your companion.”
“How do you know that?” Lucinda gasps.
Nyla’s eyes narrow and a devilish grin transforms her face. “I have eyes and ears everywhere, my
child.”
Dropping my arm, I step forward and turn sideways to face Lucinda. “Is that true?”
Lucinda reaches for me, her hand upon my chest. “It isn’t how it sounds.”
The witch stomps her foot. “You killed Felix, a great friend to the Witch Coven.”
Lucinda’s touch quivers against my chest, then she balls her hand into a tight fist and grimaces.
“Oh, I know all about the Witch Coven.”
Her eyes swirl black and her canines protrude over her lips.
“Yes, I’m sure you heard many lies from the undead. Did you have a nice stay with them?” the
witch asks.
“It was very informative,” Lucinda says through a tight jaw. Her eyes are narrow slits and her
pupils are fully dilated.
She’s losing control.
Stepping closer to her, I wrap my arms around her shoulders and squeeze. What happened while
you were away?
“Did you have a nice family reunion?” the witch asks Lucinda.
 My head snaps around to look at the witch, and I’m fast enough to catch a glimpse of a smile
playing on her lips. Is she trying to push Lucinda’s buttons?
Turning back to Lucinda, the hazel returns to her eyes, but dark circles shadow her face.
The darkness and sorrow in Lucinda’s eyes pierce my soul. I send through the mindlink, “What is
it? What’s wrong?”
The witch orders, “Enough. Take the traitor away.”
“Caiden,” Lucinda calls through the mindlink. “Trust me, don’t trust them.”
Sabrina pulls her from my arms, and her cousins place silver chains around Lucinda’s wrists and
another around her neck.
Lucinda’s eyes remain fixed on mine, and right before the silver takes effect, fully closing the
mindlink, she says, “I love you.”
Inching closer to me, Sabrina rubs my back and whispers words of another language into my ear
as they lead Lucinda, my Fated Mate, away.
Lucinda shuffles down the hall. Mia races up the stairs and pushes against the cousins. They push
her back, and she slams into the wall.
Mia screams through the mindlink, “Caiden, stop them!”
Sabrina leans in and whispers close to my ear, “Caiden, you must remain strong. Lucinda has been
accused of being a traitor. You must honor the pack traditions while this is investigated further.”
Mia races down the hall toward me, but Sabrina rubs my chest with her fingers, distracting me.
Sabrina continues in a hushed tone, “You must not go to her. She’ll only try to confuse you and fill
your head with lies.”
“What type of lies?” I ask.
“First, she’ll tell you that she loves you, which she may or may not. Next, she’ll ask you to trust
her. Then, she’ll tell you that the witches aren’t to be trusted.”
I grab Sabrina’s hand off my chest and throw it down. “Stop talking and leave me alone.”
I motion for Mia to enter my room, then I close the door in Sabrina’s face.
How does Sabrina know Lucinda will say those things? Because she already did…
CHAP T E R 5
 LUCINDA

