Across Shadowed Paths (The Immortal

Accords Book 6) Anna Hawke

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Across Shadowed Paths

THE IMMORTAL ACCORDS

Anna Hawke
Copyright © 2023 Anna Miller

All rights reserved.

No part or 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 book may not be redistributed to others for commercial or noncommercial
purposes.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Illustration by Mayflower Studio

Formatting by Sullyn Shaw

Book Edited by Rossana Sasso

Print ISBN: 9798871136775

For my grandpa, Augie, who encouraged me to follow my dreams.
 Contents

1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-One
22. Chapter Twenty-Two
23. Chapter Twenty-Three
24. Chapter Twenty-Four
25. Chapter Twenty-Five

26. Chapter Twenty-Six

27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

30. Chapter Thirty

31. Epilogue
Ready For More?
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also By Anna Hawke
 Chapter One

THE VAMPIRE DRANK DEEPLY.

She savored the sweet nectar flowing over her tongue. Delighted by the sensation, she nearly purred her appreciation. The
hunger in her gut slowly began to abate, bringing with it relief and renewal.
His arms drew around her affectionately, the embrace a side effect of her hold over the human’s malleable mind—and the
intimacy that taking blood intrinsically brought. The deed was an inherent act of vulnerability for a mortal, but whether they
consciously understood their fate or not, Blair had never stopped to ask.
The human had coiled around her protectively, willing her to drink deeper. Mortals nearly always succumbed to their desires
when Blair took their neck. Though the underlying offer was enticing, she stopped drawing sustenance from the twin wounds on
his neck.
She’d sated her hunger.
Her razor-sharp incisors retracted, and she absently flickered her tongue across the puncture marks. Any evidence of her
blood kiss was erased with the small action. Almost reluctantly, the man relinquished her and, in the blink of an eye, he’d
forgotten the entire encounter.
Blair watched while he leisurely strolled away and back into the near-deserted streets of the quaint Wyoming town. Nearing
dusk, the brilliant summer sun filtered just over the tops of the building roofs, creating a hazy yellow ambiance that clashed
with the darkness of growing shadows.
While Blair appreciated the longer nights of the winter, she’d never liked the cold. Summer heat was far preferable, and she
often traveled the globe in search of better weather. It was a tribute to her nomadic nature: her gut began to churn every time
she lingered in an area too long.
When the wildness inside yearned for wandering, she appeased the beast.
There was nothing tame about Blair. She’d given in to the feral, undomesticated side of her disposition centuries ago. Trying
to be anything other than that was a farce.
Leather bands and beaded bracelets adorned the light cream of her wrists, jingling slightly as she walked back toward the
main thoroughfare. She absently stuffed her hands into her jean pockets, the muffled sound of her black flats hitting the cracked
pavement.
Gusty summer wind tangled through her golden blonde hair, twisting the strands across her face when she stepped out from
the shielding confines of the alleyway. Mostly deserted, the streets were lined with old pickup trucks and rusted cars buttoned
alongside one another.
Relatively few people were braving the heat tonight, but it didn’t matter in the scheme of things. With a sputtering cough, a
dilapidated pickup truck parked in an open spot just ahead, the plaid-wearing human inside exiting the confines moments later
to gaze at the apartment building just ahead.
Sold.
Blair’s suggestion instinctively swarmed into the man’s mind. His casual amble immediately faltered before he turned to face
her with such an open optimism that it made her smile.
Given adequate proximity and proper connection, most humans were easy to manipulate with suggestion. The psychic
equivalent of a flower attracting bees, the skill came in use when dealing with mortals, especially where feeding was
concerned.
Vampires mysteriously stalking their screaming prey down dark alleys with bloodred eyes and dripping red fangs were
obnoxiously stereotypical. No vampire drooled their blood like a toddler.
Once Blair had a hold on a human’s mind, they rolled over like a submissive dog waiting for a belly pat, completely under
her control. A single mental push could erase short term memories, suggest an action, or influence a mindset.
Though she was naturally talented with suggestion, few vampires practiced manipulation more than she did. Moving from one
place to the next and living as she pleased often required her to convince acquaintances to see her way.
Suggestion, however, was only one tool in the vampire’s arsenal.
The jingle of keys jerked her attention back to the male before her. With the build of a linebacker and wearing well-worn
jeans that suited his physique, the sandy-haired human gazed longingly into her eyes while her fingers closed around the
dangling metal he willingly held out to her.
“Thanks, kiddo. Here’s a few Benjamins for the trouble. It’ll be by the lake,” Blair dismissed, sending him on his way before
her impulses got the better of her or he died of heat stroke waiting for her to make up her mind.
Humans were like that.
She stepped off the curb and into the driver’s seat. The cab was still cool, relinquishing the heat that’d settled over her form
from her sun-kissed escapades outside.
Blair slid the key into the ignition and the truck grumbled to a start at her bidding. Smoothly accelerating out of the township
and into the surrounding countryside, she shifted gears. Tranquility settled over her as she escaped the city, coveting the open
air and stark freedom that the rugged mountain terrain offered.
Her mind wandered as she explored the familiar wilderness.
It’d been several months since Lucius, the first fledgling she’d turned immortal, had been held captive. Several months since
her progeny had almost succumbed to his wounds following an infernal week of torture that he’d been submitted to while
they’d forcibly detained him.
The Citizens of the Light, a human terrorist group that’d discovered the immortals living amongst them, were hell bent on
irradicating all supernatural breeds from the planet.
And they’d begun by attempting to break Lucius. Blair grimaced as memories unwillingly surfaced in her mind. Lucius, lying
comatose, had been blinded by his captors, then ruthlessly tortured for days on end. His heart, barely beating, had been savaged
by the liquid sunlight they’d pumped into his veins.
Starving and near death, he’d barely made it back to the vampires’ headquarters. Only Nina’s blood and Kaien’s rapid
healing had kept him from walking through that one-way door and never returning to the land of the living.
Lucius, her first fledgling. An immutable spirit, defined by the kindness that was so intrinsic to his nature, had been all but
broken under the Citizens’ brutal hand.
A snarl hissed from between her lips as her fingers tightened on the leather steering wheel. With a creak, the old pickup truck
expressed its discontent at her misplaced rage, and she consciously eased her grip. No use taking it out on an inanimate object.
 Blowing out a settling breath, a tick worked in her jaw.
In only a few days, she’d get the chance to right the wrongs against Lucius. Nina had telepathed her this morning with the
good news. The delegates had confirmed her mission and she’d finally put her plans into play. While the support was
appreciated, she’d applied to the newspaper several weeks ago, and she’d already decided to go with or without Nina’s
approval.
Blair had volunteered to venture into the belly of the beast itself—the newspaper where the Citizens’ head honcho ran ship.
While they knew very little of the infamous Torrin Scayde, the malicious leader of the underground terrorist organization, one
thing was certain: the man was a monster.
Two months ago, he’d attempted to assassinate Gideon Vega, the monarch of the Elemental people. Torrin had shot Gideon in
cold blood while he attempted to save the lives of humans that the Citizens had purposefully endangered. Three bullets from
Torrin’s gun had nearly stopped Gideon’s heart.
Thankfully, given Gideon’s powerful connection to his earth element, he’d survived what should have killed him and had
risen to live another day.
But the list of Torrin’s attacks against the immortal world was growing, and with it, the immortal nations’ rising bloodlust to
silence the man who was attempting to do the same to them.
The truck’s engine cut off with a sputtering cough before Blair withdrew the keys from the ignition. She tucked them into the
visor for easy access—along with an extra two hundred dollars—for when the man happened upon his wayward truck.
Blair turned her attention to the world beyond the windows and once again stepped out into the heat.
While she was in no danger of heat stroke—or freezing to death—the humidity was a nuisance. It was why her hair was so
often in braids, and why she’d plait it when her nerves got the better of her. Fortunately, she wouldn’t be here long enough to
worry about the latter.
Trudging through the thick grass, her eyes adjusted to the diluted light. She grinned as she focused on the familiar scene ahead
of her. The quiet lake, rather more of a pond, was one of the serene spots she’d frequented over the many years she’d walked
the earth.
Turned vampire more than eight hundred years ago, Blair was the second oldest vampire to walk the earth. The one who
turned her immortal had existed four centuries before she’d been born, and her siring had been accidental.
Vampires were the most plentiful immortal breed. Sired through blood and sustained by the life-giving fluid, vampires
primarily lived in Houses ruled by the oldest and most powerful of their breed. The network of Houses spanned across the
globe, and the largest of them was centered in New York City.
Blair, however, had no patience for social frivolity, and existed outside the establishment. She greatly preferred her solitude
and resisted the domestic ensnarements that such a life would require of her.
It’d only be a matter of time before Nina unearthed her location and dragged her back to civilization. If she had her way,
she’d have remained in the wild up until the moment she started at the newspaper in a few days’ time, but the members of the
vampire council had wanted to touch base prior to her mission.
For these few fleeting moments, she could enjoy her solitude.
Soft dusk light drew geometric shades against the earth as the sun disappeared behind the tree line. Dry grasses drummed
against her bare calves while Blair slowly made her way toward the serene summer oasis. The whistle of wind tangled through
her lengthy blonde locks, the quarter-inch braids that randomly interspersed the loose waves twisting with it.
There, buried under fallen twigs and twisting ivy, lay her prize. A wooden bench, carved by hand from a fallen pine, lingered
long forgotten by the lakeshore. Clearing a spot on its sun-warmed surface, Blair took her seat and simply rested.
 Wyoming was an untamed wilderness, calming in a way that called to her spirit. Even in the dying light, the surrounding area
was tranquil and serene. She breathed in the heat of the August air, the pine-infused tang tickling her nostrils.
Here, she could meditate. The quaint lake had always helped her recenter, and she’d need it. Even though it’d been her idea,
willingly shackling herself to society once more made her stomach churn.
It was only a matter of time now before she could right the wrongs against her fledgling. Torrin would get what he deserved.
Perhaps more satisfying was the fact that it was her who would hold the knife that’d stab him in the back. Vengeance would be
hers, even if it cost her life in the process. She was more than willing to give her life to right that wrong—and to keep her
fledglings and family safe.
No one would miss her when she was gone.
“Lies do not become us, Blair.”
Heart quickening reflexively, Blair froze in supernatural stillness for a moment before her natural response dissipated.
“Reading my thoughts again, sire?”
The woman sat next to her. “Perhaps you should stop broadcasting if you’d like privacy.” Nina turned to briefly study Blair’s
eyes. “I’m glad to see you were able to prevent to color shift.”
“I’m nothing if not honest, sire,” she replied.
Unlike other vampires, Blair had developed the ability to mask the characteristic change of her eye color when her heartbeat
elevated. That, along with the control she had over her incisors, which didn’t lengthen in response to stimuli unless she
allowed them to, were talents she had developed over the last century. No other pure vampire was as old as Blair, so it
remained to be seen if they were abilities linked to age or gifts only she would manifest as adaptations to her unique lifestyle.
Her telepathy remained a special bond between her and the first of their race: Nina, her sire.
A rumbling laugh sounded before she shot her oldest friend a wry smile. Dressed in a blue T-shirt and skinny jeans, Nina
relaxed on the bench beside her, looking like a tourist in search of bison.
“Have you come to abduct me?”
“I have.”
Nina didn’t turn as she spoke, her icy blue eyes scrutinizing the location before her. Today, a single band of red streamed
from her right temple, nearly hidden amid the deep brunette. The stylish bob suited Nina’s strong, feminine features. Unlike
Blair, her beauty was a flawless, immaculate thing, uncontested by any who looked at her.
Blair was more of an acquired taste.
“You love it here.” Nina’s statement broke the silence before a hawk called out into the coming night, capturing their
attention. Clearly perturbed by their presence, the wild predator stared at them from where he perched on a leafless tree.
“This pond has remained unchanged through the ages.” Just like Blair had.
“It’s quiet here. Calm,” Nina whispered, her voice an errant melody that cut through the melancholy of their environment. The
very tones of her voice were soothingly poetic, and Blair always strained to hear every word.
For a moment, they simply sat in silence, enjoying the dulcet tones of nature. The red-tailed hawk spread its wingspan in the
minutes that followed and, for an immaculate moment, he loitered above them in the treetops. With a single wingbeat, he lifted
off, taking to the darkening skies in search of his next meal.
“Come on, Blair,” Nina said into the stillness that followed. “Let’s go to Lexington before you walk into the wilderness
again.”
Blair scoffed, but it was a lighthearted sound. “Only if you insist.”
“Ah, but I must.”
 Nina waited a moment before her teleport blurred the world around them. The sensation of weightlessness and falling jolted
through Blair before she solidified in a rush of warm air. As her vision sharpened in the aftermath, she blinked.
Before her was the sprawling Lexington mansion that Nina called home—occasionally, at least. For the last hundred years,
Nina had centered her life here rather than in her clan territory, Solaris, near St. Louis.
Standing from the chaise Nina had teleported them, Blair stretched and relished in the chill of the mansion’s foyer. Outfitted
in a minimalist style, the modern décor of the space was familiar and comforting. Though the cavernous space boasted few
knick knacks and trinkets, there was no denying that it was a home.
“When does the council convene?”
There was a bare whisper of movement behind her as her sire stood and they set off down the hallway, toward the well-
loved den. “Tomorrow. They were waiting for Drake to get back from a business trip across seas. As you know, Lucius has his
own personal taxi now.”
“Handy gift, teleportation.”
And it was. Raeths, one of the oldest immortal breeds to walk the earth, had the unique ability to travel via teleportation. In
addition, their race boasted telepathy and some variance of transfiguration with relation to their appearance and items.
As Raeths aged, they developed unique gifts and abilities, though they played them rather close the chest. A secretive society,
Raeths tended to interact only within their clans, unless otherwise warranted. Though she and Nina were exceptionally close,
she knew the other woman kept things from her.
“So, we’ve got the castle all to ourselves tonight?”
“Not quite. Kaien dropped by to see you off.”
Blair jolted infinitesimally, but she kept pace with Nina as they trod over the glistening white marble floors. “I’m one
hundred percent certain that isn’t true.”
“Honestly—,” an almost irritated shrug, ”—I think he just needed a break from clan lands. I was trying to soften the blow for
you.”
Blair’s jaw tightened before they swept into the den. It was a cozy space where Blair spent most of her time during her
infrequent retreats at Nina’s home. Overstuffed leather chairs, soft and inviting from years of continual use, beckoned her.
Then, in the warm glow of the reading lamps scattered around the room, she noticed the person who’d already made himself
comfortable.
“Good evening, Blair.”
Kaien, Nina’s twin brother and regent, sprawled languidly in her favorite chair, looking like a spoiled princeling on a gilded
throne. His deep brown eyes hadn’t bothered to flick to hers in greeting, even as the smooth tones of his voice met her ears.
The massive Raeth male’s strong features were barely illuminated, casting his delectable profile in shadows. He lazily turned
the pages of a hardback.
“Hello, Kaien. Lovely to see you again.”
His eyes pinched at the corners as Kaien’s attention focused unerringly on her. Full, pale lips pressed together in a firm line
before tipping his head back and eyeing her ruefully. His gaze slid down her body, critical but lingering, before returning to her
face.
“How’re the wilds of—where is it again—Montana? Wyoming?” he asked blandly. “Both are such exciting destinations.”
“Wyoming. And they’re wonderful, thank you.” Her sultry smirk triggered the barest of reactions behind Kaien’s eyes, an
inscrutable emotion. “And how are things on clan lands?”
It was an intentional dig, knowing he’d come here as an escape.
 “Brilliant, thank you for asking. It’s lovely to have my own home.” He cocked his head. “Forgive me, I can’t recall where
you’d ended up.”
“Tonight?” Blair raised her eyebrows tauntingly. “Here. Tomorrow? Drake’s. Nothing is quite as freeing as letting the wind
carry me to my next destination.”
“I’ll be certain to hold my breath.”
Before she could respond to the salty quip, Nina grumbled from beside her. “You two are going to be the death of me.”
Sinking into the chair across from Kaien, she manifested a paperback into her hands. “Can you not put aside this passive
aggressive politeness routine for one night?”
Based solely on Kaien’s bland expression, Blair knew he had no intention of yielding his spot next to Nina. As if sensing her
desire to steal the chair, he settled deeper into the leather and cocked his head provocatively.
“Would you like to share the recliner, Blair? I’m happy to make room.”
Blair gifted the male a noxiously sweet smile and dipped her chin coyly. “Such as sweet offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to
refuse. I know how you feel about having thrones to yourself.”
Kaien merely raised an eyebrow, remaining entirely unfazed by her reply. Instead of responding, he simply looked at her, as
if daring her to double down.
She did not.
She strode over to the chaise next to the hooded window, unceremoniously kicked off her flats, and curled into its plush
confines. Kaien’s attention dropped back to his book, the entire charade forgotten, even as she continued scrutinizing him from
afar.
Cut in a classic crew cut, Kaien’s sandy blonde hair blazed gold in the warm light. Even through his dark grey shirt, she
could clearly make out the strong lines of his torso and the rigid muscle of his biceps. Fingers curling as she resisted the deep-
seated desire to drag her fingernails over the fabric to feel the strength of his body beneath, Blair bit her lip.
Would she love to sink her fangs into her sire’s twin brother? Yes. Would she love to caress his chiseled jaw line and leave
claw marks all over his rugged warrior physique? Definitely.
But did that mean she wanted anything to do with the man other than use him as her own glorified chew toy? Most ardently
no.
She could never respect a man whose entire life had been handed to him on a silver platter. He’d done nothing to merit his
position as Nina’s regent apart from being her twin. All his life, he’d ridden on her coattails and profited from her hard work,
and then had the audacity to be smug about it.
 Chapter Two