IT ’ S BEEN two days since Sabrina’s cousins locked me in this cell. Though I only visited Felix once, I
know it’s the same cell that we held him in. It reminds me of a jail cell, except it’s underground.
Between the dirt floor and rock ceiling, I almost feel at home back in the wilderness. But then the
cold concrete block walls remind me that my fated mate’s pack holds me against my will. The small
cell has one narrow rectangular window high on the left wall near the rock ceiling, but I can barely fit
my hand through the gap.
However, the window does provide enough light that I can tell day from night.
Sabrina visits me once a day, bringing food, water, and a clean honey bucket. In all my life, I’ve
never felt so dirty or degraded. She is nice enough during her visits, but there is something about the
way she speaks to me that gets my skin crawling. And afterward, I curl up on the mattress thrown on
the floor until the uneasy feeling of being violated passes.
Will Caiden or Mia ever visit? What do they think of me?
I wake with a startle. A flash of eyes glimmers in the moonlight that shines in from the window.
Someone or something is down here with me, sitting in the darkness on the other side of the cell.
I sniff the air, but the effort is in vein. My captors removed the silver chains from my ankles and
wrists, but the silver collar was left around my neck to ensure my senses remain dulled.
However, my wolf calms me; she knows who sits in the darkness.
“Caiden?” I whisper.
I crawl across the floor so I’m near the steel bars. Sitting up, I lean my head against the metal,
searching for Caiden.
“I know you’re there,” I whisper. I don’t want to alarm anyone else that may be around. I doubt
they would approve of Caiden being here at this late hour. Butterflies fill my stomach. If he’s caught,
they may charge him with treason, or worse.
“If you’re not going to speak, then why are you here?” I ask.
A quick movement catches my eye and my heart sinks.
He’s gone.
The mark on my neck, the mark of mates, begins to burn, and I whimper. What the hell is going
on? What is this pain? Oh god, did he just break our bond?
I collapse on the floor where I’m seated and cry myself back to sleep.
Sabrina wakes me in the morning with a kick to the shoulder.
“Get up, you know the drill,” she says in her silky tone as she crosses the room and sets the tray of
food and water on the floor near the mattress.
Rolling onto my back, I stare at the ceiling and ask, “What will they do with me?”
 She takes a long look at my face, probably examining my puffy eyes. I see her happiness at my
pain, though she tries to hide the emotion. I see through her fake appearance. She knows what Caiden
did last night.
“The pack wants to kill you, but—” She rolls her eyes. “The High Witch thinks you’re more
valuable alive than dead.”
With that curt announcement, she leaves.
Left alone again, I raise my hand to my neck and trace Caiden’s mark. I lie, curled up in a ball, on
the cold earth and my tears pool in the dirt. I drift in and out of consciousness, but a loud crack of
thunder wakes me.
My wolf tells me I’m not alone.
“Tell me,” Caiden says from somewhere in the darkness.
“Tell you what?” I lick my lips and swallow several times, trying to coat my dry throat.
He rushes toward me, his movements are jerky and erratic. I startle and jump back from the cell
bars.
“Everything,” he says.
He stands inches from me on the other side of the metal divider. All I see are his all-consuming
red eyes glowing in the dark.
Another loud clap of thunder strikes overhead, and I quiver but quickly regain my composure. I
nod to Caiden and scoot to my previous position, leaning against the metal bars.
“Yes, I killed Felix,” I say. “But I didn’t want to, please believe me.”
Caiden growls and his nostrils flare. “You earn trust. Give me a reason to believe you.”
Tears prick my eyes and heat rushes to my cheeks. I’ve never heard his voice so cold and stern.
I twirl a piece of hair between my fingers and stare at the ground. “The assassin shot a poisoned
arrow aimed for me, but Felix saved my life.”
“Killing him is an interesting way to show your appreciation after saving your life,” he mocks.
“He was dying. Morticia, Queen of the Vampires, was a former lover and vowed to try and save
him…”
“By trying to bring him back as an undead?” Caiden asks.
I nod. “He begged me to kill him so that wouldn’t happen. He didn’t want to be experimented on.
He didn’t want to be an undead.”
My eyes burn as more tears stream down my face. All the confused feelings I’ve felt over the
circumstances surrounding Felix’s death come pouring out. My emotions are left unchecked and
everything is released.
“I’m so sorry,” I say between sobs.
Caiden reaches acrond the corner an arm lengths away and retrieves and oil lamp.
And then his warm hands brush my arm, and I jump up in shock. He now sits across from me with
his oil lamp casting a soft glow between us.
“I believe you,” he says.
“You do?” I ask through sniffles.
I stretch my hand out between the bars, and he grasps it with both of his and places soft kisses on
my cold skin. My heart flutters and the mark on my neck burns, only this time it isn’t in pain.
I reach up to soothe my burning mark. “What happened last night?”
His eyes squint.
“It hurt so bad, I thought you broke the bond.”
“I tried to,” he says, brushing my neck with his fingertips. “But you are my mate. No matter what
happens, I’m in it for life.”
I lean my head into his hand, and he cups my face, brushing my cheek with his thumb.
“Our bond is strong, so we feel each other’s emotions through the mark. The closer we are, the
more intense the feeling.” His eyes bore into mine. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
I nod, my check brushing against his calloused hand. “Yes, I have so much I want to tell you.”
This is my chance to tell him everything because I need to tell him about Braeden. But when he
finds out about my hybrid blood, what will he think? I doubt when he said he was in this for life,
that included having little undead pups running around.
I’m a chickenshit.
“Cody is my brother,” I say.
“What, really?” he asks.
The change in his voice catches me off guard, and I lift my head from the safety of his hand to
watch his eyes. This is not what he was expecting to hear. Does he already know?
“Yeah, well half brother,” I whisper. Do it now, Lucinda. Tell him. “We had different fathers.”
“And to think I was jealous of him.” He lets out a sigh of relief and runs his hand through his hair.
“Is there anything else I should know?”
Caiden, I have a twin brother. He is a vampire. I am a hybrid with mixed blood. Damn it,
Lucinda, it’s that easy, just tell him!
“Can you take this off?” I pull at the silver collar around my neck.
He glances from it to me and back again, lifting it up and looking at my skin underneath. He grazes
the open wounds that refuse to heal where the silver makes contact with my skin.
“I’ll be good, I promise,” I say.
He reaches through with both hands and grabs the collar, breaking it into two pieces.
“Thank you,” I say through the mindlink. As hesitant as I was of using it, I miss it. I miss hearing
his thoughts. I miss having him in my head.
He glances toward the door and stands. “I should be going.”
I scramble to my feet and grab for his hand. “Wait!”
Pulling his hand through the bars, I hug his arm and lean against the metal, casting my eyes down.
In the mindlink, I tell him everything. There is something about not saying it out loud that makes it
not real.
When I finish, he tilts my chin up with his finger and studies my eyes. Under his scrutinizing gaze,
my tears begin to pool as my marking burns again.
“Thank you for telling me,” he says, his jaw clenched. Then he kisses my forehead and struts
away without another glance back.
After watching him leave, I collapse onto the mattress and stare into the darkness.
Now what should I do?
Mia!
I call out to Mia in the mindlink, but it goes unanswered.
She’s my last hope. I need to know what’s going on in the pack and get word to Dylan and Cody
so they don’t walk into a trap.
The thunderstorm has ended, and the soft sound of rain lulls me into an unwanted state of sleep.
When I wake, a distorted sound vibrates in my head. Upon concentrating, I realize it’s Mia trying
to get through the mindlink.
“Mia, are you there?” I ask.
“Here,” she says. “We don’t have long.” Her words are jumbled and mixed with static.
 This is weird.
“They’re doing something to the mindlink,” she says.
Damn that witch.
“Okay, quickly then,” I say. “Go to the forest and look to the trees for a bat. Whisper for Braeden,
then tell him what’s happened and where I am.”
“Who?”
My words slur together as I talk too fast. “I’ll explain all later, but he’s my twin brother.”
“Ok—” Her faint voice echoes as it fades away.
Hopefully she heard at least half of my directions.
I lie down and try to fall back asleep, but I only toss and turn on the hard, lumpy mattress that
smells of mold and other unpleasant science experiments. Now that the silver collar is off, my
heightened senses are overloaded with the raunchy smell of the cell.
Pushing to my feet, I stand up and pace back and forth. If I can’t communicate through the
mindlink, then how can I find out what’s going on out there?
I reach up to soothe the sores that are now healing on my neck. As my fingertips graze the wounds,
I think of Caiden. What does he think of me now? Is my mixed blood too much for him to accept?
My wolf whimpers in defeat.
Deep down, I know how Caiden feels; I saw it in his eyes when I told him. It’s the same reaction I
had when I first learned of my past—shock, confusion, denial, and anger.
I’m not sure that I’ve fully accepted it myself, so how can I expect him to? I can’t.
I lean against the hard block wall and slide to a sitting position. I was often alone during my time
as a rogue, but this is different. I’m not just alone, I’m isolated. They cut me off from the rest of the
world.
Feet shuffle against the dirt floor. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have paid attention to
it, however, in my current situation, anything is a nice distraction.
“Hello?” My palms sweat and my eyes dart around the empty cell. “Is someone there?”
I find my footing and walk across the room. When I near the bars, the scent of bergamot floods my
scenes. But it’s different. My nose twitches and I sneeze. The musky bergamot gets stronger.
“Caiden?” I call into the silence.
A shadow approaches. But I’d know his silhouette anywhere.
Caiden’s returned. My wolf leaps in excitement and heat creeps into my cheeks. Has he accepted
everything and come to rescue me?
When he stands close enough to touch, I reach through the bars, but he squints at me with dark
onyx eyes. I quickly lower my hand to my side.
This is not my Caiden. But I don’t blame him after everything I’ve put him through. I don’t
deserve him.
My shoulders slump forward in defeat.
What did I expect? Unconditional love? Does such a thing exist?
After several minutes of uncomfortable silence under his scrutinizing glare, I say, “Did you want
something?”
Power surges through the room. My wolf startles within me, but I pay no attention. I will not
allow him to badger me into being a scared, submissive pup.
I stand taller and roll my shoulders back to straighten my posture. I lift my head and look him
straight in the eye. “If not, then you can leave.”
His lips curl and expose his canines as he snarls in my direction.
 My wolf responds with a growl of her own. Who does he think he is, and what is he trying to
do?
“Is this how you treat all your mates?” I say.
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I know how deeply he loved his first mate
and how much her death affected him. I never should have referenced her, not now.
He leans in and reaches through the bars. His hand slides around my wrist and yanks me forward.
“What was your plan?” he says with a hoarse voice. “After you returned home, would you distract
me and then kill me?”
“What? No!” I stare into his eyes, pleading for him to see me rather than look past me. But his
dark onyx eyes have no pupils—the beast has taken over. There is nothing left of my Caiden, which
means this conversation is over.
I yank my arm and back away from the bars. “Go home, Caiden. Find Mia and calm down.”
At the mention of Mia’s name, his face twitches. He growls. “Leave her alone. This is between
you and me.”
“What is?” I ask.
The sun is rising and morning rays shine through the small window. I study Caiden in the light.
Dark circles fall under his eyes and he looks tired. What have they done to him?
“I should kill you for what you’ve done. You manipulating and seductive little—”
“Then do it. Kill me right now!” I yell and run toward him, smashing into the bars. I grab his hand
and place it around my neck. “Put me out of my misery.”
His fingers curl and tighten around my neck. His nostrils flare and sharp canines protrude over his
lips.
CHAP T E R 6
 CAIDEN

DAMN HER ! I pound my fist into the drywall in my room and powder falls onto my arm.
Mia send through the mindlink, “Caiden, is everything okay?”
No. Everything is not okay. I almost killed Lucinda last night. At least, I think I almost killed
her. I would know if she was truly dead, right? How do you even kill one of the undead?
I punch the wall again.
Mia shuffles down the hallway, and her scent drifts into my room with a gust as she bursts through
the door.
I whip around to face her. She stands in the doorway, hands on her hips.
Mia’s been so pale ever since Gavin left. She claims he didn’t tell her he was leaving, much less
where he was going. But Sabrina and the witch think otherwise. I just don’t know who to believe
anymore. Is there anyone left that I can trust?
I narrow my eyes. “Have you been hiding Lucinda’s secret this whole time?”
Being best friends, she must’ve known, right?
“No, Caiden, I would’ve told you. I’m just as surprised as you,” she says.
“Surprised? No, that is not the term I would use.” My canines slip out, piercing my lip.
“Caiden, are you feeling okay?” Her eyes widen, and the distinct scent of fear floats through the
air.
I stalk across the room to be near her. “Are you hiding anything from me?”
“No,” she whispers.
“If you have any secrets, then you would be wise to tell me now, dear sister.” I play with a piece
of her hair that has fallen loose from her perfect ponytail.
Shaking her head, she pulls her hair from my grasp.
“If we find out you’re hiding something—”
“We who?” she asks.
The change in her posture catches my attention. Her scent has also turned spicy, which doesn’t
happen often—only when she gets really pissed off. Lucinda’s does the same.
No! Damn it. Do not think of her.
I give my head a slight shake to free my mind of Lucinda. Mia’s soft touch on my shoulder
releases me from my gloomy thoughts.
Staring into her dark swirling eyes, I take a step back and look around the room.
What the—
“Mia?” I ask.
She rushes toward me with open arms and falls against my chest. “Oh, Caiden! What happened,
where were you?”
“I, uh—”
Where was I? The last thing I remember was going to see Lucinda. Which didn’t go too well.
But I’m working through it—I think. I went for a run next, right?
Looking down at my hands, I hope they will provide the answers I need. No stains of blood.
Good. But—
“It doesn’t matter. You’re back now, right? You feel okay?” Mia hugs me again.
I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight. She grounds me. I need her more now than ever.
She tucks her head under my chin, and I squeeze tighter.
“Did the beast take control again?” she asks.
“I’ve been working so hard to get control over it,” I say into her ear. Ashamed of myself, my head
falls onto her shoulder.
“What if someone else is controlling it?”
I pull away from her to peer into her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I dunno. It’s just that it’s different this time.” Her hands clasp in front of her chest, and she sways
back and forth on the balls of her feet.
My eyesbrows lift, forming ripples in my forehead. “Different, what do you mean?”
“When you lose control and zone out, you’re just like, you know, nonresponsive. Like you’re an
untamed creature,” she says, and a redness rises to her cheeks.
She’s never told me that she’s seen me before.
I nod because that’s how I’ve always felt afterward too.
“But this time, you’re functioning like a regular person. Just dark and hostile,” she whispers. “The
only way I can tell if it’s you or not is by the color of your eyes.”
I strut across the room to the mirror on my dresser. “My eyes?”
“Your beast has red eyes. You have blue. But this other thing has onyx eyes. And I don’t just mean
the pupils fully dilating. I’m talking about your entire iris and all the white changing. Only black
remains.”
I close my eyes to imagine such a sight, and a shiver courses down my arms.
“What’s this?” Mia asks.
When I open my eyes, she’s reaching for the talisman that’s hidden under my shirt.
“Oh, that? It’s nothing,” I say. I don’t feel like getting into pack politics with her right now. She
wouldn’t understand.
Her fingers graze the unusual markings on the flat gold piece that hangs around my neck. As she
traces the design, the chain burns my neck. She screams. Flames blaze from her hands, and the chain
glows red like hot embers.
I grab the talisman and rip it from my neck. When I throw it on the floor, the flames extinguish as
quickly as they ignited.
“Are you okay?” I ask, turning her hands over to look for damage.
She nods. “Where did you get that?”
Taking a deep breath, I run my hand over my face. “Sabrina.”
“Why would you ever wear something Sabrina gave you?” Her tone is full of disgust and
disappointment.
I knew she wouldn’t approve.
“Did… you two…” she asks.
“No.”
 “Then why?” Mia’s eyes widen. I’ll give her credit, she’s trying to understand. It only makes it
that much harder to explain.
“She—” I cast my eyes down, trying to find the right words. “The Elders made it known that she
has become an invaluable part of this pack.”
“I don’t see the connection,” she says. “And screw them.”
“Sabrina presented me with this talisman during one of the Elder meetings. She said it was for
good luck and to ward off any ill will. The Elders thought it couldn’t hurt since we had just learned of
the visit by the High Witch and other council members,” I say.
Mia wiggles her nose and she waves her hands in excitement.
“What if it is that?” She points to the talisman on the floor. “What if that allowed someone to
control the beast?”
“But who or what could do such a thing?” As I speak the words, the answer materializes in front
of me.
“The w—”
I raise my hand in the air to cut her off, knowing what she was about to say.
If it’s true, then I bet there are spies everywhere, listening to everything.
I try her through the mindlink, but the connection is weak and broken. Strange.
As the Alpha, the mindlink is in my control, but something is interfering. I reach up to rub my
temples and I focus harder and concentrate.
Closing my eyes, I force all my power through the mindlink, and when I hit a barrier, I crush it.
Black smoke floods my senses and I shake it off, clearing my mind and the smoke disperses.
When I open my eyes again, I lower my hands from my head in time to catch myself against the
wall. I search the room for Mia. Where is she?
Wait, I’m not in my room. It’s dark, cold, and damp. Squinting, a shadow moves on the wall, it’s
Sabrina.
“Did you have a fun visit with your mate?” Sabrina says in her silky voice.
I shift my body, backing away from her. I’m tired, so tired.
“Don’t worry, it won’t be long now,” she says.
“For what?” a voice says, but it’s not my own. It’s Lucinda. I’m in the cell with Lucinda. I’ve
linked into her mind, and I’m seeing through her eyes.
“Your sacrifice of course,” Sabrina says.
“Why all the games? Why don’t you just kill me?” Lucinda asks.
I reach up and touch the mark on her neck—my mark. It burns and I feel it too.
“Oh, the sacrifice isn’t a game.” Sabrina laughs. “It’s an offering. We’ve waited so long for this.”
I’m pulled back into my room. Mia stands directly in front of me, searching my eyes, and I know
she’s looking for the color.
“Blue,” I say. “They’re blue.”
“Yes,” she confirms. “What happened, where were you?”
“I was trying to break through the block in the mindlink, and somehow, I ended up linked to
Lucinda.” I brush my hand through my hair. “Oh god, Lucinda!”
I race out of my room and jump down the stairs, landing on my feet in a crouch. I stand up as the
front door opens.
“Hi, Caiden, are you going somewhere?” Sabrina asks.
“Yes.” I push past her and exit the Pack House.
Mia rushes out behind me.
 “Just keep walking,” she says through the now clear mindlink.
“Lucinda?” I try reaching out to her in the mindlink. The mark on my neck is ice cold, where hers
was on fire. “Where are you?”
“Caiden?” Lucinda’s voice rings through the mindlink, though something’s wrong. It’s fading in
and out. I can’t understand what she’s saying. Her jumbled words echo in the silence. Damn it!
Sabrina yells from the porch, “Where are you two going that you’re in such a rush?”
I twist around and charge at Sabrina.
Mia grabs my arm and pulls me backward. Through the mindlink, she says, “Caiden, don’t. She’s
not worth it. We need to go, now.”
I halt and nod in agreement. When did my little sister get so smart and strong-willed?
I glare at Sabrina’s smirk. “We’re going to see Lucinda.”
“Oh. Have fun.” Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she turns to head inside the house.
Mia’s head tilts to the side and she frowns, mirroring my expression.
“Weird,” she whispers. “Not the response I was expecting.”
“Me either,” I say. “Let’s hurry.”
I hope it’s not too late.
Mia races to the car that Lucinda drove here. I study the sleek blacked-out sedan as if I’m seeing
it for the first time. Well, it is the first time I’m seeing the vehicle through a clear mind. Lucinda never
said where she got the car, but it’s an interesting choice for her. I’ll have to remember to ask her about
it. Surely someone will want it back.
“Mia, what are you doing?” I ask.
“I thought Cinda may want her stuff,” she says and reaches into the backseat of the car, pulling out
Lucinda’s tote bag.
“Good idea, now let’s go!”
When did Mia start being proactive and thinking ahead?
During the short drive to the holding cell, I tell Mia about the conversation I overheard between
Lucinda and Sabrina regarding the sacrifice. Mia’s eyes narrow into thin slits and her nose scrunches
tight. She resembles a possessed demon, and quivers course up my spine.
Mia points forward to the road. “We need to hurry.”
It’s not long before I hop the curb and park sideways in front of the little house. We jump out of
the car and race into the holding area.
When we round the corner, I’m surprised to see no guard out front. But I open the door and walk
into the dimly lit hall that heads to Lucinda’s holding cell.
“This is where she’s been?” Mia’s voice cracks behind me. “Down in this dingy, dirty pit of
hell?”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “Where did you think she was?”
“Sabrina told me you requested she be held in your cabin,” Mia whispers.
“My cabin?” I ask.
“Yeah, to keep her comfortable but away from everyone that may want to harm her,” Mia says.
That’s crazy. I know full well she is in this cell. I’ve visited her here more than once. I think.
We approach the holding cell and my heart starts to pound.
No! I punch the iron bars and growl. We’re too late. She’s gone.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
bancos estoirados, companhias fallidas, papellada esfarrapada! O
balão dos calculos tombava enrodilhado, a Babel de algarismos caía
por terra em estilhas! Pobres fundos do conde de Tojal, almoe-
dados em Londres! quem dava por elles um chavo?