THE BORROWED BEDROOM SHE stayed in was impersonal and sterile, but familiar. When she woke up the following
night, Blair was unashamed to acknowledge the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Not only because of what she’d be doing
in a few days’ time, but because she’d have to force herself into a commercialized version of what she truly was.
Though she didn’t have all the details, and the plan wasn’t fully formed, she wouldn’t give up the chance to get into Torrin’s
building—nor his head. Months had passed since Lucius’ torture, and the humans’ plans were only escalating. She could wait
no longer.
Cut off the head and the snake would die.
As day slowly gave way to night, she waited for Nina to return from her last-minute visit to clan lands. Something had been
bothering her about the borders, and she’d wanted to check it out in person before they left for New York.
The rich, black coffee she held in her mug was cold, but the delicious smell remained. While she’d never liked the taste,
Blair could appreciate the scent. Her eyes slid closed as she hummed in delight.
“Am I intruding?”
Kaien’s voice startled her, nearly succeeding in making her drop the mug. Spinning with inherent grace, she stared at him
wide-eyed, thanking the fates that her eyes remained the same color. The infuriating male was lazily leaned up against the
doorframe of her borrowed bedroom, looking unconcerned.
Swallowing the impulse to hiss, she cleared her throat. “How may I help you, Kaien?”
“You need to rethink this,” he said, devoid of emotion. “I’m still of the mind that sending you of all people into the lion’s den
isn’t a wise decision.”
“No?”
“Why wouldn’t we send someone who could teleport themselves out in case of trouble?”
She raised one blonde eyebrow, contemptuous. “And what—show every human on the news floor that the supernatural is
real? The only teleporting I’ll be doing is when I have no other choice.”
“Isn’t there someone else—namely not a vampire—we can send?“ He waved his hand dismissively. “I’d be happy to take
your place.”
She crossed her arms and drummed her fingers along her bicep. “I think your dance card is full. Besides, are you familiar
with how a newspaper operates, Kaien? Do you know how to assimilate into human culture? It seems to me you’ve been
holding up with your fellow Raeths for the past few centuries and I’m nearly certain you’re incapable of donning a mortal
mask.”
Fortunately, Blair had a background in freelance journalism. Given her extensive worldly travels, writing vacation pieces
and articles about the hottest travel locations came naturally. Whenever she ran low on funds, all she had to do was submit
another piece.
Never once had she disliked seeing her pen name in print.
“I’m perfectly capable of acting human, Blair. I’m also not a vampire—the same breed that the Citizens seems to hold the
most contempt against, and the one breed that most of their weaponry is engineered for.”
“Need I remind you that not everyone on the newsroom floor is a member of the Citizens? Torrin, sure, maybe a few of his
fellows, but most of the people in the organization are ordinary humans.”
Kaien didn’t look convinced, and she was tired of this interaction already.
“Is this concern? For me?” She rested a hand on her chest and batted her eyes at him. “Why, I’m flattered.”
He scoffed. “It’s concern for my sister’s pet. If you die, it’ll hurt her.”
“I can handle myself. I haven’t lived eight hundred years by being stupid.”
“And yet that’s half the time I’ve walked the earth and even I know this is a bad idea.”
“If I recall correctly, you’re somewhere in the neighborhood of twelve hundred years old.” She affected a concerned air then
added, “Math is hard, I understand.”
Kaien ignored her. “This isn’t wise.”
“I never said it was.” Straightening, she made a shooing gesture with her hands. “Run along now, Kaien. You’ve done your
due diligence.”
And to her surprise, he did.

***

The vampire’s Headquarters in New York City was a jewel of modern architecture. An onyx black marble coated the exterior,
sleek yet subtle, and the windows were so darkly tinted that nothing and no one could have seen inside. The doors inside had
been built to withstand nearly anything, and the interior’s plans mimicked the design.
It was a stronghold, a defensive fortress devised to be a saving grace should there be any attack on the vampire nation. The
only lettering that graced the building were the three characters of its postal address.
To Blair, it looked like a prison.
Blair had never coveted the place Drake Castellanos held in society. Her younger vampiric ‘brother’ for all intents and
purposes, Drake had been sired by Nina roughly four decades after she was and had always found himself in the social
spotlight. The alpha male served as the figurehead of the vampire nation and had for centuries.
Presiding alongside him were nine other vampire councilors, all of whom functioned as the judge and jury for any of their
breed who committed crimes or crossed the line into bloodlust.
When the council had formed five centuries ago, Blair had staunchly refused any involvement with them, recusing herself
from any and all proceedings. Their rigid structure didn’t suit her then and they certainly didn’t appeal now, in this age of
freedom.
She knew they’d passed a law requiring her to drink from bagged blood, for example, but she’d studiously ignored it.
Today, three of those councilors would seek to question her before she set out on her mission. In addition to Drake, Kane sat
as the presiding leader of the council, and would attend the inquisition as well. Rounding out the party was Lucius.
Blair’s fledgling had come out of his torturous detention with the Citizens mated to Circe, the one who’d miraculously
rescued him from their clutches. The young Raeth woman was a member of one of the clans represented on the dignitary panel,
this one led by the brusque Raeth sovereign Isaiah.
By the time she and Nina teleported inside, two council members were already waiting in the foyer to receive them. Blair’s
shoulders slumped when she found that Lucius was not among them.
 The click of Nina’s stilettos echoed sharply on the white marble floors as they drew near the pair of men.
“Where is my fledgling?”
“He’s coming with Isaiah. He was in Utah with Circe and bummed a ride.”
Blair chuckled. “Bummed a ride? What are you, a Millennial?”
Drake’s earthy brown eyes glinted before he stepped forward and purposefully swathed her much smaller frame in a bear
hug. “Good to see you, too, sister-mine.”
Stiffening in his eager embrace, Blair pushed his chest away and scowled at the brute. “I’ll bite you.”
“Tempting, Blair.”
Drake laughed heartily, but it was a dismissive sound. She knew he was head over heels in love with his Elemental wife,
Toni. Drake’s eyes flicked up and over her shoulder.
“Sire.”
“Thank you for waiting, gentlemen,” Nina replied. “I apologize we couldn’t get here sooner.”
Kane nodded. “Did you figure out what was tripping your borders?”
“Not yet, but I will.” Her lips twisted to one side. “Isaiah’s petitioned for entry, so I suppose I’ll allow it.”
A fissure of air signaled the arrival of their final councilor and his mate—along with Isaiah, the Raeth sovereign who’d
teleported them there, and his Elemental better half.
“An Elemental and two Sylth Raeths in our foyer,” Kane whistled. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Drake raised an ebony eyebrow at the group the Raeth sovereign had teleported in, an impressive number even though it was
clearly within the scope of his abilities. “Are you going for a record, Isaiah?”
“If four is impressive to you, vampire, you’ve clearly spent too little time around powerful Raeths.” came Isaiah’s bland
reply.
Rukia, the Elemental who was his mate, clutched at his waist affectionately, completely nullifying Isaiah’s gruff façade.
“Watch out, Drake, he’s in rare form today. Nothing a bit of shopping downtown can’t fix.”
Even as the Isaiah’s features instantly softened when he glanced down at his mate, Blair’s attention was already on the
handsome vampire who loitered amid the newly arrived troop.
Lucius bowed his head in deference to his sovereign. “Thank you, Isaiah.”
Burnished gold skin signified his south Asian descent, his well-groomed brunet locks styled away from the attractive lines of
his face. At six and a half feet tall, his athletic frame was easily recognizable, but it was the kindness of his soul and their
blood bond that always gave him away.
Blair’s smile grew wider as she drew close to him amid the animated chatter that had broken out between the new arrivals.
Good-natured greetings were exchanged while Lucius’ deep brown eyes caught hers.
“Sire.”
Leave it to Lucius to portray such deep, affectionate emotion with only one word. Opening his arms, Blair caught him around
the waist in an eager embrace.
“Fledgling.” Rearing back, Blair gave him a warm smile. “Slumming it with the Raeths?”
“Hardly. They’re rather an aristocratic bunch.”
Blair mockingly shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”
“It’s good to see you, Blair.” Circe reached out and squeezed her shoulder, offering her a tight smile. “Though I wish you’d
reconsider this.”
“I’ll be fine, Circe. But I appreciate the concern.”
 Nina glanced at Drake. “Shall we?”
Circe took that as her queue, sharing a chaste kiss with Lucius, while Isaiah and Rukia said their goodbyes. Moments later,
all three of them disappeared out the front doors.
The remaining group began to move towards the council chambers. Blair let the other vampires stalk through the space ahead
of her, noticing all of them had become silent as the grave. She resisted the urge to sigh.
Lights flickered on ahead of her, illuminating the windowless space. It was a place she’d been hundreds of times, and she’d
always hated the sterility of it, the way it felt like a cage or a prison. Honestly, she had no idea how Lucius didn’t run out of
there screaming every time he entered.
No one spoke as they stiffly took their seats. Surprisingly, no one took the head of the table. Not Drake or Kane, who
normally sat there, nor Nina as they so clearly expected her to. Instead, they all sat across from one another, Nina and Blair on
one side, and Drake, Kane, and Lucius on the other.
It was wholly indicative of their sentiments.
Before Drake could commence the conversation, Blair headed him off. “I won’t cancel my plans, Drake, if that’s why you’ve
called this lovely little session.”
“And why won’t you?” Drake’s mouth twisted in disapproval. “This is a fool’s errand. You’re going to walk into the belly of
the beast and attempt to be something you’re not.”
“Might I remind you, little brother, that I’ve been writing for publications longer than your wife has been alive,” she growled.
“I may not be human, but I understand the business in a way that no other immortal does. I am the most logical choice.”
“As we discussed,” Nina interrupted, “Blair will be infiltrating Torrin’s newspaper as a managing columnist. The intent is to
gather information on the Citizens’ plans and potentially identify additional members of the group—if there are any who work
for him.”
There’d already been too much bloodshed where Blair was concerned. The Citizens had lost the right to an amicable end
when they’d taken her fledgling and mercilessly tortured him. While she wouldn’t voice it here, she’d exterminate Torrin when
she had the chance.
“I still think we can solve this without endangering one of our own,” Kane said, disapproval weighing heavy upon his
features. “Blair is taking a colossal risk in exposing herself to direct contact with Torrin. Must I remind you what happened to
Rona and Gideon when they took the same risk with another Citizens leader? Or Lucius for that matter?”
“But I won’t be approaching him as an immortal, Kane,” Blair reminded him. “To him, I’ll simply be another faceless
journalist.”
“You’re still assuming all the risk.” Drake shook his head slightly. “I’d prefer we find another way.”
“Then good thing it’s not your decision, Drake,” Blair said. “I’m going whether you approve or not. The Citizens are a threat
to the immortal world—to us—and I intend to remove them from the picture.”
“By gathering information,” Lucius reminded her. “As we’ve discussed, this isn’t a suicide mission, sire.”
“Of course not.” Her voice was edged in sarcasm. “That’d be ridiculous.”
Her fledgling held her gaze, the intensity of it radiating from his severe expression. Lucius, as always, saw too much.
Undoubtedly, they’d share words later if she allowed it.
After several more rounds of aggravating debate with the vampires, Nina finally aired her thoughts. “Should Blair run into
trouble, she’s agreed to use telepathy to contact me. It’ll be a simple remote teleport out of danger. There is little risk.”
Grumbling, Lucius shook his head indignantly at Nina but maintained the proper respect due her station. “She may not have
time to react, sire. What if she is ambushed like I was?”
 “Stop worrying, Lucius,” came Blair’s sharp reprimand. “Torrin won’t know what I am, and I’m the only one capable of
masking my vampiric traits. The gains outweigh the risk. End of story.”
Lucius turned to Nina. “If we sent a Raeth, we wouldn’t have to worry about vampiric traits.”
“I don’t know a single Raeth who knows what InDesign is, Luc, nor the difference between kerning and tracking in text.” Her
eyes narrowed. “If you can find one who not only has those skills but also cares more about our cause than I do, I’ll happily
forego my mission in light of a more suitable candidate.”
The thought garnered no response, and for a moment, all three males were silent. Then, Lucius alone met her eyes.
“Please, sire, don’t do this.” Lucius implored. “I beg of you.”
“I too, agree,” Kane echoed. “Exposing yourself like this is an unconscionable risk.”
Drake nodded sharply and spoke before she could interject. “Blair, you must see reason.”
Chuffing a breezy laugh, Blair shook her head and waved dismissively to the men across the table. “We keep going in circles.
As I’ve said, even if you don’t seem to be listening: it’s not your decision, boys.”
Gritting his teeth, Lucius’ attention swung to Nina, seeking her support. “Nina, help me convince Blair to abandon this
madness.”
“The Citizens threaten our very way of life, Lucius,“ Nina replied. “Blair knows the risks, and she is not a child I can
control.”
Kane huffed a sigh. “Blair, I sincerely hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Pacifist.” Lucius snarled, irritated that the other man was backing out of the debate.
“Blair, given the catalog of weaponry at their disposal, Torrin or any number of his followers could wound you before you’re
able to flee,” Drake warned. “If you’re injured—“
Blair had had enough.
In the whisper of a second, Blair had both irate vampires pinned against the wall, hands cupped around their throats as she
held them aloft. Surprise blanketed their expressions, neither male making any move to negate her punishing hold.
“Children, let us remember who came first.” Blair’s voice was so gravelly in her throat that it sounded barely human,
whipping both men to attention as their eyes shifted to an icy blue in eerie unison.
An immutable reaction, elevated heart rates reflected in the iris of a vampire, turning their natural-born shade to mirror that
of the breed’s founder: Nina. Whether it was due to aggression, adrenaline, or arousal, no vampire could negate the change that
revealed their supernatural nature.
Except Blair.
The recently vacated chairs creaked slightly as they spun. Blair heard Nina sigh. “Blair, put them down.”
Curling her lips in a wild smile, she loosened her brutal hold on Drake and Lucius’ necks. Their feet hit the floor, Blair
exhaling a satisfying grunt before she purposefully turned her back to them.
She collapsed onto the chair by Nina’s side. Kane, having given up the fight, simply observed from where he sat pensive
across from them.
Nina pinned Blair with a knowing look. “They are simply concerned for your safety, Blair. Need I remind you that you share
the same complex for them?”
“I don’t need a keeper.”
“They know, Blair.”
Patting Blair’s thigh, Nina turned her attention back to the two vampires who’d cautiously moved back toward the table but
still wore disapproval on their faces.
 “You’ve voiced your opinions; there is no need to escalate matters further.”
Blair grinned vindictively at the trio, knowing that Nina’s word was law. What’s more was that the Peace Accords
delegation had backed her mission—something she knew held merit in the eyes of the three men across the able from her.
The Immortal Peace Accords had been drafted and signed a year and a half ago. Prior to that, no attempt at diplomatic
relationships between the immortal communities had been initiated. Before, there’d been wars and skirmishes that darkened the
waters, feuds and conflicts that skirted the otherwise tenuous peace.
But now, in light of the collective threat facing their nations, every immortal society desired partnership and collaboration.
Since the inception of the Peace Accords, a record number of inter-species mated pairs had arisen. Raeths, vampires,
werewolves, and Elementals were no longer disparate communities. The societies had intertwined on a fundamental level, one
that even their historians couldn’t parallel with any other era they’d recorded.
Blair would use the blessing of the delegation to suit her interests, but she’d never play by their rules. No man, immortal or
otherwise, would ever tame her again.
 Chapter Three