No logar da Fonte, concelho da Povoa-de-Lanhoso, no coração

do Minho, existia a que foi a Joanna d’Arc do setembrismo. No
Minho, como em todas as regiões de stirpe celtica,[30] a mulher
governa a casa e o marido; excede o homem em audacia, em
manha, em força; ara o campo e jornadêa com a carrada do milho á
frente dos boisinhos louros. Requestada em moça nos arrayaes e
romarias pelos rapazes que a namoram, conversando-a com as
suas caras paradas, basta vêr um d’esses grupos para descobrir
onde está a acção e a vida: se no olhar alegre, quasi ironico da
moça garrida, luzente de ouro, se na phisionomia molle do rapaz,
abordoado ao cajado, contemplativo, submisso, como diante d’um
idolo. A vida de pequenos proprietarios põe na familia uma avidez
quasi avarenta e na educação dos filhos instinctos de governo.
Quando se casam, as moças conhecem o valor do dote que levam,
e os casamentos são negocios que ellas em pessoa debatem e
combinam. Não é uma esposa, quasi uma serva, que entra no poder
do marido, á moda semita que se infiltrou nos costumes do sul do
reino: é uma companheira e associada em que o espirito pratico
domina sobre a molleza constitucional do homem desprovido de
uma intelligencia viva. A mulher parece homem; e nos attritos da
dura vida de pequenos proprietarios, quasi mendigos se as colheitas
escasseiam, cercados de numerosos filhos, apagam-se as
lembranças nebulosamente doiradas da luz dos amores da
mocidade, e fica do idolo antigo um rudo trabalhador musculoso,
com a pelle tostada pelos soes e geadas, os pés e as mãos
coriaceas das ceifas e do andar descalça ou em soccos nos
caminhos pedregosos, ou sobre a bouça de urzes espinhosas. Não
se lhe fale então em cousas mais ou menos poeticas: já nem
percebe as cantigas da mocidade no desfolhar dos milhos!
 A vida cruel ensinou-a: é pratica, positiva, dura. Odeia tudo o que
não sôa e tine, e tem um culto unico—o seu chão. Vae á egreja e
venera o «senhor abbade», mas com os idyllios da mocidade a sua
religião perdeu a poesia: ficou apenas um rosario secco de
superstições, funda, tenazmente arraigadas. Ai, de quem lhe bolir ou
nos seus interesses, ou no culto! na egreja, ou no chãosinho! Ai,
d’aquelle que para tanto lhe investir com os filhos, com o marido,
que são para ella os seus operarios. O sentimento innato da
rebeldia, (que não deve confundir-se com a independencia) essa vis
intima dos celtas submissos da Irlanda e da França, existe no
minhoto, com o lastro de presumpção e manhas, d’onde saem os
nossos palradores do norte e os astutos emigrantes do Brazil; com a
segurança que a vida responsavel e livre de proprietarios, não-
salariados, lhes dá.

O systema cabralino, seccamente beirão, era em tudo opposto ao

temperamento do norte; e o facto da carta haver sido restaurada
no Porto mostra quanto essa empreza foi uma obra de quartel e
secretaria, sem raizes no coração do povo. O governo, depois,
atacou as superstições, mandando que os mortos se não
enterrassem nas egrejas; e para que se veja quanto esta ordem
judiciosa batia de frente os usos religiosos e quanto elles estavam
arraigados, basta dizer que ainda hoje por todo o Minho se
encontram villas, e não aldeias afastadas, villas como Barcellos por
exemplo, sem cemiterio. O governo queria ainda que a decima
rendesse o que devia; mas o povo que já esquecera o tempo dos
dizimos, via no imposto lançado por uma authoridade para elle
extranha, desconhecida, a extorsão, a ladroeira, dos homens de
Lisboa, o ataque ao seu idolo adorado: o chão lavrado de milho ou
de linho, a carvalheira toucada de pampanos com os acres bagos
de uma uva ingrata pendentes em cachos negros.
E esses homens, que tanto exigiam, nem falavam em Deus, nem
em cousa alguma que os lavradores entendessem. Vinham
sobraçando a pasta cheia de papeis, com phraseados singulares,
caras desconhecidas, cousas extravagantes; e retorquiam ás
replicas com a fusilaria dos soldados. Esses homens já tinham vindo
a pedir-lhes o boto, e elles coçando a nuca hesitavam; mas as
mulheres, praticas, attendendo ao antigo poder do senhor fidalgo, e
a submissão ingenita mandando obedecer quando o caso era sem
consequencia, tinham levado os camponios arregimentados, com o
papelinho entre os dedos, até á Urna. Que lhes importava isso?
Idéas dos fidalgos! e voltavam ao seu trabalho.
Agora o caso era outro: enterrarem os pobresinhos dos mortos
como cães, n’um quintal! levarem o nosso vinho e o nosso milho
colhido com tanto suor: isso não! E em apoio d’esta rebeldia, vinha o
fidalgo, vinha o padre (setembrista) com sermões e falas doces,
esconjuros e meiguices, incitando-os a resistir a quem lhes queria
tanto mal, tão duramente os tratava. O administrador era mais cruel
do que o capitão-mór, por ser de fóra, e secco, bacharel, plumitivo; o
senhor capitão-mór, ás vezes, fazia cada uma ás raparigas! Mas o
minhoto, naturalista, não é susceptivel nos peccados de carne:
fraquezas humanas! Muitas, muitas raparigas, casam sem ser
virgens, e isso, apezar de sabido, não escandalisa.
A Maria-da-Fonte tornou-se o symbolo dos protestos populares. A
imaginação collectiva, provou ter ainda plasticidade bastante para
crear um mytho, uma fada, Joanna d’Arc anti-doutrinaria.[31] O
heroe da revolução minhota devia ser uma mulher, não um homem;
devia ser desconhecido, lendario: antes um nome do que uma
pessoa verdadeira. Na Bretanha, os casos de Paris em 48 eram
assim explicados: um grande guerreiro le dru Rolland (Ledru-Rollin)
saíra a campo para libertar a fada La-Martyne (V. Michelet, Revol.
franc.) Os minhotos, affins dos bretões, crearam um heroe feminino
—guerreiro temivel que iria a Lisboa bater esses tyrannos do sul
conhecidos ainda hoje sob o nome de senhor-Governo: um monstro
mais ou menos definidamente humano!
 Entretanto, parece que de facto houve uma certa Maria-da-Fonte
que soltou o primeiro grito da sedição. A rebeldia, fomentada pela
nova legislação, declarou-se perante os excessos dos tyrannetes
locaes, bachareis enviados para o campo o ganhar jus a um logar
no parlamento ou nas secretarias. Um d’esses chegára a ferir com
um guarda-sol o pequeno de um lavrador, e o pae foi á torre da
igreja e tocou a rebate. Acudiu povo, quiemou os archivos, as
papeletas da ladroeira, dando «Morras» aos dois Cabraes, (D. João
de Azevedo, Os dois dias de outubro) e marchou sobre Braga.
(Macedo, Traços) Nas villas e cidades a tropa levava a melhor,
porque o numero vale ahi pouco e muito as armas: eram fusilados á
queima-roupa. Mas nos campos podiam tudo: se a tropa viesse,
abafavam-na. Nem tinham espingardas, nem polvora: só cajados,
foices, machados, chuços, e era o bastante. Na Senhora-do-Allivio
reuniram-se mais de dez mil. (Ibid.) E os padres e os fidalgos
applaudiam, incitavam: o conego Montalverne, o padre Casimiro, o
padre José-da-Lage, e os Costas, o Peso-de-Regua, o Balsemão.
Os fusilamentos, os confiscos, as prisões, toda a pasta draconiana
de José Cabral, do Porto, era inutil: via-se a fragilidade da força
cabralista.
Do Minho, a sedição lavrou, perdendo o caracter popular,
tomando um caracter militar e politico. A Maria-da-Fonte ficava na
sua aldeia: apenas o nome, como um ecco ou um rotulo, ia de um
lado a outro do reino. Por toda a parte nascem logo Juntas. Toda a
força do rei-do-norte estava na divisão do Vinhaes; e quando o
general, bandeado ou commovido, lhe disse que não bateria no
povo, o rei emalou os papeis, fugiu do Porto, abandonando tudo.
(Ibid.) Do Minho a revolta, galgando o Tamega, encontrou em Traz-
os-Montes o conde de Villa-Real para a commandar e os
Carvalhaes para a fomentar. As authoridades, corridas, foram
fechar-se na praça de Chaves, sob a protecção do Vinhaes que
passou para os do povo e lhes entregou a villa. Appareceu um
programma: era a voz, o grito, a reclamação da Maria-da-Fonte?
Não; era, apenas uma combinação de politicos moderados, que
nem sequer exigiam a restauração do setembrismo; que apenas
reclamavam a dissolução das côrtes, a queda do ministerio, a
organização da guarda-nacional, e a revogação da lei do imposto de
repartição (19 de abril de 45) da reforma da magistratura (1 de
agosto de 44) e da lei de saude. (26 de novembro de 45) (V. Ignacio
Pizarro, Memor. de Chaves) No Porto governava uma junta, e a
Extremadura, sob o commando de Manuel Passos, tinha em
Santarem uma capital patuléa. Outro já, com sezões e desilludido, o
Passos de agora apenas reclamava a demissão dos Cabraes: a sua
junta dava vivas a «todo o existente». (V. a Proclam. da Junta de
Santarem) De um movimento popular espontaneo formara-se uma
sedição politica; e a fraqueza doutrinaria dos politicos coalisados
via-se n’este momento em que, omnipotentes, reduziam a grande
revolução á condemnação pessoal de um homem. Expulso elle,
conservar-lhe-hiam as obras, porque nada melhor podiam pôr em
seu lugar, caso as supprimissem. Singular revolução, de que os
chefes são logo os suffocadores!

Mas em Lisboa, no paço e no governo? O destino fatal dos

audazes sem apoio, dos que, arrastados pela consistencia dos seus
planos, imaginam que planos bastam para crear elementos de
governo; dos que embriagados pela força e pela vida propria não
observam a inercia alheia que só pede socego e atonia e por isso é
a primeira a renegar as temeridades, as ousadias; o desejo de ser e
mover-se; o fatal destino dos audazes n’uma sociedade cachetica,
perseguia o temerario ministro. O seu edificio abria fendas por toda
a parte. Os que o seguiam por convicção entibiavam; os que iam por
interesse, fugiam, renegavam; os fanaticos começavam a descrer,
desde que viam sossobrar o homem forte; a clientela dispersava, o
exercito bandeava-se, a banca-rota batia com a mão descarnada á
porta dos templos da nova religião do Dinheiro.
Os Cabraes pediram a sua demissão á rainha. Batiam,
arrependidos, nos peitos, confessando o erro da sua audacia, os
crimes do seu governo excessivo e tyrannico? Não. Elles eram
ambos feitos de ferro e fórmulas: homens que cáem, mas não se
curvam. Duros beirões, faltava-lhes a humanidade sincera e
bondosa, que se torna em scepticismo no decaír da vida—a
humanidade de um Passos—sem terem tampouco as manhas
beiroas dos descendentes de Viriato, á maneira de Rodrigo. Caíam,
porque o exercito faltara; caíam porque houvera um terramoto e
abatia-se-lhes o chão debaixo dos pés; caíam porque os
derrubavam e não porque descessem. Caíam porque «o presidente
do conselho e ministro da guerra e como tal commandante em chefe
do exercito, no momento em que deviam desenvolver-se as forças
do dito exercito, declarou não ter força e que o unico meio de
debellar a revolta era a prompta demissão do ministerio». (Manif. de
Cadix, 27 de maio de 46) Para que tinham arrastado o molle,
caprichoso, aristocratico duque da Terceira a emprezas arriscadas?
Elle não tinha opiniões, e por isso não percebia o valor d’ellas para
os outros. Achara excellentes os Cabraes, emquanto vira n’elles
penhores de ordem; mas, doutrinarios atrevidos, bulhentos,
opiniosos? Nunca. Porque não tinham os ministros preferido
Saldanha, mais homem, mais denodado, menos escrupuloso, e, por
genio, tão amigo das aventuras quanto o collega o era da placidez
bem ordenada?

Assim renegados por todos caíram os Cabraes, (20 de maio)

fugindo do reino para Hespanha, homisiados como réus. Em tal
passo a rainha não via para onde voltar-se. Entregaria o governo á
Maria-da-Fonte? Mas a lavradeira de Lanhoso não chegára a
Lisboa: vieram apenas o nome e os manifestos das juntas. Eram
elles o manifesto do povo? Não eram. O povo só manifestára horror
a enterrar-se nos campos, recusa a pagar a decima, e odio aos
tyrannetes cabralinos. Mas nada d’isto podia fazer um plano de
governo novo, e uma novo experiencia de liberalismo. As
opposições, coalisan-do-se, tinham em parte abdicado. O
miguelismo resuscitava, dando as mãos aos radicaes no fôro dos
partidos e pelos confins das provincias. No norte do Douro, na Beira
borbulhavam esperanças; em Evora «o espirito dos seus habitantes
he miguelista ou setembrista», diz o coronel do corpo em officio para
o general da divisão. (Corr. autogr. de Rezende) Que sorte podia ser
a da revolução, imagem de Jano, olhando para um passado perdido
e para um futuro chimerico? Mas que sorte esperava a rainha
depois da ruina d’essa cohorte com que se tornára solidaria? Não
havia no horisonte politico sol novo para adorar; mas havia por
detraz do throno tres astros mais ou menos embaciados, porém
ainda utilisaveis. Façam-se ministros os tres chefes: Saldanha,
Terceira, Palmella. Era o expediente mais acceitavel; embora o
primeiro, que andava por fóra, em Bruxellas, não quizesse intervir.
(Carnota, Mem.)
Porém as juntas acreditavam que tinham vencido, e o
setembrismo chamava sua á Maria-da-Fonte, reclamando os
despojos da guerra. Palmella, por seu lado, queria voltar á ordem de
38, continuando em 46 a historia interrompida pelo episodio
cabralino: alastrou pois o gabinete com elementos ordeiros.
(Mousinho-d’Albuquerque, Lavradio, Soure; 26 de maio) Terceira
retirou-se. Restaurada a ordem, o reino foi dividido em tres circulos,
cabendo o do norte ao visconde de Beire, o do centro a Rodrigo, o
do sul ao ministro Mousinho. A Revolução de Setembro,
escarnecendo, chamava a isto a divisão do imperio romano (7 de
junho); e as juntas, vendo empalmada a que suppunham victoria
sua, protestavam sem desarmar. Em vão o governo se cansava,
distribuindo calmantes em circulares mansas e sensatas, cheias de
uncção e esperanças, chamando o povo a decidir dos seus destinos
na proxima urnada livre. Em vão chamava para casa os emigrados
de Torres-Novas, fatigando-se a mostrar que todo o mal vinha dos
Cabraes, agora expulsos. Os emigrados, recordando 38, com José-
Estevão á frente, entraram como em triumpho, desde a fronteira até
Lisboa. (Oliveira, Esboço hist.) Traziam a paz? Não; a guerra,
cantando:

Se é livre um povo, não tolera, quebra

De Neros as correntes!

Neros eram os Cabraes, mas não menos o era Palmella, com as

suas branduras, impedindo a victoria da democracia. Estava-se
outra vez em 38: mas porque motivo se restaurara a carta, senão
porque a ordem de Bomfim-Rodrigo era uma desordem
insupportavel? Estava-se outra vez em 38: mas acaso então a
democracia annuira? Como annuiria pois agora? Os jornaes
vermelhos protestavam contra a paz; as juntas não desarmavam,
por não quererem perder uma victoria que julgavam sua.
Parece que o governo fez pacto com o diabo e que forceja
por conservar nos commandos homens nos quaes o povo
não confia nem póde confiar. (Revol. de Set. 3 de junho)
Os militares não querem as demissões? Leve-lh’as o
ministerio escriptas em sangue. O throno não quer abraçar
deveras o povo? Pois retire-se o ministerio do seu lado. E se
a côrte vier depois para nos abrir os braços. Já temos a
resposta prompta,—é muito tarde! (Grito Nacional, 5 de
junho)
Vida nova! Começar outra vez! Côrtes constituintes! eis ahi o
clamor de toda a esquerda, julgando-se o ecco do povo, a voz da
Maria-da-Fonte, vencedora contra o throno, contra os Cabraes,
contra a ordem. Palmella, oscillando, bolinando, na sua esperança
de fundar as cousas sobre o equilibrio, metteu novo lastro no
governo, lastro mais setembrista—Sá-da-Bandeira, Julio Gomes e o
antigo Aguiar. Estavam satisfeitos?
A muito custo de rogos e promessas se conseguira o
desarmamento das juntas. No Porto as authoridades foram de
chapéu na mão pedir por favor ás forças populares que
debandassem; e em Santarem viu-se difficuldade ainda maior, mais
graves perigos. Os patuléas, em vez de reconhecer o governo,
queriam marchar sobre Lisboa e leval-a de assalto. O bom Passos
levantou-se da cama onde curtia a febre das sezões ribatejanas,
teve de montar a cavallo acompanhado pelo Galamba, para cortar o
passo ás forças que, depois de se armarem nos depositos
arrombados, iam já em Villa-Franca. (Macedo, Traços) O desilludido
tribuno chorou, pediu, rogou, e o seu prestigio antigo salvou Lisboa
da invasão. No meado de junho as juntas estavam dissolvidas: no
meiado de julho (19) entravam os setembristas no gabinete.
Equilibraram-se as cousas, renasceu a ordem, sellou-se a paz?
Não; ninguem o creia. Como póde haver paz quando não ha pão?
quando a capital e o reino ardem n’uma crise? quando a agiotagem
intriga para se salvar do naufragio? De certo se não acertou com a
verdadeira estrada: ha que voltar ao ponto de partida.
Qual? O radicalismo do Sacramento diz que a Maria-da-Fonte
quer liberdades e constituintes. Os conservadores, os agiotas no
Banco dizem que o reino e a riqueza querem carta e cabralismo.
Qual dos dois levará a melhor? Nenhum; e só depois de terminada a
guerra que vae começar, a liberdade reinará sobre o vasio das
idéas, com o absolutismo dos interesses.