BLOOD TRICKLED FROM KAIEN’S lip before his eyes once more fixated on his target. Muscles coiling in anticipation, he
stilled for a bare second before launching his attack, brutalizing the opponent in front of him in a flurry of punches and barely
concealed aggression.
Surprised by his sudden ferocity, Remmus deflected the blows as best he could. A strangled sound emitted from the other
man’s throat when Kaien deliberately caught him in an uppercut with enough force to knock the wind out of him.
Allowing Remmus to fall to the ground unencumbered, Kaien straightened to his full height. Heart pounding in his ears, he
willed himself to calm the unsettled intensity under his skin.
“Damn it, Kaien,” Remmus sputtered, dragging air into his lungs as he lay on his back. “No one can spar with you when
you’re like this except your sister.”
“Like what?”
“Hateful and brooding.”
Remmus righted himself to a seated position, his seafoam-green eyes narrowing. Raking a hand through his shoulder-length
blond hair, the other Raeth scowled.
“You’re downright mean when you want to be.”
Swallowing a laugh, Kaien offered his sparring partner a hand up from the mats. “Another round?”
“Hell no. I’d prefer to leave with my dignity intact, thank you very much.” Remmus uncoiled the boxing tape from around his
knuckles, allowing no debate.
“Suit yourself.”
Kaien freed his own fists, the movements familiar. He rolled his shoulders once his hands were unbound, but it did nothing to
loosen the tension that had hummed through his body since he’d returned from Lexington.
Remmus had noticed. “What’s got you in such a foul mood, Kai?”
Kaien wiped off the blood that’d collected on his chin, absently smearing the crimson across his forearm. He shrugged
noncommittally.
It was a lie. He knew exactly what’d ruffled his feathers. And the answer took the form of a vexatious woman he’d rather not
mention.
The other Raeth huffed a laugh.
“Fine; keep your secrets. But if you need a shoulder to cry on—“ Remmus’ hand cuffed around Kaien’s shoulder, ”—I ain’t
it.”
“And here I was expecting some sentimentality,” Kaien muttered, smirking.
 Together, they strolled out of the training arena and into the warmth of the August air. Summer green grasses were gradually
turning yellow with the drought, and the dryness of the air made the fine layer of perspiration on Kaien’s exposed skin
evaporate.
Blaede clan territory, affectionately referred to as Solaris, stretched for tens of miles in either direction, nestled amid the
gently rolling hills of the western Missouri region. As regent and senior healer to the clan, Kaien had lived among his clansmen
for nearly twelve hundred years.
Every hill, every tree, every rock that dotted the landscape was etched in his memory. Years yawned by as Kaien watched
and waited, conscientiously observing every interaction between the humans, the other immortal breeds, and that of his
brethren. Though they largely kept to themselves, modern times had made complete isolation nearly impossible. As acting
sovereign, he’d overseen the limited communication that was required of them.
When Nina had pulled away from the clan a century ago, he’d shouldered the brunt of her territorial responsibility. Kaien had
assumed the role of her regent without delay—and without her having to ask. The psychic network she maintained between
every clan member hadn’t suffered, however. Given Nina’s exceptional gifts, distance hadn’t dampened the intrinsic
connections that bonded them together.
As sovereign, his twin bore primary responsibility for the safety and protection of the people who looked upon her to lead.
Raeth clans were notoriously vicious when it came to territoriality, and those Raeths without a clan often sought to strike at the
heart of the establishment.
A laugh drew Kaien’s attention back to the present. Ahead of them, Aidan and his Elemental mate, Lucy, were seated on the
ground in the town square. Lucy’s hands were embedded in the ground, a coil of tree roots and grasses delicately vining around
her forearms. Shards of greenery erupted from the earth as they approached, a tangle of flowers blooming at the earth
Elemental’s inspired touch.
Pausing when they would have passed the mated couple, he studied her work in silence. Unconsciously, Kaien felt his gifts
stir beneath his skin, a yearning to join her as she worked. When Lucy glanced up at him and her lips twisted into a welcoming
grin, he readily accepted the unspoken invitation.
His palm pressed into the earth, feeling the pulse of the vibrant life beneath it. Around his hand, heat-yellowed grasses
sprung into new life, seamlessly interspersing with the Elemental’s sea of green beside him.
Without missing a beat, tulips erupted from between his fingers, blossoming in a brilliant cacophony of scarlet red and vivid
gold. Lucy’s gaze flicked to the blooms, studying his work before returning her attention to her own.
Half a minute later, Kaien felt the earth respond to her call. Through the connection he’d established with the soil beneath his
palm, he sensed Lucy’s handiwork sprouting blooms that flowered readily from the earth to twine through her fingers.
Lucy gave a satisfied hum before turning her head eagerly to regard Kaien. “What else can you do?”
Beside her, Aidan chuckled, a grin splitting his lips. “Yes, brother, do tell.”
“In the Raeth world,” Kaien explained, “we call this gift Bloom. We primarily have the ability to grow, to rejuvenate, to heal.
While it’s not uncommon, few seldom take the time to develop it, seeing it as little more than trivial. I, on the other hand,
appreciate the quietness of it, the connection to the earth.”
What remained unsaid was Kaien’s gift of healing the body—to rejuvenate and inspire the body to mend itself. To heal from
cuts or bruises. Broken bones or torn ligaments. Or, in the rarest of cases, to grow a child in a previously infertile womb.
He’d used that ability sparingly.
“You should compare notes with Gideon,” Lucy gushed. “He’s the one who’s mentoring me in Paracel.”
 “I’ve heard he’s quite proficient at his skill.” Kaien raised an eyebrow before he delicately skimming his fingertips over the
tulips he’d grown. “But I’m certain my talents are far beneath an earth Elemental’s abilities. We can’t control the landscape or
the tectonic plates the way I’ve heard Gideon does.”
“Regardless,” Lucy’s red lips tightened into a smile, “the next time you’re in Paracel, I’ll make the introduction.”
“Always so eager, mate of mine.”
Aidan’s greenish-grey eyes were riveted to his woman, unabashed pride lingering on his features.
Two years ago, Aidan had been the quintessential lone wolf. With no pack of his own, the werewolf alpha had run the span of
the United States on the verge of going rogue. Now, after an unlikely courtship, he’d found his mate, and the male had settled
down in Paracel. He’d begun a new life with the woman who’d irrevocably claimed him.
When Aidan and Kaien had grown up together twelve hundred years ago, his adopted brother had been human. Mere decades
into his existence, Aidan had become the first werewolf—and the alpha of his nation—and gained immortality in the process.
Permanently seared into his soul, the night had been one Kaien would never forget.
Lucy’s stomach growled, catching Kaien’s notice, but it was her mate that instantly drew her up in his arms. “No more
greenery for today, my love. We’ve played in the dirt long enough.”
“Peace out, kids.” Flashing two fingers in the universal peace sign, Remmus trudged off in the direction of his home without a
backwards glance.
Aidan jerked his chin toward his home. “Have you eaten, Kaien? My mate makes a mean baked macaroni.”
“I suppose I could be persuaded.”
Raeths rarely needed sustenance, and Kaien hadn’t eaten in weeks. Unless he had been injured in some way or expended a
vast amount of psychic energy, ingesting food was typically unnecessary. The only time he partook in the act otherwise was
when others convinced him to do it as a social bonding ritual—as was the case today.
“Did Nina already take Blair to New York?” Lucy asked.
“Yeah, they went yesterday morning,” Aidan replied. “She stayed at Drake’s House and she’s meant to start her new ‘job’ at
the newspaper today.”
Kaien stiffened at the mention of the woman, but neither of his companions noticed. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he
frowned. What was it about that woman that set him off?
Every time they interacted, their conversations devolved. What’d started as a cordial relationship eight hundred years ago
had gradually shifted into icy politeness with an undercurrent of sarcasm.
Whereas Kaien was everything proper and civilized, the woman was positively wild. But somehow, she had crawled under
his skin and stayed there, snapping her fangs at him every time he tried to claw her off.
Kaien hadn’t been able to put her out of his mind.
No matter what he did, he’d never been able to dissuade her from a course of action once she was set on it, even if it was a
foolhardy plan like the one she’d act on this week. Unlike him, Blair had the freedom to go where she wanted, do as she
pleased, and not care about who else it impacted. To her, the only thing that mattered was her own satisfaction.
Her sharp but feminine features were impossible to erase from the canvas of his mind. Everything about her was an enticing
question, a toxic lure that drew him unlike any other.
Fingers snapped in front of his eyes. “Earth to Kaien.”
Kaien grimaced. “Sorry.”
“You take one too many hits to the head when you and Remmus sparred?” The werewolf’s features twisted with mock
concern, his mate concealing a giggle from behind the hand she’d placed over her mouth.
 A rare smile found its way to Kaien’s lips. “Perhaps.”
Twenty minutes later, Kaien and Aidan were sitting in the comfortable cool air of his den while Lucy bustled about in the
kitchen. Silent, Kaien tented his fingers under his chin and started into the fireless hearth.
Following Aidan’s mating, Nina had gifted Aidan and Lucy the cozy home in clan territory. For a werewolf that’d once been
essentially homeless, Aidan now boasted two houses in two different supernatural communities. Since Lucy was still in
training with the Elementals, they spent the better portion of their time in Iowa to allow for her studies.
“Remmus looked rather worse for wear following your spar, brother,” Aidan broached the silence, leaning back into the
leather armchair that gave a hearty creak. “Been bottling some pent-up anger?”
“Since when do we discuss our feelings?”
“My mate is rubbing off on me, I suppose.” There was a brief pause before his brother grew solemn. “Do you ever desire to
mate, Kaien?”
“My loyalty must always be to clan and sovereign, Aidan.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It has to be.” Kaien shrugged. “I can’t afford to split my attention. Especially not now when Nina’s—when she’s not here.”
Aidan’s greenish-grey eyes, far too shrewd, scrutinized him with an uncanny stare. “No one said you had to bear the burden
single-handedly.”
“Someone has to. She’s not here—and I don’t blame her for not wanting to be—but someone had to step up to the plate.”
Minutes went by before Aidan sighed and straightened against the back of his chair. “Tell her.”
“Tell her what, Aidan?” he asked, already exhausted at the concept. “Tell her that she needs to be with her clan? That her that
the position she was forced into requires her to be present even when she’s hurting?”
His teeth grated together, and Aidan remained silent beside him.
Since Nina’s retreat from clan life left him with the mantle of leadership, it’d slowly been chipping away at him. An introvert
by nature, pretending to be something he wasn’t had exhausted him to the point that it’d begun to affect his healing abilities.
Soon, but not yet, he’d have to tell his sister.
“Nina’s deserving of some time away, especially after what happened.” Kaien shook his head. “It’s situations like this that
tell me just how bad of an idea it’d be to pursue a relationship—pursue a mate.”
Across from him, Aidan’s eyes turned the citrus orange of his wolf. “You’re not the only one who thought it’d be disastrous to
take a mate. But when I met Lucy, she changed everything.”
“Says the wolf who parades kids around Paracel on his back,” Kaien replied blandly. “You’ve been primed for a mate for
years, Aidan. You just didn’t want to admit it.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree, brother. What I can’t deny is that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Lucy changed everything
for me.”
“True enough.”
Before Aidan could respond, abrasive energy rippled down Kaien’s spine in supernatural warning. His psychic senses
exploded outward over the territory, swiftly seeking the location of the intrusion and the threat against his clan.
Snarling as his mind brushed against an oppressive mental force, Kaien gathered himself into a teleport. The world blurred
around him before his vision cleared to the carnage that spanned around him. Crimson painted over the blackened blades of
grass; two unfamiliar faces stared up at him, their faces frozen in the throes of true death.
Heart kicking from the adrenaline that poured into his system, his sword manifested into his hand with the barest traces of
psychic energy. Ahead of him, the clash of steel and the sounds of battle met his ears.
 Nina.
Surrounded by three unfamiliar Raeths, Kaien’s twin was protecting two of their youngest clan members as they huddled
together behind her legs, their eyes bright with fear. Nina’s katana sliced through the air, the Raeth sovereign fending off the
covetous hands of the enemies that strove to separate the younglings from her.
Hurtling into action, Kaien barreled into the closest male, shoving him off his feet. The other male quickly righted himself,
and turned on him with a savage slice of his blade. Kaien skillfully evaded, then parried with the intruder in a dance as old as
time.
Before he could land the killing blow, the Raeth opposite him stiffened. Pain rippled across his features and his eyes rolled
back in his head. Around them, the silence became deafening. A malicious psychic energy filtered through the air.
Kaien was no stranger to it, but he hadn’t been expecting it. As Nina’s dark gift robbed the lives of the Raeths that’d come to
steal their younglings, he didn’t move.
Their lifeless bodies fell to the ground only milliseconds later.
Whipping around to catch his sister’s gaze, Kaien assessed his sovereign with a critical eye. Figures in his peripheral vision
signaled the other lieutenants’ belated arrivals, but none of them made a move to approach her.
It’d been ages since Nina had utilized the devastating ability. Dark, powerful, and destructive, her Reaper gift inspired
torturous pain prior to proving fatal.
Frosted white with the aftereffects of the psychic strain, Nina’s eyes were shadowed as Kaien slowly pivoted to face her.
With a blink, her icy blue iris returned, her fury receding as she dropped to wrap her arms around the two younglings at her
feet.
“Iyanna, Matteo.” The gentle kiss of Nina’s voice held nothing but love and tenderness towards the two trembling children
that melted into her embrace. “You’re safe, my loves.”
Kaien breathed a soundless sigh of relief before moving to join her on the ground. Upon his brief but thorough examination,
he quickly determined neither child had been injured in any way, no doubt thanks to Nina’s fierce defense.
It was a sovereign’s power to instantly identify any threat to their people or territory. For Nina, it was second nature, a trait
ingrained so deeply that she couldn’t block it out even if she tried.
Behind him, Xavier and Remmus moved in while the others maintained a guarded perimeter. Remmus moved into Kaien’s
field of vision and briefly bowed his head to his twin.
“I’ll return them to their parents, sovereign.”
With a lingering kiss atop the head of each child who clutched at her, Nina relinquished them to the arms of her lieutenant.
“Mere, Celeste, run the perimeter before returning to me. Xavier, dispose of the bodies. They’re clanless.”
At her dismissive nod, her lieutenants disappeared to their tasks, leaving Kaien alone with his sovereign. He scrutinized his
sister’s form, taking in each injury before teleporting them into Nina’s home in the center of their town.
Though he’d already mentally scanned the space, he glanced around to ensure no one lurked in the shadows. With Nina’s
massive expenditure of psychic energy, they’d have only moments before the recoil took her.
Anticipation lodged in Kaien’s gut. “How long?”
“A minute at most.” Nina’s voice was low but unbothered, almost nonchalant.
Her eyes were riveted to the long, bleeding laceration on her bicep that was partially hidden by her T-shirt. Flexing her hand,
she tore away the ruined sleeve to reveal the deep wound that’d cut through her flesh and into the bone. She’d sustained another
injury on her torso, but it looked rather superficial.
 Kaien’s hands immediately went to staunch the bleeding while Nina took a seat on the chocolate leather sofa behind her.
Unlike other healers, Kaien’s abilities worked primarily through an initial burst of effort, the damage righting itself under the
phenomenal pulse of power.
Within seconds, the bleeding stopped, and the parted muscle and tissue began to weave closed under his inspired touch.
“Kaien, you will have to listen for Blair.” There was a quiver behind her voice as she suppressed a shudder. “I will not be
able to teleport her out if she needs aid.”
Nina’s bond with her vampire fledglings functioned in a similar way to the Raeth clan bonds, but only one of them had
developed the ability to reply telepathically: Blair.
Kaien was the Blaede clan’s senior healer, and his interconnection through the psychic web was similar to his sister’s. If any
of their clansmen were in distress or ailing, he’d quickly be able to come to their aid. Given their unique link as twins, he
shared access to Nina’s vampire fledglings—though he had to consciously be listening for signs of distress and occasionally, it
was tardy.
Often, Kaien found himself peering into Nina’s connection with Blair to assure himself of the reckless vampire’s continued
health. His sister hadn’t caught him—yet.
“I will keep a channel open for her should she need it.”
Xavier and Remmus teleported in behind him, both humming with tension while they moved to flank him in anticipation.
“Take care of them.”
The words were a bare whisper of sound, his sister already miles away. A moment later, Nina’s back arched under the
torrential downpour of agony that infiltrated her body, her mouth falling open in a soundless scream. Every muscle in her body
coiled with vicious tension, the abrasive nature of the recoil penetrating every cell of her being.
Her sudden retraction from the psychic network reverberated through the bonds that connected the clan together, a painful
deprivation. Within moments, Nina’s lieutenants bolstered the connections with their own mental strength.
Kaien’s arms locked around her as her body succumbed to the psychic and physical devastation of the recoil. Laying her
reverently against the leather, two fingers automatically went to her temple to verify her mental state.
Recoils were vicious kickbacks when a Raeth pushed their abilities to the extreme. For Raeths born of creation, like Kaien, a
recoil—or energy drought—would result if he overused his abilities. He’d be conscious after the initial kickback, but would
be powerless for several days following.
As Nina was born of destruction, the recoil mirrored her dark gifts back onto her, causing an immutable tidal wave of pain
that’d leave her unconscious and powerless. The more power she used, the more brutal it would be.
During that period, she’d be unable to support the psychic network of the clan that depended on her. Her lieutenants,
including Kaien, were the ones who held it together when she was unable.
Scanning through his unconscious twin’s mind, Kaien sighed with audible relief. “Her mind is intact.”
Unsaid was the very real possibility that ghosted over his twin, or any Raeth born of destruction. If they overextended their
abilities, the resulting recoil might permanently strip them of their consciousness. It’d effectively render them brain dead: a
shell of their former selves.
It’d happened only twice in recorded history, but it was enough to forestall any Raeth from tempting fate.
While Kaien examined her, the remainder of the lieutenants had filtered into the room and taken up guarding positions around
their sleeping sovereign. Celeste, the youngest of the group, sat down next to her on the sofa.
“Is she injured elsewhere?”
“Torso,” Kaien clipped, his hands hovering over the nearly healed wound on her bicep, “but it’s already stopped bleeding.”
 “There were six of them in total.” Xavier said from behind him. “All clanless.”
Remmus stepped into Kaien’s field of vision, but his gaze was on his unconscious sovereign. “Unbelievable. Fools, all.”
“What took you so long?” Kaien growled, hostile.
Sobering, his friend inclined his head. “One of them must have been a shield. None of us registered the attack until we felt
Nina’s abilities flair.”
“Not all of us have the twin bond, Kaien.”
Xavier settled against the back of the sofa, his voice lacking its usual spirit. In a rare show of aggravation, his hand raked
through his pitch-black hair, and his emerald eyes darted toward his unconscious sovereign with genuine regret.
He’d spoken the truth.
Kaien and Nina, as twins, held a bond previously unseen by the immortal races. Not only were they easily able to slip into
each other’s minds and listen in to thoughts and telepathy but they also had a sixth sense when the other was in danger, as was
the case today.
Twins were a near impossibility in Raeth culture. Due to their inherent structure and psychic energy, the carrying of twin
souls had only been recorded once before Nina and Kaien’s arrival. Unfortunately, the pregnancy had nearly killed their
mother, Vialle, who survived only because her mate—their father—had been able to share energy to thwart her death.
As Kaien finished healing the injury on Nina’s arm, he sighed and glanced up at the lieutenants gathered around with sober
faces. “We run perimeter checks every hour and make sure the younglings stay within sight at all times. In the meantime, we’ll
watch over Nina while she heals.”
Jaw clenching, Kaien straightened from his crouch next to the sofa where his sister was sleeping. Celeste blinked up at him,
her cotton candy pink braids twisting on either side of her neck.
“Will you keep an ear out for Blair?” Celeste asked.
“I will.”
The chalky sound of his own teeth grating echoed in his ears. With Nina down for the count, he’d be forced to shoulder the
burden of Blair’s recklessness, even when he’d been adamantly opposed to the operation. The list of his responsibilities
continued to add up, and now, he’d been stretched even thinner.
Gently, he twisted a psychic tether around Blair’s bond with Nina, both hating and loving the way it tasted of her wildness.
To get close to her—even on the psychic plane—was courting disaster.
 Chapter Four