NOTAS DE RODAPÉ:

[29] V. Hist. de Portugal, (3.ª ed.) II, 176-8.

[30] V. As raças humanas, i, pp. 197-213.
[31] V. Syst. dos mythos relig. xvii.
 III
A GUERRA CIVIL
1.—O 6 DE OUTUBRO

N’este dia, pelas dez da noite, a rainha chamou ao paço o duque

presidente do conselho, e fechando-o por sua propria mão n’uma
sala obrigou-o a lavrar o decreto da sua demissão e o da nomeação
de Saldanha. Era uma segunda Belemzada? Era; menos Passos e a
guarda-nacional, menos Van-der-Weyer e os soldados inglezes. A
educação liberal progredira a ponto de crear entre os politicos um
partido de absolutismo e de reduzir á impotencia a soberania
nacional. Era outra Belemzada, e a desforra de Ruivães; porque aos
marechaes vencidos em 37 confiava a rainha agora a defeza do seu
throno. Saldanha presidia o governo, Terceira ia para o norte
socegar o Porto (8) depois da parada da vespera no Terreiro-do-
Paço, onde a tropa acclamára a carta. Estava definitivamente
acabada a Maria-da-Fonte, restaurado o cabralismo, mas sem
Cabraes apparentes. Saldanha encarregara-se de lhes obedecer no
que mandassem: e de os defender e rehabilitar até dar tempo a uma
repatriação por emquanto prematura. Desde largos annos, dez ou
onze, que o marechal descera a não poder servir para mais do que
para instrumento da politica alheia.
Depois das suas campanhas diplomaticas de Londres e de Madrid
(emquanto durou o incidente irritante da navegação do Douro), o
marechal, desnecessario e incommodo, tinha sido enviado para
Vienna no outomno de 41 a gozar os ocios de uma espectaculosa
embaixada. A rainha e os seus confidentes tinham-no lá de reserva
para o momento em que fôsse necessario, quando em 42 a
restauração da carta provocou a scisão do cartismo. Contra os
Cabraes, inclinando para o setembrismo com o qual vieram a
colligar-se, os ordeiros (Rodrigo, Palmella, Silva Carvalho, etc.)
preparavam com intrigas as desordens que os radicaes forjavam em
Torres-Novas e Almeida. Em Vienna, o marechal applaudira a
restauração da carta; e sendo embaixador portuguez, era o
confidente do Paço que tinha Dietz por orgão: «O paiz inteiro está
tranquillo e detesta—á excepção de alguns velhacos ou doidos—a
revolução que vegeta em Almeida. (27 de março) Se as intrigas de
Palmella e Silva-Carvalho não tivessem vindo naufragar perante a
firmeza de S. M. a rainha e perante o bom-senso da nação,
estariamos já a caminho de entregar o poder aos setembristas e de
vêr reinar em breve tempo Bomfim, Cesar e C.ª» (25 de agosto de
44. Cartas de Dietz a Saldanha; em Carnota, Mem.)
O pobre marechal ia servindo. Em Lisboa receiavam que elle
voltasse, e que, dando ouvidos, como sempre dava, ás tentações da
lisonja, viesse complicar mais as questões com o seu genio
aventureiro, o seu prestigio militar e uma provada nullidade politica
que o entregava áquelle que melhor o soubesse assoprar. «Fique
onde está, escreviam-lhe de Lisboa, porque penso que ainda hade
ter de salvar a rainha de ser posta pela barra fóra». (Carta de Reis e
Vasconcellos, 9 de março de 46; em Carnota, ibid.) A Maria-da-
Fonte rebentou quando Saldanha se achava na Belgica. Com os
annos, as raizes catholicas do seu genio reverdeciam e entretinha-
se a ouvir sermões em Liege, opinando entre o merito relativo dos
prégadores. (Ibid.) Desde Vienna que trazia em plano uma grande
obra: a concordancia das sciencias com os mysterios da religião, e o
alcance do seu espirito vê-se n’estas linhas escriptas ao futuro
cunhado, para Inglaterra: «Peço-lhe que indague ahi quaes são os
melhores authores, antigos e modernos, que tém escripto sobre a
existencia de Deus e a immortalidade da alma; quaes d’essas obras
se pódem obter e seus preços». (Carta de 31 de maio de 46, ap.
ibid.) Já então Portugal ardia em guerra, e Saldanha deixou a
sciencia pela politica: valiam ambas a mesma cousa! Embarcou em
Inglaterra, chegando a Portugal a 23 de julho.
Quem o conquistaria? Palmella com o seu governo? Os radicaes?
O paço? Facto é que todos o queriam, todos o adulavam, todos lhe
chamavam salvador da patria, homem unico, arbitro, etc.; e o
marechal, inchado, não era capaz do medir o seu valor, nem de
aferir a verdade das adulações. Ao mesmo tempo que cada qual o
queria ganhar a si, todos receiavam as tentações alheias, por bem
conhecerem com quem tratavam. A rainha déra ordem para que de
bordo fosse directamente ao paço, «sem falar a ninguem antes».
(Carnota, Mem.) Elle foi, e conta (Curtissima expos. etc.) que a
rainha o advertira dos planos dos cabralistas, dissuadindo-o de
tomar a direcção do movimento que se preparava contra os actos de
maio e junho, passo que, na opinião d’ella rainha, augmentaria em
vez de diminuir as desgraças da patria.
Saldanha principiou, pois, por não ouvir os pedidos dos
cabralistas que renegavam os Cabraes por terem fugido (O d. de
Sald. e o c. de Thomar, anon.) Depois mudou: a rainha mudou
tambem. Agora Leonel e os setembristas queriam seduzil-o;
Palmella chegou a obter d’elle annuencia para a expulsão dos
Cabraes do Conselho d’Estado; mas, pelo fim de agosto, já o
marechal se entendia com Gonzalez Bravo, alter ego de Cabral em
Lisboa. O seu amigo Howard, embaixador da Inglaterra, advertia o
particularmente, como a uma creança tonta: for God’s sake, be
cautious!—tenha juizo, pelo amôr de Deus! (Carta de 29 de agosto;
em Carnota) A Inglaterra não approvava de modo algum a
restauração cabralista projectada; e foi o que se viu claramente no
decurso da guerra. A preponderancia da influencia franco-
hespanhola em Portugal não lhe convinha.
Entre as varias tentações com que o disputavam, levou por fim a
melhor o cabralismo. Em 24 de setembro acceitou a presidencia
d’esse partido; e de Madrid, o conde de Thomar confessou-se-lhe
obediente soldado. Com a sua fôfa basofia, Saldanha,
ingenuamente pacifico, propôz a Palmella um ministerio de
conciliação. Pois se elle em pessoa, elle, o grande marechal, queria
a paz e se lhe sacrificava,—elle o arbitro, elle o tudo! Pobre infeliz
que não via em si aquelle tronco de que José Liberato nos falou!
Pobre simples, sem talento, de que a anarchia apenas fazia um
chefe—como a cortiça que tambem boia e corre sobre a agua
revolvida! Palmella recusou; e então o marechal sentiu o passo que
déra e como estava obrigado a ir até ao cabo, a representar o papel
para que, sem o saber, desde muito a rainha o escolhera: seu
marechal, d’ella e do conde de Thomar.
 Era indispensavel outra Belemzada; e Saldanha que assistira á
primeira, receiava-o. No paço estavam elle, a rainha, o esposo, o
padre Marcos e Dietz: n’essa conferencia, a soberana expôz o seu
despeito e o sue plano. Saldanha observou a S. M. que se não
fôsse bem succedido e não morresse na empreza, seria
inevitavelmente fusilado, e ella, a rainha, expulsa do reino. O
professor objectara ser n’esse caso melhor pôr de parte o projecto,
ao que a rainha, voltando-se para o marechal, retorquira: «Deixa o
lá; manda-o para um convento de freiras. Antes quero perder a
corôa do que seguir sendo insultada todos os dias. Se fôr
necessario, tambem eu sairei, tambem irei ás barricadas». (Carnota,
Mem.) Pittoresco esboço de uma scena da Edade-media!

Terceira, porém, não era como Saldanha. Na sua mansidão era

grave, e serio na sua curta capacidade. Aristocrata por
temperamento e educação, estivera em 23 ao lado do rei, contra as
côrtes jacobinas; mas desde que mudara em 26, conservou-se o
mesmo sempre. Bondoso e pacato, brioso e valente, nada
chimerico, amando a boa-vida e o cumprimento dos deveres, não
era odiado pelos inimigos, embora fôsse o apoio mais seguro do
throno liberal. E mais seguro, dizemos, porque a sua adhesão não
proviera em 26 de uma opinião favoravel á doutrina da carta:
opinião que teria mudado sem duvida, como a tantos outros, a
todos, succedeu.
A sua adhesão provinha de uma preferencia pessoal por D.
Pedro, de quem se sentia o vassallo, o homem-ligio: para onde o
imperador fôsse, ou a rainha sua filha e herdeira, ia elle. De
doutrinas não sabia; tinha só instinctos, sentimentos, e esses eram
aristocraticos e conservadores; nem podiam ser outra cousa, com a
linhagem, o temperamento e a educação do duque. O
constitucionalismo, e as suas fórmulas e discursos, eram apenas
uma distracção e um habito do seu genio: custar-lhe-hia a viver sem
o systema representativo, porque o entretinham muito os debates da
imprensa, as discussões do parlamento, e não podia passar sem as
conversas animadas e ás vezes chistosas dos corredores da
camara. (Macedo, Traços) Cortezão, homem-do-mundo, era um
personagem das antigas côrtes arrastado para a vida do liberalismo
burguez pela fidelidade ao suzerano.
Se a demagogia o irritava, provocando n’elle um odio
desdenhoso, o das Archotadas, o dos tumultos de Lisboa em 35,
etc., a burguezia de petulantes parvenus provocava-lhe uma frieza
ironica. Assim, repellira os Cabraes do governo, negando-lhes o
exercito contra a Maria-da-Fonte; mas logo se retirou tambem, por
não ter aquelle desejo pueril de Palmella de não ficar de parte. Não
pactuaria com os patuléas como o diplomata pactuava com elles,
com todos, com o diabo em pessoa, a ver se conseguia equilibrar
um throno, ou um monte de degraus desconjuntados, para sobre
elle reinar com a sua moderação e a sua sabedoria. Vendo-o assim
descer, inclinar-se para a democracia clamorosa, Terceira
naturalmente se arrependeu do acto de abandonar os Cabraes á
condemnação popular e de certo as combinações que tinham
precedido a «revolta dos marechaes» (37) se renovaram para uma
outra aventura. Mas os conservadores tinham feito dos Cabraes
mais do que chefes, uma bandeira, e não viam no seu gremio
pessoas que, em talentos, em coragem, em audacia, podessem
medir se com elles. (Macedo, Traços) Os Cabraes estavam em
Hespanha, onde tambem reinava o cabralismo da união-liberal, e de
accôrdo com o reino visinho, podiam suffocar-se de uma vez a
demagogia e o miguelismo que ameaçava levantar cabeça. Costa-
Cabral governaria de fóra o barco n’esta sua nova derrota, Saldanha
ficaria em Lisboa, Terceira iria para o norte.
E a rainha? Que papel era o seu, n’esta segunda aventura, já o
vimos. Não só apoiava: instigava, ordenava. Não tremia jogando
talvez a cabeça, decerto a corôa, porque tinha coragem para tanto;
porque essa corôa estava, ou pensava ella estar, em maior perigo,
antes, do que depois do golpe-d’Estado. Se se não pozesse cobro á
demagogia—e Palmella não queria, não sabia, ou não podia fazel-o!
—a historia precipitar-se-hia; e devemos lembrar-nos de que as
recordações dos casos de Paris e da sorte de Luis xvi, que por falta
de audacia morreu, davam fundamento á resistencia. A rainha, por
não ter a perfidia de um Luis Philippe, não podia sophismar o
systema: atacava pois de frente, com audacia viril, á portugueza.
Filha de reis, fôra educada por mestres que lhe ensinavam o
cabralismo como a expressão pura do systema liberal. A sua
sinceridade nobre não pretendia ao absolutismo antigo, mas queria
a doutrina da carta de seu pae, repellia com energia os ataques da
patuléa reproba, pé-fresco, ataques dirigidos ao seu caracter
soberano e á sua honra de mulher.

Havia pois uma guerra declarada entre a rainha e o povo, assim a

patuléa se dizia. O hymno da Maria-da-Fonte cantava-se com uma
lettra francamente denunciadora do estado dos animos:

Apprende, rainha, apprende

Mede agora o teu poder:
Tu de um lado, o povo d’outro,
Qual dos dois hade vencer!

Mas esse sentimento propagado da hostilidade da corôa,

sentimento que ganhara raizes com a violencia e os crimes do
governo cabralista; essa percepção vaga de um direito novo, de
facto opposto ao direito sagrado dos monarchas, quando queria
transformar-se em opiniões e programmas, só produzia as antigas
chimeras jacobinas, desacreditadas; e se, por um dos acasos da
lucta conseguia vencer, era derrotado pela força das cousas (como
em setembro), dessorando-se logo na mão dos mediocres (como
em 38 e agora), para se entregar á moderação palmellista. A
doutrina liberal achara em Cabral um homem; a doutrina
democratica não o achava, não o podia achar, porque longos annos,
ainda não decorridos, seriam necessarios para chegar a definir os
principios organicos do direito novo.
 Os programmas dos democratas em 46 eram uma repetição de
Setembro, já renegado pelo seu homem eminente, Passos; e com
razão se previa que a dictadura de José-Estevão não seria mais do
que a repetição aggravada das scenas anarchicas de havia dez
annos. Que pediam, do seu club do Sacramento, José-Estevão,
Foscôa (Campos), Sampaio e os socios, na vespera das eleições
independentes annunciadas por Palmella do governo? Constituinte!
a antiga panacéa setembrista: mas—oh, fatal condição das
chimeras!—os que exigiam uma constituição nova, saída da vontade
do povo, iam ao mesmo tempo dizendo já qual essa vontade havia
de ser, e o que a constituição havia de fixar: «Proclamação da
soberania nacional como fonte de toda a authoridade;—Reforma da
camara dos pares;—Eleições directas;—Liberdade de associação e
de imprensa;—Approvação dos contractos pelas côrtes;—
Reorganisação da guarda-nacional;—Economias na despeza até
equilibrio do orçamento;—Reducção do effectivo do exercito;—
Suppressão do conselho-d’Estado;—Fomento industrial e
economico;—Reforma da lei da regencia, para que esta não possa
recaír em extrangeiro, embora naturalisado;—Exame dos contractos
desde 42 e abrogação dos illegaes;—Nacionalisação do pessoal da
casa real;—Prohibição dos deputados receberem empregos ou
mercês». (V. o Manif. da Ass. eleit. setembr. 5 out. 46)
Era um rol de receitas infalliveis: a patria seria, sem duvida
alguma, salva. Mas quem analysar, cada uma de per si, as
propostas, e todas no seu conjuncto, obtem uma impressão singular.
Não tornaremos a falar já da contradicção organica indicada antes;
não entraremos no minucioso estudo do papel. Acima de tudo,
vemos: constituintes, eleições directas (mas que o governo não
possa comprar esses soberanos representantes do povo soberano!)
e guarda-nacional, isto é, a volta a 1836. Ora os dez annos
decorridos e as confissões do proprio Passos não seriam uma
resposta cruel a tribunos tão ardentes, mas tão pouco originaes? A
precipitação com que as cousas, entregues ás mãos já trémulas de
Palmella, iam pendendo para o lado da revolução, é um dos motivos
da decisão tomada em 6 de outubro; mas no programma do
Sacramento lemos items que obrigam a scismar: Fomento
economico? Economia na despeza? Exame dos contractos?—Que
intervenção é esta da finança nos projectos dos ideologos, tão mal
conceituados fazendistas?