THE WILD WANTED TO burst out of her.

Attired in a slim black pencil skirt and shiny red blouse, Blair felt trapped atop her towering stilettos. Toni, Drake’s
elemental wife, had been positively enthralled in Blair’s new façade—even if it was only for the present moment.
After getting an eyeful of her new persona, Drake had howled with laughter. Then, her annoying brother had proceeded to
literally count the seconds until she bared her fangs and called off the entire charade.
Spoiler: she hadn’t.
Much as she despised the couture trappings of civilization, she wouldn’t renege on her promise. Blair sought vengeance far
more deeply than anyone realized. She strolled through the bustling crowds of New York City’s sidewalks, working to
transform the lethal sharpness of her gaze into the mild-mannered look of an office worker.
More than one man had taken the liberty of leisurely sliding their gazes up and down her body with lust-filled eyes. While
she’d have typically taken it as an invitation to sample their blood, Blair refrained. She had far more important things on her to
do list.
Today, her path would set right the wrongs of the past.
Arriving at her destination, she filled her lungs with what little freshness she could wrestle from the August air and gazed
upward at the towering skyscraper. Blair entered through the lobby without a backwards glance.
Playing this part was simply an obstacle to the real end: eliminating Torrin from the picture.
Getting the job had been easy enough. The hiring agent had taken one look at her resume and literally jumped at the chance for
an interview, and Blair had let her charisma do the rest. Fortunately, Torrin hadn’t thought to install a member of the Citizens’
in Human Resources—the director’s malleable mind responded easily to suggestion, and she’d been able to dictate her start
date from there.
With Torrin, however, suggestion wasn’t an option. As one of the few humans naturally immune to the vampiric charm, Blair
would have to find a way under his defenses using ulterior means. And unlike some, she wasn’t afraid of using her femininity
as her advantage.
Stilettos and shadowy eyeliner might just do the trick. Blair’s talents for swaying human males were close to legendary
status. Eight centuries of experience, with and without suggestion, would grease the wheels, but Torrin would have to be
initially susceptible to her charms if she were ever to get under his skin—or into his head.
Blair would have no way of knowing who was a member of the Citizens and who wasn’t, so her use of suggestion would be
impossible within the confines of the office.
Chiming once, the elevator opened to reveal a lobby space that sported an ultra-modern reception area and a handful of
elegant guest chairs. The lively newsroom floor lay beyond a pair of glass doors, a short distance behind the reception area.
 Heels clicking against the marble flooring, Blair offered the busty receptionist a polite nod. “I’m Blair Uhura. Today is my
first day.”
Uhura. Blair inwardly grinned at her tribute to the unsinkable Star Trek heroine.
“Welcome to the team.” A compulsory smile lined the receptionist’s lips while she made a not-so-subtle appraisal of the
fresh meat. “I can show you to your desk. Timothy will be with you shortly.”
Following the human along the outside of the newsroom floor, Blair instinctively studied the exit routes. Her attention
speared through the assembled crowd of journalists who were busying about their work, cataloguing any who looked out of
place. A few took notice as they passed, but most were furiously typing on their keyboards, blissfully unaware of the revolving
world around them. Ahead, she spotted a row of C-Suite offices, her gaze inadvertently focusing.
Torrin Scayde. Editor-In-Chief.
She banished all emotion from her face. When the woman ahead of her took a sharp left, Blair dutifully trailed behind, but her
eyes lingered on the empty office that boasted a stunning view of the New York skyline.
“Make yourself comfortable. Coffee is in the breakroom and the ladies’ rooms are out by my desk.” The woman’s hospitality
was cut short by her tone.
With a twirl on her heels, the icy receptionist turned and left Blair in solitude, the heavy scent of her perfume mugging up the
air.
Releasing a husky laugh, Blair took a seat at the desk and dropped her borrowed purse on the desktop. Everything Blair
needed typically fit in her back pocket, and everything else was just one suggestion away.
By lunchtime, Blair had suffered through innumerable introductions, a Human Relations diatribe that left her positively
spellbound—not—and a brief tour of the facilities. Blair had aways been a quick learner, and she’d never stopped learning
technology. When it suited her, she enjoyed the creativity of graphic design, and she’d always had a naturally artistic flair.
If she didn’t actively loathe Torrin, this job might’ve genuinely caught her interest for a couple of months.
Though Blair didn’t have the same sleep needs as a young vampire, by noon the pull of supernatural sleep had started
wearing on her. Vampires slept when the sun rose into the sky, but could resist that pull the longer they lived. At nearly eight
hundred years old, she was able to remain awake throughout the duration of the daylight hours should she choose to do so. She
could go days without sleep if it was called for.
That didn’t mean she particularly wanted to.
Eyelids drooping ever so slightly, Blair scrutinized the laptop screen in front of her. Columnists and their topics were listed
throughout the document, and it was her job to oversee them as their manager. She’d already emailed half of her remote team
members, and had meetings set up with the few that worked in the office.
Blair heard the footsteps far before they reached her desk.
“You must be Blair.”
Fortifying herself against any unintentional rudeness, Blair lifted her head to catch the man’s gaze. Steel grey eyes peered at
her from the harsh panes of a handsome face. Dark hair was interspersed with a faint touch of grey, and his jawline was barely
shadowed.
His hand extended in the brief pause after he spoke. “I’m Torrin Scayde, Editor-In-Chief.”
Pride reverberated in his words, and Blair heard the distinct undercurrent of superiority in his tone. Pasting an Oscar-worthy
grin on her lips, she dipped her chin in greeting.
“Blair Uhura.”
 “Typically, I interview all managers before we bring them on—” he tilted his head, but an inscrutable look gleamed in his
eye, “—but it seems our hiring staff thought you’d be snapped up by our competitors if we didn’t extend an offer on the spot.”
Blair forced a casual shrug. “My resume speaks for itself, but I’m happy to give you a rundown should you prefer.”
“I would, as a matter of fact.” Torrin nodded toward his office. “Do you have lunch plans?”
Gag me. “I’d be happy to join you. It’ll give us a chance to get to know one another.”
The smirk that pulled over his lips was pure male satisfaction as he motioned for her to follow. Blair swallowed the sudden
urge for violence. Her fledgling had nearly died in Torrin’s torture chamber, and she could imagine no greater pleasure than to
wrap her hands around Torrin’s throat and watch the life drain from his eyes.
Instead, she nodded politely as he let her enter the space before him and pulled the door shut. Rounding the desk to sit on the
high-backed leather chair behind it, he offered her a seat in one of the guest chairs.
“We don’t often welcome too many Princeton graduates.” The sleeves of his suit coat lowered to reveal an expensive-
looking watch when he tented his hands on the desk. “And rarely ones so lovely.”
Before she let the compliment fall flat, she consciously reminded herself that she was here to get under his skin, and by doing
so, identify additional threats to her people. And he, like any man, could be manipulated.
Letting her red lips curl in a sultry smile, she lowered her chin coyly. “You’ve just made my day, Torrin.”
His gaze darkened momentarily, but Blair couldn’t pinpoint the cause. When his eyes leisurely dropped to the buttons of her
blouse in open admiration, a dirty feeling itched over her skin. As it was, she barely resisted the urge to cross her arms.
Piercing grey eyes recaptured hers. “How about giving me that quick rundown?”
She’d never been happier to lie. Quickly reviewing both the fake portions of her resume as well as the truthful ones, Blair
wove enough details into the speech that nothing seemed suspicious. As she spoke, the human across from her was riveted. Had
she been a mere mortal intent on his affections, Blair would have fawned over the attention.
But she wasn’t. And she didn’t.
Ten minutes passed as they continued their conversation. Neither of them ate, despite his hook to lure her into his office, but
the lie didn’t seem to bother him, and it certainly didn’t bother her. As his inquisition ended, Torrin asked her to accompany
him to the printing floor for a quick tour of the presses.
Though a shred of suspicion flared in her mind, she didn’t hesitate to accept. Conversation continued to flow easily between
them, the smooth-talking man leading her down a side stairwell, nodding to other journalists as they passed.
“How long have you worked here, Torrin?”
“Twelve years. I was originally a current events journalist, then made my way to the top.”
“What did you do before this?”
Torrin’s expression briefly shadowed with a faraway look. “I was a Marine. Served alongside some of the best men I’ve
ever known before ending up here.”
“Thank you for your service. You’re a hero.” Blair infused false admiration into her voice and fought the urge to scoff.
Trailing behind him, she nodded along to his explanation of the printing presses and the employees who worked them. She
was frankly impressed by how automated the process was, and didn’t have to feign surprise. As she responded with the
appropriate words of encouragement and acceptance, Blair played every card in her book to charm the man.
It seemed to be working.
But when he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the clearly neglected storage rooms, the errant
twinge of suspicion re-entered her mind. No other party had entered the printing room while they’d taken their tour, and Blair
spied no cameras hidden around the space.
 Torrin exhibited no signs of unsettling behavior.
Perhaps she’d done her job too well and he’d read the queues she’d been flaunting. If Torrin attempted to test the waters and
kiss her, would she let him? The very thought of his lips coming anywhere near hers made her physically ill. Grinding her teeth
together, Blair battled through the wave of nausea at the sentiment, belated revulsion icing through her veins. Even his touch
infuriated her.
But she couldn’t ease off the gas now, not when they’d connected through pleasantries and his barely tolerable perusal of her
assets. If he attempted anything untoward, she’d deal with it when the time came.
“Not that you’d care, but reams are kept in this storage unit. My former managing editor, Victor, always made me stop here on
the tour.”
Torrin unlocked the door and motioned for her to stroll ahead of him into the waiting darkness. Feeling her gut churn uneasily,
Blair pushed it aside and dutifully stepped into the space ahead of him. As he flipped on the light, Blair briefly lost sight of him
while she turned around.
The door clicked behind them.
And then he turned on the sound.
Instant agony. Deep in her marrow, the excruciating noise reverberated through her being and made bile rise in her throat.
Knees buckling, Blair collapsed in a heap onto the cement floor, panting through the onset of pain. Clutching at her ears, she felt
the warmth of blood trickle down her palms, her eardrums ruptured.
“You think I wouldn’t notice, vampire?” Torrin’s voice sounded garbled, tinnitus ringing in her ears and fracturing his spoken
words.
Blair’s knees bit into the unforgiving surface of the chilled floor, her palms clutched over her ears to unsuccessfully block out
the torment of the ultrasonic wave. Her heart pounded in her chest and adrenaline rose in response.
Cringing as nausea burned in her throat, her mind fumbled through her escape plan. The telepathic communication roared
through her bond with Nina with striking swiftness, but the unfamiliarity of the ghosting presence at the end spelled trouble.
Blair’s eyes fluttered open to see Torrin’s form towering above her, Glock in hand.
Dread fisted an icy hand around her throat. Undoubtedly, the clip contained within boasted the Citizens’ prized liquid
sunlight bullets. Capable of searing through a vampire’s flesh and instigating a slow death, they were one of the few things that
could kill her immortal breed.
Rocking back on her heels, Blair attempted to stand on knees that quaked beneath her frame. Every breath shuddered through
her lungs as she bit back the nauseating urge to expel non-existent food from her stomach.
“You’re scum, bloodsucker.” Angry words from an angry man. “You deserve nothing but death.”
The sound of a silenced gunshot echoed against the paper white walls. Visceral heat burned through her skin, blazing through
the flesh in her abdomen and jolting into her bloodstream. Sweat beaded on her temples instantly, her body wracked by
uncontrollable spasms while the sunlight began eating through her tissues.
Blair!
Kaien’s voice in her mind was a bare whisper against the agony tormenting her. Gritting her teeth as she tried to crawl away
from Torrin, Blair responded, I’ve been shot. I need—I need Nina to teleport me now!
She felt the all-encompassing shock that instantly swamped the male, the unmistakable vein of fear that bloomed on the other
end of their connection. Something in her pulled taunt, a deep-seated desire to ease his panic, but she couldn’t focus as the
blood pounded in her ears and pooled against her trembling palms.
 She sensed the Raeth’s efforts as he built energy and concentrated on a remote teleport. Tendrils of his power curled
affectionately around her, heat shrouding her even as her torso dampened further.
Torrin stilled, his soaring height rising above her. The Glock leveled with her temple.
The gun never went off. As her vision blurred, she surrendered to the teleport and let Kaien carry her away. Consciousness
dimming, Blair vaguely saw Kaien’s earthy brown eyes solidify above her.
The coppery tang of blood flooded her mouth. Pain perforated her core as the liquid sunlight licked through her veins and
exploded outward from the bullet wound that had ripped through her flesh like butter.
“Kaien.” Words felt like gravel in her throat. Blair tried fruitlessly to reach up to grasp his hand. Her fingers, cold from lack
of circulation, never met his.
“Don’t speak, Blair.”
His eyes flicked to her wound, the gentleness of his hands coming to her waist. Behind the practiced mask of a clinician,
Blair could see the worry that infiltrated his gaze. The fear.
The Raeth healer concentrated on her abdomen, his brow furrowing as he assessed her condition. With a curt shake of his
head, he began to tear off her shirt.
Though her rational mind knew the action was for her own good, the confused predator underneath her skin couldn’t get past
the feeling of vulnerability, of surrender. Unimaginable rage coursed through her veins. Sanity fled her while agony increased,
the rational part of her psyche flickering off.
“No!”
Weak and hoarse, Blair’s last energy went to fighting his attempt to remove her blouse to better examine the wound.
“Blair, stop!” Kaien’s hands swatted at hers while she fought with him, trying fruitlessly to strip her of the saturated material
that hugged her frame. “I need to see your wound better, vampire!”
“Get off me!”
Heart jumping into her throat, Blair wrestled with him even as her strength abandoned her, and a wracking cough seated in
her lungs. The primitive monster that lived within refused to surrender to the man—even though he was trying to help her.
Kaien’s eyes grew wide once he bared her stomach, potent panic blooming in their depths when realization struck him.
“Blair, if you keep moving, the bullet fragments will nick your—”
Fighting fervently against him, Blair knew the exact instant what he’d warned about happened. A flood of warmth pulsed
against her skin and instantly, her vision wavered. Blood drained from her in a rush of crimson.
Black filtered over her eyes as consciousness evaporated.
 Chapter Five

DREAD CHOKED HIM AS the life literally drained from the injured vampire in his arms. Kaien tore away the saturated satin
that clung to her torso. Even now, the tendrils of liquid sunlight crawled over her flesh, mapping a trail of silvery-red lines that
exploded outward from the site of the bullet wound.
Just like Kane.
Though he desperately wanted to panic, the only thing that steadied him was his practiced hand. He’d need a clear head to
perform at full capacity.
Those who’d suffered similar wounds had had the benefit of his twin’s blood to aid in their immediate recovery; Blair would
have no such luck. And here, in a safehouse far from clan territory, no one else would be able to assist them. With Nina still
recovering from her recoil, she wouldn’t be able to lend her powerful blood to Blair’s revival. Blair was relying solely on him
to keep her alive.
Determination filled him anew. He wouldn’t let Blair die. Couldn’t.
Kaien hovered above her, his hands spreading over the wound on her stomach. With every pulse of his healing power, he
clamped down the nicked artery that was spurting a colossal amount of blood into her abdominal cavity. He sent a barrage of
healing energy into mending the leaking vessel, finding some semblance of relief when it sealed.
In the moments that followed, he poured his life-giving strength into the rapidly spreading liquid sunlight, cutting off its
attempts to disrupt the very nature of her cellular structure. Blair’s heart quickened, the persistent pulse trying in vain to
recover from massive blood loss and critical injury.
“Come on, Blair.”
His muttered words fell on deaf ears, the woman below him still as death. Already nearing his psychic limit, Kaien doggedly
shook his head while his teeth ground together in ire.
He persisted, tenaciously pursing each molecule of molten sunlight that lit her veins from the inside out. As his concentration
centered on the prone vampire in front of him, his strength continued to be split between her and maintaining the clan’s psychic
network while Nina was unconscious.
He was bound to function as the primary backup to his twin while she was in recoil, but now that his focus was pried away,
the connection was an invasive drain on his psychic reserves. Tremors racked through him as he tried to maintain the healing
on the woman in front of him and the network that was centered a thousand miles away. Swiftly taking stock of his waning
abilities, Kaien acknowledged the depleting state of his strength.
He couldn’t give up on Blair—not when it would spell death for the vampire.
Blair is dying; cover the network. The message to Remmus sounded as desperate as he felt.
 Of course. Remmus’ mental voice was strong despite the distance, and instantly, Kaien felt the load of the psychic network
taken off his shoulders. Immediately, what remained of his energy funneled into his hands as they knit together the broken and
burned flesh of Blair’s torso.
Minutes passed while her flesh mended, but even with his renewed effort, his abilities began to flag. Already sapped from
healing Nina’s injuries and supplying energy to the clan’s network, Kaien had begun with a tank that was half full. Adding on
the effort of a remote teleport and tapping into Nina’s personal mental channel with Blair hadn’t helped.
Instead of withdrawing to save what little power he had left, he fought the instinctual urge to retreat. He doubled down on his
efforts, knowing what it would cost him.
If he didn’t heal the wound—or at least get it to where she would begin healing herself—Blair would die. Kaien’s eyes
frosted white as every ounce of his energy went to the rapidly healing wound that had torn through her saturated ivory skin.
“Hold on, Blair.”
Muttered words broke through the silence of the space around him, the confines familiar but unsettling in this context.
With the artery completely repaired, Kaien shifted his focus to the muscle that’d been damaged in the gunfire. He watched as
the flesh began to knit together under his hands. Though tattered, Blair’s body kicked into gear at the last moment, multiplying
his efforts.
That was when the power within him exhausted completely with a devastating snap.
Conscious of his position over the vampire, Kaien’s entire body jerked backward, sprawling him out on the cold wooden
floor. Painlessly, he succumbed to the inescapable pull of his own energy drought.
 Chapter Six

AWARENESS DAWNED BEFORE BLAIR could pry open her eyes. Her body, stiff and chilled, lay prone on a cool surface.
The air around her was cold, but the lack of circulation or a breeze indicated she was inside some type of structure.
Drawing in an unsteady breath, she stiffened when a cutting ache finally registered. Visceral agony awoke as memories came
flooding back. The newspaper. Torrin. The bullet.
Kaien.
With a jolt, her eyes flew open in search of the Raeth who’d rescued her. Where was he? Why was she sprawled on a cold
floor? Eyes spearing through the low light that partially illuminated the room, she whipped her head around in desperation.
There!
Beside her, Kaien lay utterly motionless, completely still. Soft dregs of light allowed her to see that his full lips were parted
and his palms were coated in a thick layer of her own blood. The Raeth, however, was ghostly pale.
“Kaien!”
What she’d intended as a scream was nothing more than a croak. As she attempted to sit up, a burning sensation splintered
through her, erupting from muscles that protested her move. Her flesh refused to work. Stifling a cry, Blair folded her body to
the side and inched closer to her sire’s brother.
Still breathing. The subtle rise and fall of his chest were the only initial indications of life, but her vampire ears picked up
his heartbeat: thready and sluggish beneath his chest.
Dragging herself closer to him even amid the debilitating pain, Blair’s palm cupped his shadowed cheek. Too cold.
What could have made him fall unconscious? Blair’s forehead crinkled as she examined the sleek lines of his body, searching
in vain for any wound or injury.
“Kaien?”
Gently, she shook him, worried for the man who’d clearly tended her injury. He’d saved her life when she’d fought with him
tooth and nail like a rabid animal. Now that her mind was no longer crazed from blood loss, shock, and pain, Blair deeply
regretted her actions.
In her vulnerability, she’d lashed out.
While Blair had known Kaien for eight centuries, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d been healed by him. Now, the man
lay sprawled before her, completely at her mercy. Eyes tracing a path over his still body, she became fascinated with the
smooth column of his throat.
Suddenly, deep hunger gnawed at her.
Her fangs lengthened unbidden in her mouth, her tongue running along the razor-sharp incisors as she eyed the unprotected
flesh. Blair’s breath quickened, the predator under her skin begging her to take advantage while he was defenseless.
 Defenseless.
Fear welled in her gut. Overwhelming as it was, her hunger was pushed aside with the realization that she couldn’t harm
Kaien or take from him unbidden. Seeing him unconscious and vulnerable made her protective instincts flare, quelling any urge
to drink from him when he’d saved her life—and teleported her away from danger.
Blair’s eyes snapped up to survey their immediate surroundings, conscious of the fact that they were both injured and their
safety might be threatened at any moment. She had no clue where they were.
Rustic wood walls hemmed them in, and sparse, utilitarian furnishings decorated the space. Navy blue curtains hung in front
of wide windows framed in the same color as the wood walls. Everything about the cabin spoke to a necessity-driven lifestyle;
no needless décor or frivolous supplies lined the walls. The refreshing scent of pine and crisp mountain wind infiltrated her
senses before she relaxed.
Clearly, the location was one Kaien knew well, or he wouldn’t have been able to teleport both of them here.
Blair braced her arms against the smooth wooden surface to push herself into a sitting position. She bit back a curse when the
mangled flesh of her stomach groaned in protest.
Her vision swam as dots appeared in her periphery, but she exhaled slowly. Beside them lay an open hearth with a webbed
grate lingering off to one side and fire tending tools hanging on the metal rack. Soot soiled the walls of the well-used fireplace,
and the charcoal flooring was dry and cracked.
A single, pillow-less sofa upholstered in worn leather was in arm’s reach, and a plaid blanket lay neatly folded on one end.
Gingerly, she reached up to grab the downy material, hefting the bulk down to sprawl across them both. While she didn’t
believe that either of them was in danger from the elements, blood loss could slow their healing.
Blair gently spread the blanket over Kaien’s still form, surprising herself with the tenderness of her own actions. Perhaps
when he’d saved her life, she’d suffered a crack in the cast of malevolent ire she adopted whenever he was concerned.
Weak.
The sound of her scoff reverberated through the space. Seconds later, Kaien rumbled deeply in his chest before his eyebrows
pinched together, his brown eyes fluttering open.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Where in the hell are we?”
The Raeth clasped his thumb and forefinger against his temples and groaned in pain. He barely parted his lips to speak as if
the motion was too much for his jaw.
“Damnit.”
Not exactly what she had expected.
“I’m unfamiliar with that locale. Mind narrowing it down, Raeth?” She tried to rein in her impatience, but their safety
couldn’t wait.
The male had the audacity to growl at her from under the cover of his hand. “We’re in the Adirondacks. My cabin.”
“Spiriting me away to your hidey-hole? If you wanted me alone, all you had to do was ask.”
Kaien cursed before he sat up gingerly, his expression pinching. “St. Louis was too far to remote teleport you given your
condition. This was the only safehouse I know of that was closer.”
Swallowing what would’ve been a sarcastic reply, she nabbed the blanket from where it’d crumpled around his lean waist.
“If you’d be so kind, I’d appreciate you teleporting us back to New York, please. But before we go, I could use a few more hits
of that healing energy. I’m not quite up to par.”
Deep brown eyes narrowed when he leered at her. “I can’t.”
“May I ask why?”
 “I’m in recoil.”
Bland and flat, the words he spoke made her stomach drop. With Kaien in recoil, they were stranded here until he regained
his abilities, and he couldn’t even telepath someone to come and retrieve them. Neither of them carried a cell phone either.
Blair’s heartbeat rose so suddenly she felt dizziness overtake her. “I need to get back!”
She sprung to her feet, ignoring the ripping sensation that blistered through her at the movement. Blair couldn’t keep the
features of her face from displaying the magnitude of her pain. Lightheaded, she gingerly shook her head once to clear her
vision, propping a hand against the nearest wall to right herself.
Kaien was beside her in a flash. “Blair, you can’t leave. We’re in the middle of the Adirondacks and there is no one around
for tens of miles.”
“Do I look like I care?” Blair spat, withdrawing from him. “I need to finish what I started. Torrin needs to pay for his
crimes.”
Whipping around, she pivoted and spied the front door. On unsteady legs, she moved toward it before an iron grip clenched
around her bare upper arm. That’s when she realized she was wearing nothing but her slim pink bra and fitted skirt. Her blouse,
hastily torn open by the Raeth who was currently trying to stop her, was in his other hand.
The satin material was saturated with dried blood. Blair pinned him with a glare before yanking it out of his grip and
shrugging one arm into it, ignoring the twinges that caused her to tremble. She fruitlessly tried to yank her arm away from his
grip to finish dressing.
Kaien’s voice sounded behind her. “My abilities will return far before you make it to civilization.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“You aren’t going to go anywhere fast, and it’s ninety miles to the nearest town.” The sound of his grunt set her blood on fire.
“Just be patient. Wouldn’t want to report that my sister’s pet was eaten by wolves.”
“Let me go, Raeth!”
“You’re still very much wounded, Blair.” Kaien’s sensible voice never wavered while his hand tightened around her naked
bicep. “I can’t allow you to go galivanting off into the wilderness when I promised Nina I’d protect you.”
Blair snapped. There was nothing she feared more than being restrained—being caged—and unable to get free. Hand
clenching tightly in terror and rage, she reared back and slammed her fist into Kaien’s face. Instantly, thick blood poured from
his nose, sparking the predator that lived under her skin. The Raeth’s hold, however, never loosened.
The feral wildness in her blood simmered to a boil, trying to pry off his iron grip. As her incisors erupted in her mouth, in a
foreign but unrelenting fury, Blair hissed. She only grew more hostile as he closed his arms around her to prevent her from
twisting out of his grasp.
Kaien’s deep voice was a sultry caress against her ear when she struggled against the solid wall of his chest. “Blair, stop.
This is madness!”
Starved for blood and thirsting for revenge, the predator in Blair struck. Lightning fast, her fangs connected with his flesh,
scraping savagely against his forearm. She ripped through his skin. Blood welled, coating her fangs with the surprising
sweetness that belied Kaien’s power. Nothing could compare with the delicious shock of his blood as it filtered into her
system.
But that wasn’t what made her suddenly stiffen.
The bond that’d suddenly flared to life, an irrevocable tie that spanned the distance between them, rippled with an underlying
current of emotion. Of connection.
A mating bond.
 Behind her, the man had quieted at her back, becoming an immovable board of muscle and heat. Neither could deny it, not
when they felt each other so clearly through the psychic—and physical—bond that joined them together.
Blair had never felt anything so disconcerting in her life. To be so intimately connected to another being, as if she were laid
bare before this Raeth, threw her world off balance. Ghosting between them, the bond joined them with a connection that
whispered of a far deeper link. It was as if her soul had reached out to the man and ensnared him—completely without her
knowledge or approval.
Her belated gasp shocked both of them out of their silence. She pushed out of his suddenly lax grip with hostility, pivoting on
her heel to sneer at the man behind her.
“What the hell have you done to me?”
Kaien’s expression, which had been one of disbelief, twisted to anger. “What did I do to you? You’re the one who sunk your
fangs into me!”
Never once in her life had she seen Kaien lose his calm. He was Nina’s composed and collected twin, perhaps a little
sarcastic. Except now.
Blair shoved away from him, completely off kilter as her mind sped through how the link could have possibly occurred. “The
mating bond comes from the Raeth! Vampires don’t have mating bonds with each other! You’ve woven this link between us
somehow, and I want it out of me.”
“I can’t create a mating bond, Blair.”
In a rare show of anxiety, his hand raked through his short blond hair. Blair’s eyes fixated on the blood that’d started running
down his arm from where she bit him. Her hunger churned ominously in her gut.
“How do we get rid of it?”
“How the hell should I know? I’ve never had a mating bond before.”
Dizziness swarmed through her head, instantly reaching out toward the wall to keep herself steady. Kaien, as if he were
nothing more than a watchful guardian, held his hand out to stabilize her.
“Sit, I need to check your wound.” His voice was authoritative, a general directing his soldier to abide by his bidding. Blair
was no mere pawn to move about the game board under his will.
“Bite me,” she dared, snapping her fangs at him.
Instead of countering her untoward behavior, he simply motioned toward the couch. Kaien watched her while her strength
seemed to flee her. Here, in the low light of dawn, the unearthly masculinity that clung to his form was even more apparent.
Hunger for his blood suddenly became secondary to the hunger she felt for him as a man.
Blair purposefully ignored him as she complied, hating the weakness that threatened her stability. Her hand clasped at the
wound on her stomach.
Soft leather welcomed her when Blair retreated into the comfort it promised. The Raeth was next to her silently as she lifted
her shirt, his eyes tracing over the injury that marred the flesh on her stomach.
“Where does it hurt?”
Blair stiffened when Kaien’s warm hands connected with her naked flesh. His tenderness was apparent despite her continued
abrasiveness.
“Pain is constant, but not nearly as bad as the initial wound. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”
Her hands clutched aimlessly at the blanket that’d been left abandoned after their … connection. She felt vulnerable around
him—in more ways than one.
 “When you thrashed after I brought you here,” Kaien explained, delicately probing the injured area, “a bullet fragment nicked
the aortic artery in your abdomen. The massive blood loss you suffered caused you to lose consciousness.”
Blair inclined her chin. “Where is Nina? Why didn’t she respond to my request?”
“Nina is in recoil in our territory.” A tick started in his jaw. “Where I should be.”
“Why is she in recoil?”
“A handful of clanless Raeths came into our lands to abduct several of our children. Nina utilized her abilities.”
“Where the hell were you?”
Growling, Blair slapped his hands away, infuriated that Nina had had to utilize the destructive side of her nature. Inevitably,
the usage of such devastating gifts was to her own detriment.
“Fighting by her side,” Kaien replied blandly, shooting her a contemptuous gaze. “I am not my sister’s keeper, nor do I have
any say about how and when she employs the darker aspects of her gifts.”
Blair scoffed and folded her arms over her chest, suddenly conscious of the fact that she was half naked. “Are you going to
manifest me a replacement shirt or keep ogling me, Casanova?”
 Chapter Seven