É que a solução violenta de 6 de outubro foi tambem determinada

pelo crescer da crise. A Maria-da-Fonte declarara-a; e os seus
ministros nem a sabiam resolver, nem podiam com os agiotas,
suzeranos do Thesouro, ameaçados de uma ruina total. De abril a
junho o 5 por cento baixava de 67 a 50 e com elle, na mesma razão,
todos os papeis de bolsa. Tres dias depois da queda de Costa-
Cabral, declarava-se o curso forçado das notas do banco. (Dec. 23
de maio) Houvera uma corrida, e os cofres ficaram vasios: todo o
producto da emissão, e mais ainda, estava no Thesouro. De tal
fórma se tinha mascarado por quatro annos a sua penuria: fôra
como uma restauração de papel-moeda; e agora, decretado o
curso-forçado, era de facto outra vez a praga que 34 quasi
supprimira. Mas se o Banco era credor do Thesouro, e o Thesouro
lhe não podia pagar, que havia de fazer o governo? Importar
dinheiro? D’onde? com quê? Pedil-o aos agiotas? Elles, em vez de
darem, pediam, reclamavam, e obtinham tambem uma moratoria
para as promissorias da Confiança, que de outra fórma quebraria.
(Dec. 29 de maio) Tambem o dinheiro d’ella fôra todo parar ao
insaciavel Thesouro portuguez faminto, desde 1820 até hoje, e
talvez para todo o sempre condemnado á fome.
E a Maria-da-Fonte, a que reclamava em programmas o exame
dos contractos, era a propria cujos ministros aggravavam a crise,
tornando solidarios o Banco e a Confiança, preparando a ruina já
começada da emissão fiduciaria portugueza. E porque? Porque
esses ministros, e todos, eram forçados a obedecer á aristocracia
nova creada pela liberdade: com a differença de que uns a
reconheciam, e outros, nem por se rebellarem contra ella, eram
menos os seus servos. Em 15, o 5 por cento ainda valia 62; depois
do decreto de 29 desce a 50. Nos primeiros dias de agosto as notas
rebatem-se a 400 e 480 rs. (V. Boletins da bolsa, nos Diarios)
 Os financeiros perdiam-se, olhando o Thesouro vasio; e sob o
nome de economias decretavam uma banca-rota duas vezes má:
porque rematava a crise, acabando de arruinar o credito; e porque
cerceava os vencimentos dos empregados, sem ficarem com isso
habilitados a pagar o resto dos juros, nem dos ordenados. A divida
interna, já com o desconto de uma decima, recebia segunda; e duas
de uma vez a externa. Perdida a esperança de emprestimos
extrangeiros, podia-se, com effeito, cortar as unhas aos judeus de
fóra. Ao mesmo tempo, os empregados soffriam uma deducção de
duas decimas. (Dec. 21 de agosto) A bolsa fecha: não ha quem dê
um real pelas inscripções; (18 agosto-setembro) e o rebate das
notas cresce, cresce sempre. Já tinham expirado as moratorias e,
como expediente, prorogaram-se por mais quarenta dias. Os
tortulhos nasciam da crise: agiotava-se largamente em rebates.
E não se via o meio de saír dos embaraços, porque as
declamações contra os Cabraes nada faziam; e a victoria do
setembrismo, com as suas chimeras de rectidão, com a sua
incapacidade financeira, não conseguiria nas eleições proximas
senão queimar tudo ... E depois? depois?... D. Miguel? A
Hespanha? A cabeça andava-lhes á roda.
Em 1 de outubro uma medida rasgada, acompanhada de
conselhos prudentes e exortações patrioticas, appareceu no Diario.
As moratorias, o curso-forçado das notas prorogavam-se até ao fim
do anno. Mas descancem: não haveria mais agiotagem, porque o
governo punha um fiscal seu no Banco, e n’esses tres mezes ia
arranjar-se o dinheiro para lhe pagar, e elle então pagar as notas.
Com a Caixa de amortisação, creada na Junta, solver-se-hia a
divida fluctuante, ominoso legado cabralista. Essa caixa havia de
encher-se depressa: adjudicavam-se-lhe os bens-nacionaes ainda
restantes e o que fôsse rendendo a cobrança das dividas activas
dos conventos! e os impostos em debito até 41! e os juros de
quaesquer inscripções amortisadas! e uma dotação annual de 100
contos sobre o rendimento das Alfandegas. (Dec. de 1 de outubro)
Os cem contos ao anno não davam para o juro de uma divida
superior a vinte mil: tudo o mais eram palavras ou poeira, a vêr se
cegavam a vista dos crédores.
 Baldado empenho, que só deu de si pôl-os decididamente do lado
da reacção tramada, uma vez que a fraqueza palmellista não era
capaz de resolver uma crise, na qual tinham as fortunas arriscadas.
Ao lado de Saldanha com a sua espada, estavam elles, pois, com
as suas bolsas. Passou o dia 6 de outubro; ganhou-se a victoria:
mas deram todos com inimigos imprevistos. Protestava, insurgia-se
o reino inteiro—e o rebate das notas, subia, subia! Em vez da paz,
era a guerra; em vez da fortuna, a ruina total. Saldanha
desembainhou a espada; os agiotas mostraram os dentes: multado
em 50 a 500 mil réis quem recusar receber notas! (Dec. 14 de nov.)
Mas como impedir a subida dos preços? Mas como usar da espada,
se Antas no Porto se bandeou? Os capitalistas apressaram-se a
exigir as arrhas da sua adhesão; e a 19 appareceu decretada a
fusão do Banco e da Confiança: complicada, aggravada a crise com
um negocio em que a agiotagem salvava os seus capitaes,
abrigando-os á sombra do curso-forçado permanente de 5:000
contos outorgado ao novo banco, verdadeiro papel-moeda que
valeria para a totalidade dos pagamentos até junho de 47 e para
dois terços até ao fim de 48, devendo ir sendo amortisado
gradualmente n’esse periodo. (Dec. 19 de novembro) As acções da
Confiança triplicavam de valor, e as notas baixavam sempre. A
agiotagem déra o seu golpe-d’Estado, salvando-se para arruinar a
nação: mais feliz do que os politicos, a ponto de irem a pique no
naufragio do paiz.

Saldanha, ou antes Cabral, de quem elle era o homem-de-ferro,

contara com a resistencia do reino e prevenira-se.
Estou persuadido de que a ultima repentina mudança da
administração em Portugal foi em parte levada a effeito por
conselhos de Madrid, e que o marechal Saldanha tem
estado, sem o saber, servindo de instrumento para pôr em
pratica os planos do conde de Thomar e de Gonzales Bravo,
nos quaes me parece que uma influencia hespanhola e uma
união intima dos governos de Madrid e de Lisboa para o
 futuro se apresentam como causas principaes. (Southern a
Palmerston, 22 de out. Livro azul)
A Hespanha, com effeito, representava n’esta segunda
Belemzada o papel que a Belgica e a Inglaterra tinham tido na
primeira; e o ministro inglez de Lisboa só se enganava suppondo
Saldanha ignorante dos planos do conde de Thomar, de quem elle
era o instrumento. Os acontecimentos precipitaram-se, pondo a
claro a verdade, e collocando a Inglaterra na posição falsa que
durou até ao fim, de não tolerar a intervenção da Hespanha, sem
poder deixar de acudir a sustentar o throno da rainha, mas sem se
convencer tampouco de que esse throno perigasse com os ataques
setembristas. Restaurou-se todo o antigo pessoal administrativo e
militar cabralista, annullou-se a convocação das côrtes pelas
eleições directas, e o rei D. Fernando tomou o commando em chefe
do exercito, que tinha de entrar em campanha.
O Porto rebellava-se com a divisão de Antas, prendendo o
proconsul Terceira ahi mandado; mas pedindo apenas,
moderadamente, a demissão do ministerio. Porém ao mesmo tempo
as proclamações circulavam em Lisboa, respondendo á da
soberana n’estes termos:
Povo portuguez! A revolução do Minho, a revolução mais
gloriosa da nação portugueza foi trahida pela Soberana! Não
a acredites! Olha que ella mente como sempre tem feito!
Povo portuguez! Olha que a rainha, chefe do Estado, que
devia ser a primeira a respeitar a opinião dos povos, com as
palavras de paz na bocca e veneno no coração, saíu para o
meio das ruas da capital e poz-se em guerra declarada com a
nação! Não contente com o sangue e ossos de que é
composto o seu throno, ainda continua a fazer mais victimas
—ainda este vampiro quer mais sangue!—é a paga que este
tigre dá ao povo infeliz que lhe deu um throno!
Povo portuguez! Tu nada lucras em conservares no teu
seio esta vibora—ou ella hade respeitar os teus direitos ou
então que tenha a sorte de Luiz xvi—este porém foi menos
culpado!