“IF YOU DON’T RECALL,” Kaien’s lip curled, “I’m in recoil from saving your life and my abilities are bound for the
immediate future. You’re welcome.”
Regardless of his temporary incompetency, he’d have to supply her some form of clothing. The cabin wasn’t air conditioned,
nor was it heated, and her semi-clothed state was challenging his well-tested indifference.
Every lean inch of her defined abdomen called to him in a way he’d never acknowledged; her lustrous curves beckoned his
touch. When the bond had flared to life between them, Kaien had barely contained his astonishment at the pulsing link—and his
sudden craving for her touch.
He purposefully averted his eyes.
“How convenient for you, Raeth.” Blair’s velvety voice was tinged with sarcasm. “Keep the vampire half naked for your
benefit.”
Standing with a suppressed growl, Kaien stalked toward the single bedroom at the back of the cabin, leaving her without an
explanation. He grabbed the handle of the dresser and hauled open a drawer where he’d kept a couple of spare shirts and
sweatpants.
He selected a flannel shirt and a pair of soft sweatpants and headed back. In the close confines of the cabin, he hadn’t
managed to escape the lure of her mouthwatering scent. Jasmine with a hint of spring water, Blair’s tantalizing aroma was
nothing short of perfection.
Stalking back into the main room, he found the vampire peering out the north facing window. The low light of the crescent
moon reflected on her flawless ivory skin and defined her sharp features. Her hair, which he knew to be a rich golden blonde,
was arranged in an elegant hairstyle. Usually, it took away attention from her catlike eyes, as she allowed it to curl free and
accessorized it with hair jewelry and impulsive braids she fiddled with whenever she was anxious. Nothing would manage to
overshadow the luminous sapphire of her gaze tonight.
As Kaien stoically admired her from afar, he was struck once again with her loveliness.
“Looked your fill?”
Her cutting comment served to snap him out of his trance. He closed the distance between them and offered her the clothing.
When she took the clothes from him, her fingers briefly flitted across his. The electricity that sparked between them was
immediate and unexpected, jolting through him with inescapable desire.
Even when Blair’s eyes widened, Kaien retained his stoicism.
She recovered without fail. “Plaid flannel? What are you, a lumberjack?”
Rolling his eyes, Kaien cast a glance at the hearth. “I’m usually only here in the winter. I’ll get a fire going. We’ll be stuck
here until I’m out of recoil or Nina is.”
 Heavens knew that none of the other Raeths would be tempted to retrieve them. With both him and Nina out of commission in
their recoils, each remaining lieutenant would be shouldering the additional burden of maintaining the clan’s psychic network.
Moreover, they were down two of their most powerful members, leaving them woefully short staffed.
Without a cell phone or any form of communication device, no one would even know they were here. He’d acted on impulse
when Blair had telepathed him, panicked at the thought of her being in danger and wounded. Had he been thinking clearly, he
would’ve teleported them to the vampires’ council building in New York. Now, they were stranded here for days. Together.
Kaien trudged toward the door, leaving Blair to dress alone. The rusty hinges protested after months of disuse. A blast of
cool humid air greeted him when he stepped through the threshold, eyes locked on the small pile of firewood leftover from his
most recent incursion into the woods.
A distant howl caught his attention. His eyes speared into the untamed forest beyond the small clearing where his cabin was
situated. Without his abilities, he was woefully unprotected in the wilderness he knew was littered with predators. His only
weapon was the axe that was propped against the wooden siding.
Until now, rendered near-human by the recoil, he’d never had reason to think of the forest as a threat to his cabin and the
injured woman inside.
His focus was still trained on the trees as he hefted several logs under his arm. Once he had enough for a fire, he retreated
toward the cabin. Even though it was still late summer, the nights were chilly, and he didn’t particularly appreciate the cold.
Blair was nowhere to be seen.
Kicking the door shut behind him, he moved toward the hearth and piled the logs on the wrought iron andiron. A handful of
newspapers became kindling before he snatched the matches from the block next to the raised hearth and struck one onto the
crumpled paper.
The brilliant flare of light illuminated the space as the paper caught, and Kaien rocked back on his heels. He stood and
watched the blaze lazily crawl over the logs. As the flames grew, he squinted, the pounding headache that pulsed in his mind
taking offense to the brightness.
Thumbing his temple, he drew in a breath in an effort to alleviate the pain. As with any recoil, the psychic repercussions of
the withdrawal manifested in the form of a migraine. Physically, he would heal much slower, nearly at the rate of a mortal until
he returned to his normal state. In addition, he’d lose some of the strength that classified him as a supernatural being.
“What is this place?”
Blair’s voice behind him didn’t startle him, but he hadn’t registered her presence. “A hideaway for when I need solitude.”
“You don’t say.”
She came to stand beside him. His shirt dwarfed her, and the effect was oddly endearing. Something inside him stirred as he
pondered her feminine curves in his clothes.
“Didn’t take you for the type to don flannel and sing hi ho.”
A gruff rumble from his throat. “I’m not as talented as my sister at remote teleports, and we were some distance from each
other. This was the only location I could think of at a moment’s notice.”
“… For you to strip me and force a mating bond into my head?”
Kaien’s teeth ground together, picking up the fireplace tool to stack a log atop another. “You can’t force a mating bond into
existence, vampire, nor did I strip you.”
“So, you’re saying that this—whatever this is between us—was inevitable?” Her accusation stung at him through both her
irritated snipe and the weak pulse of the bond between them. “Excuse me if I don’t believe you, Raeth. I have no intent on
making you—nor any man—my master.”
 Rage bubbled over. “You think I want this? You think I want to be mated to you? The half feral wild child my sister
accidentally created?”
He could see how much the sentiment stung her as she shrank back from him, but his words continued to spill out of his mouth
without inhibition.
“Think again, Blair. Neither of us wants this.”
“Then how the hell do we get rid of it?” Blair threw her hands up, but Kaien would be remiss if he didn’t notice the wince
that accompanied the movement. “I won’t be trapped into some prehistoric romance just because your instincts are telling you
I’m yours.”
But she was his.
Kaien stiffened at the unexpected thought. “I don’t know.”
And truly, he didn’t. He’d never heard of a mating bond developing between two people who were more dissimilar, nor
having been brought about by the exchange of blood. Typically, bonds appeared between a male and female as they gradually
spent more time together—as affection bloomed and spirits intertwined.
Blair and Kaien had known each other for centuries, and there was no love lost between them. Certainly, no deep-rooted
affection that hinted at romance.
“We’ve known each other for hundreds of years.” Kaien shook his head, tightening his arms across his chest as they both
looked at the fire. “Perhaps your bite kickstarted the process.”
“If you’re looking for an apology, you won’t get one. I don’t take kindly to manhandling.”
“Noted.”
A pregnant pause before she inclined her head to look him square in the eye. “I need blood.”
Kaien had known it was coming, but he still couldn’t stop the hungry anticipation that bloomed in his gut. Nor could he
squelch the instantaneous desire that rose to the surface at the thought of her taking nourishment from him. Her lips on his skin,
her body wrapped around his in an intimacy of shared longing.
When he didn’t speak, Blair scoffed. “You’re the one who brought a vampire to a cabin in the middle of nowhere, Kaien. For
that, you’re going to be my own personal juice box.”
 Chapter Eight

BLAIR WATCHED THE MAN out of the corner of her eye, judging every microscopic reaction that briefly flitted across his
features. Even now, her fangs were sharpening, the hunger in her gut churning ominously.
But that wasn’t what most affected her.
No, she was starving for this man in another way. She could barely contain her loathsome excitement to taste his blood, to
take from him while she captured the sculpted panes of his chest in her palms. This wasn’t merely hunger; no, this was desire.
“Take from my neck,” Kaien reluctantly said into the waning silence. “I can’t afford to have my wrists compromised when I
need to chop firewood tomorrow.”
Blair stepped toward him as anticipation sent shivers over her skin. Refusing to make eye contact, she breached his personal
space. His heat crashed against her in an intimacy they’d never before shared. Up close, his formidable height was even more
intimidating. Thankfully, her perfect balance was maintained when she stood on her tip toes to reach his neck.
Instead of asking, her fingers met the rugged jawline that was shadowed with sandy blond hair and tilted it upward to expose
the corded muscle of his neck. Electricity arched between them, tingles shooting through her fingertips at the contact. Her
heartbeat pulsed beneath her skin, and her mouth watered.
For a predator, Kaien was remarkably calm in the face of his own vulnerability. His luscious scent swamped her senses as
her mouth opened and her fangs sunk into the salty sweetness of his skin.
Ambrosia exploded across her tongue, the savory taste of his blood a nectar that could easily become addicting. Groaning at
the unexpected delicacy, her arms wrapped around him intimately, dragging her frame closer to his.
Kaien’s warrior body pressed into her soft curves as she beat back the desire that instantly engulfed her. The lick of heat that
coursed through her veins drummed in her quickening pulse.
Blair wanted him.
Not only for blood, but to fully possess the man who’d graciously let her drink from his lifeblood. With every pull at his vein,
she grew deeper and deeper in lust with him. In the back of her mind, she was barely conscious that the mating bond which
ghosted between them was strengthening, weaving together in a deeper, more brilliant cord.
She didn’t care.
The only thing she could think of was the heat that had sparked between them, how Kaien’s arms had gradually encircled
around her as she drew from his neck. Every beat of his heart had blood surging into her throat, his powerful essence blissfully
sweet.
Lapping at the strong flow from his vein, Blair couldn’t resist the impulse to continue drawing on the potent liquid, even as
her own instincts told her to back off.
 Kaien was strong, but Blair knew that he was also in recoil. That meant that his body was functioning more along the lines of
a mortal, and that every injury or ounce of lost blood would take longer to heal or replenish.
When the Raeth wobbled slightly against her frame, Blair suddenly realized she’d taken too much. Immediately, her fangs
retracted in her mouth, aghast that she’d nearly succumbed to the bloodlust that defined her kind when they lost control. Her
tongue ran across the twin puncture wounds before she pulled back to meet his gaze, her hands clutching his shoulders.
“Are you okay?”
She couldn’t conceal the concern in her voice, even when she met eyes that looked almost black. Pupils dilated, the Raeth
blinked slowly before his lips parted and he became riveted with her lips.
His mouth crashed against hers in a tangle of need and desire. Blair didn’t resist, her hand diving into his hair as she crushed
her body into his, savoring every second. Kaien’s lips were locked on hers, his hands caressing her back in undeniable
ownership.
Deepening the kiss, Blair groaned into the contact. Everything about the man was a walking temptation, and his kiss, so
possessive and adamant, had broken through every icy wall she’d erected against the sinful lure he posed.
Blair’s fingernails dug into the hard muscle of his back as she met him kiss for demanding kiss. Somehow, her back ended up
pressed against the wall. Never before had she bared herself so fully to another, even one she knew so well.
Apprehension swiftly iced through her veins.
This was Kaien, her best friend’s brother.
Blair’s eyes shot open, suddenly realizing what was happening. Backed against a wall, she couldn’t retreat from the man
who’d locked her into submission and was still demanding it. Without giving it a second thought, her knee rose forcefully and
nailed him squarely between his legs.
His shocked sputter instantly drew him away from her, his hand bracing against the wall as she slipped out from under him.
The pained look on his face sent guilt crashing into her, but she refused to back down.
“If you do that again, Kaien, I’ll geld you.” She leveled a spiteful scowl at him when he ominously raised his eyes to glare at
her. “I don’t care if it’s the bond talking, Raeth. If your lips come near mine again, you can kiss your assets goodbye.”
“Damnit, vampire.” His hoarse voice was barely more than a guttural growl.
Blair said nothing. She watched as the Raeth took a steadying moment before he pushed off the wall. When he turned his face
away, she didn’t miss the brief wince while he gathered his thoughts. Silent, he peered out the window by the door and shook
his head brusquely.
“It’ll be light soon,” he sighed. “There’s a queen bed in the back. It’s not the Four Seasons, but it’s better than the couch. I’ll
nail some heavier blankets to wall over the bedroom windows and dampen the sunlight.”
“Might as well get it out of your system,” Blair commented offhandedly, smirking darkly when confusion colored his features.
“Because that’s the only thing you’ll be nailing, Raeth.”
Kaien gave her an incredulous look. “Takes two to tango, kitten.”
“Kitten?”
“Would you prefer feral housecat?”
Before she could respond, he’d already disappeared into the bedroom at the back of the cabin, leaving her to cross her arms
grumpily. Furious hammering noises started only moments later.
Her fingers skimmed on the surface of her lips, sensitive and swollen from their passionate encounter only minutes earlier.
Heart still pumping on the delirious high, Blair rolled her shoulders languidly.
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double-breasted overcoat he was wearing. His voice was deep and
sympathetic in spite of his rather sombre appearance.
“So kind of you to accept my casual invitation,” he murmured.
“Come along, I’ve a decrepit vehicle waiting for us outside the front
of the theatre.”
The dining-room of the Royal Severn Hotel did not succeed any
better than most provincial hotels in suggesting an atmosphere of
nocturnal gaiety. The two waiters looked as if they had been dragged
out of bed by the hair of their heads in order to attend to the wants of
the unreasonable beings who required to be fed at this unnatural
hour. Most of the tables suggested that they would welcome more
cheerfully the eggs and bacon of the morning breakfast than the
lobster mayonnaise of supper. The very flowers in attendance
appeared heavy with sleep and resentful at not being allowed a
night’s repose with the other table decorations that were piled upon
one of the sideboards like wreaths upon a coffin. Half the room was
in twilight, so that the portion of it that was lighted was so
uncomfortably bright as to seem garish. At one end two members of
the chorus were trying to make a pair of youthful hosts feel at their
ease by laughter that sounded as thin as broken glass.
“I’m sorry to inflict this atmosphere of gloom upon you,” said Mr.
Kenrick. “Let’s try to dissipate it in a bottle of champagne. I did my
best to order a special supper, but my efforts were regarded with
suspicion by the management. Your fellow performers over there
seem to be enjoying themselves. Touring with them must be rather
like travelling with an aviary of large and noisy birds.”
“Oh, but they’re such dears,” Nancy exclaimed, in arms against
any criticism of her fellow players.
Mr. Kenrick put up a monocle and looked across at the group for a
moment. Then he let it fall without comment.
“You sang better than ever to-night,” he said gravely.
Nancy felt that she simpered.
“I’m in earnest, you know. What are you going to do about it?”
 “My voice?”
He nodded.
“What can I do?”
“You could have it trained.”
“But, my dear man, do you realize that I’m twenty-eight? Rather
late in the day to be cultivating operatic ambitions.”
“Not at all when the voice is as good as yours, and if you go to the
right man.”
“And where is he to be found?”
“Naples.”
Nancy laughed.
“It’s like a fairy-story where the poor heroine is set an impossible
task by the wicked stepmother. How do you think I could afford to go
to Naples?”
“That’s just what I wanted to discuss with you,” said Kenrick.
“But wait a moment,” Nancy interrupted. “I have a little girl.”
“What has that got to do with training your voice?”
“Why, this. Every penny that I can save I am saving for her. She is
in a convent now, and when she leaves school in another twelve
years I want her to have a voice and be able to afford to pay for its
training. I want her to have everything that I lacked. I would be wrong
to spend the money I have saved in building castles in Spain for
myself.”
“But, my dear woman, if in another twelve years you are an
operatic star of some magnitude you’ll be able to do much more for
your daughter than you could with what you’ll save as a provincial
actress between now and then. But forgive me; you speak of a little
girl. You have a husband then?”
“My husband is dead. He died nearly four years ago.”
Kenrick nodded slowly.
 “And—forgive my bluntness—you have no other entanglements?”
She flushed.
“My marriage was never an entanglement ... and if you mean ‘am I
in love with anybody now?’ why, no, I could never love anybody
again.”
“That’s a sad remark for twenty-eight. A woman’s grande passion
usually happens when she is thirty-three.”
“Mine won’t,” said Nancy obstinately.
“I shouldn’t dare the God of Love,” Kenrick warned her.
“Remember, he’s a mischievous boy and nothing gives him greater
delight than to behave as such. Never dare a boy to climb an apple-
tree or Cupid to shoot his arrows in vain. You offered him a fine
target by that remark of yours. But don’t let’s begin an argument
about love. It’s your voice I want to talk about. Surely you must
realise that you possess a contralto of the finest quality?”
“I thought it was a fairly good natural voice,” Nancy admitted. “But I
certainly never supposed it was of the finest quality.”
“Not only have you a marvellous voice, but you can act. Very few
contraltos can act. On the operatic stage they usually sound like
governesses who have drunk a little too much at a fancy-dress ball.”
“Rather voluptuous governesses usually,” Nancy laughed.
“Yes, but with the healthy voluptuousness of women who have
been eating plenty of the best butter and drinking quarts of the
richest cream. You would be different.”
“I hate to be rude,” Nancy said. “But do you know, it always seems
to me such a waste of time to talk about impossibilities. Perhaps I’ve
no imagination. I’ll talk as long and as earnestly as you like about the
best way of travelling from one town to another, or of any of life’s
small problems, but to discuss which seaside resort in the moon
would be the jolliest place to spend one’s holidays surely isn’t worth
while.”
 “But why is your appearance in opera so remote from any
prospect of being realised?”
“I’ve told you, my dear man,” said Nancy impatiently. “I have
planned my life so that my small daughter may have what I could not
have. To indulge my own ambitions at her expense would be wrong.
I can’t pretend that I’m denying myself much, because, to be honest,
until I had your letter I had never contemplated myself as an operatic
star. I knew I had an unusually good contralto voice. I knew that I
could act as well as most women and a good deal better than some.
Your letter was a pleasure, because it is always a pleasure to feel
that one has interested somebody. I am grateful to you for inviting
me out to supper and saying nice things about my possibilities. But
now let’s talk of something else, for you’ll never infect me with any
ambition to do anything that could risk my ability to do what I can for
my daughter, just by acting quietly in the provinces as I am acting at
present.”
“Listen to me, Miss O’Finn,” said Kenrick earnestly. “I am a
business man. That is my inheritance from a hard-working father. But
I have one passion, and that is not business. My passion is the
opera; my dream is to make enough money to be able to help the
opera in England. But I am rich enough to do something for the
individual artist, and I beg you to let me help you. Let me guarantee
you what you would usually earn on the provincial stage. Let me pay
for your lessons. The maestro I want to teach you is an old friend of
mine. If at the end of six months he tells me that you are not the
finest contralto of the time, why, then you can go back to your life on
tour. At the worst you will have spent six months in Italy to gratify the
whim of an eccentric business man whose dreams are all of art. At
the best you will be able to do what you like for your daughter in
another ten years, and long, long before that. We’ll not talk about it
any more to-night. Go home and sleep over my proposal. Think over
it for a week. I must be back in town to-morrow. If at the end of a
week you feel that you can risk six months in Italy to have the world
at your feet, send me a line, and I will pay into your account the
necessary funds. You can leave this absurd company when you
like.”
 “Och, I would have to give a fortnight’s notice,” said Nancy quickly.
Kenrick smiled.
“Very well, give your fortnight’s notice. To-day is the eleventh. If
you settle by next Saturday that will be the fifteenth. On the first of
November you can quit the fogs and be on your way to Naples. It will
probably be fine weather. It usually is about then in the south of
Italy.”
“You seem to have made up your mind that I’m going to accept
your generosity,” Nancy said.
“There is no generosity in gratifying one’s own desires,” Kenrick
observed. “But if you have any feelings of pride on the subject, why,
you can pay me back when your position is secure.”
“But why, really, are you doing this?” Nancy asked, looking deep
into the eyes of her host.
“Really and truly because I believe you have a great voice and
may become a great singer, and because if you did I should get as
much satisfaction from your success as if I had a voice and were a
great singer myself,” he replied.
The thin laughter of the chorus-girls at the other end of the room
commented upon this grave assertion. The waiter put up a grubby
hand to hide a yawn.
When Nancy woke next morning she felt like the heroine of an
Arabian Nights tale who has been carried half across Asia by a
friendly djinn. But when she called at the theatre for her letters, the
following note was a proof that she had not been dreaming:

Royal Severn Hotel,

Bristol.
October 12.
Dear Miss O’Finn,
Do think very hard over our talk last night. You can’t lose
anything by my offer; you may gain a very great deal. In
fact, I am positive that you will. Let me know your decision
 at my London address, 42 Adelphi Terrace, and I will get
into communication with Maestro Gambone, and fix up
your lessons. I suggest you live at an Italian pensione in
Naples. The more Italian you can learn to speak, the
better you will sing it. I’ll find out a good place.
Good luck to you.
Yours sincerely,
John Kenrick.

It was a fine October day of rich white clouds and rain-washed

blue deeps between. A faint haze bronzed the lower air and lent the
roofs and chimneys of the city a mirrored peace, a mirrored
loveliness. Nancy wandered down by the docks and in contemplation
of the glinting masts tried to find an answer to the riddle of her future.
Suppose her voice turned out to be less good than he had
supposed? Well, that would be his bad judgment. But had she the
right to accept money from a stranger in the event of failure? It would
be his own fault if she proved a failure. It was a serious matter to
leave a company in which she had expected to be playing until next
summer. What would Sister Catherine say? Nancy remembered
what Sister Catherine had said about Italy that night they met in the
train. Sister Catherine would never be the one to blame her. She
took Letizia’s letter out of her bag and read it through again.

St. Joseph’s School,

5 Arden Grove,
N. W.
Sunday.
My dear Mother,
I hope you are very well. I am learning Italian with Sister
Catherine. It is very nice. I know twenty-two words now
and the present indicitive of “I am.” I like it very much. We
have a new girl called Dorothy Andrews. She is very nice.
She is eight and a half years old, but she is not so big as
me. I must stop now because the bell is ringing for
Vespurs and Benedicsion.
 Your loving
Letizia.

She was safe for so many years, Nancy thought. Would it be so

very wrong to embark upon this adventure?
That night, when she was singing the first of her two songs, she
tried to imagine that the piece was Aïda and that she was Amneris.
“If I get a genuine encore,” she promised herself, “I’ll write to him
and accept.”
And she did get a most unmistakable encore.
“Your songs went very well to-night, dear,” said Miss Fitzroy
grudgingly. “Had you got any friends in front?”
The next day Nancy wrote to John Kenrick and told him that she
was going to accept his kind offer, and that on Sunday, October
23rd, she should be in London.
He telegraphed back: Bravo will meet train if you let me know time.
But she did not let him know the time of her arrival at Paddington,
for she thought that there was really no reason why he should want
to meet her train. Somehow it made his interest in her seem too
personal, and Nancy was determined that the whole affair should be
carried through on the lines of the strictest business. Besides, she
would be staying at the convent, and it would be so exciting to learn
her first words of Italian from Letizia.
 CHAPTER XX
SOUTHWARD
St. Joseph’s School was a pleasant early Victorian house with
white jalousies encircled by a deep verandah of florid ironwork. The
garden, even for the spacious northwest of London, was
exceptionally large, and like all London gardens seemed larger than
it really was by the contrast between its arbours and the houses
entirely surrounding them. There was a mystery about its seclusion
that no country garden can possess, and one could imagine no fitter
tenants of its leafy recesses than these placid nuns and the young
girls entrusted to their tutelage. It seemed that in all those fortunate
windows of the houses which overlooked through the branches of
the great lime-trees this serene enclosure there must be sitting poets
in contemplation of the pastoral of youth being played below. The
flash of a white dress, the echo of a laugh, the flight of a tennis-ball,
the glint of tumbling curls, all these must have held the onlookers
entranced as by the murmur and motion and form and iridescence of
a fountain; and this happy valley among the arid cliffs of London
bricks must have appeared to them less credible than the green
mirages in desert lands that tease the dusty eyelids of travellers.
“I’m glad you have a friend of your own age,” Nancy said to
Letizia, when the morning after her arrival they were walking
together along the convent avenue strewn with October’s fallen
leaves.
“Well, she’s not a very great friend,” Letizia demurred.
“But I thought you wrote and told me that she was so very nice?”
“Well, she is very nice. Only I don’t like her very much.”
“But if she’s so very nice, why don’t you like her?”
 “Well, I don’t like her, because she is so nice. Whenever I say,
‘Let’s do something,’ she says, ‘Oh, yes, do let’s,’ and then I don’t
want to do it so much.”
“Darling, isn’t that being rather perverse?”
“What’s ‘perverse,’ mother? Do tell me, because I’m collecting
difficult words. I’ve got thirty-eight words now, and when I’ve got fifty
I’m going to ask Hilda Moore what they all mean, and she’s twelve
and it’ll be a disgusting humiliation for her when she doesn’t know.
And that’ll be simply glorious, because she thinks she’s going to be a
yellow-ribbon presently.”
“But don’t you want to be a yellow-ribbon?”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s really worth while. Evelyn Joy who’s much the
nicest girl in the school has never been a ribbon. She said she
couldn’t be bothered. She’s frightfully nice, and I love her one of the
best six people in the world. She can’t be bothered about anything,
and most of the girls are always in a fuss about something. Dorothy
Andrews only wants to do what I want, because she thinks she ought
to. Fancy, she told me she simply longed to be a saint. And she said
if she died young she’d pray for me more than anybody, and I said,
‘Pooh, St. Maurice is always praying for me and he wears armour
and is very good-looking, so there’s no need for you to die young.’
And then she cried and said when she was dead I’d be sorry I’d
been so cruel.”
Nancy thought that Letizia was not less precocious than she had
always been, and she wondered if she ought to say anything to
Sister Catherine about it. She decided that Sister Catherine was
probably well aware of it and, not being anxious to give her the idea
that she was criticising the wonderful education that the nuns were
giving her little daughter, she resolved to say nothing.
She did, however, discuss with Sister Catherine her own project to
go to Italy and have her voice trained; and she was much relieved
when it was approved.
“It would be wrong not to avail yourself of such an opportunity,” the
nun exclaimed. “Even if it involved breaking into your own savings, I
should still urge you to go; but there seems no likelihood of that, and
there is no reason why you shouldn’t accept this Mr. Kenrick’s offer.
I’d no idea that you had a wonderful voice, and how delightful to be
going to Italy. Do sing for us one evening at Vespers before you go.
Sister Monica would be so pleased, and we shall all enjoy it so
much. We shall feel so grand.”
“But I’m just as much astonished to hear that I’ve got this
wonderful voice as you are,” Nancy said. “Nobody ever told me I
had, until this fairy prince arrived in Bristol.”
“Ah, but I think people are always so afraid to think anybody has a
good voice until somebody else has established the fact for them,”
Sister Catherine laughed. “It was just a piece of good luck that you
should be heard by somebody who understood what good singing
is.... I’m glad you think dear little Letizia is looking so well. She is a
great treasure, and we are all very proud of her. She has so much
personality, and I’m doing my best to let her keep it without spoiling
her.”
“I’m sure you are,” Nancy said. “And och, I wish I could ever tell
you how grateful I am to you.”
“There is no need of words, dear child,” said the nun, smiling. “You
prove it to us all the time. I heard from the Reverend Mother
yesterday, and she inquired most affectionately after you.”
That afternoon Nancy went to Mr. Kenrick’s flat in Adelphi Terrace.
He was so kind that she reproached herself for having refused so
brusquely to let him meet her at Paddington.
“Well, it’s all arranged with Maestro Gambone. He’s really the
kindest old man, though he may seem a little fierce before you know
him. Should he, on hearing your voice, decide it’s not worth training,
you’ll have to forgive me for rousing your ambitions and let me see
you through any difficulties you may have about getting another
engagement in England. I have taken a room for you with some
people called Arcucci who have a pensione in the Via Virgilio which
is close to Santa Lucia. Arcucci himself was a singer; but he lost his
voice through illness, poor chap. He never earned more than a local
reputation at the San Carlo Opera House; but he is full of stories
about famous singers, and you’ll get the right atmosphere from him.
His wife is a capable and homely woman who will make you as
comfortable as Neapolitans know how, which, to tell the truth, is not
saying much.”
While her patron was speaking, Nancy was gazing out of his study
window at the Thames and letting her imagination drift down on the
fast-flowing ebb with the barges that all seemed like herself bound
for some adventure far from this great city of London. Away on the
horizon beyond Lambeth the domes of the Crystal Palace sparkled
in the clearer sunshine. Even so, on an horizon much farther south
than Sydenham flashed the elusive diamonds of success and fame.
“Tuesday is no day to set out on a journey,” said Kenrick. “So, I’ve
taken your ticket for Wednesday. You’ll leave Paris that night from
the Gare de Lyon in the Rome express, and you’ll be at Naples on
Friday afternoon.”
He went to a drawer in his desk and took out the tickets.
“Good luck,” he said, holding Nancy’s hand.
She was again the prey of an embarrassment against which she
tried hard to struggle, because it seemed to smirch the spirit in which
she wanted to set out. This constraint prevented her from thanking
him except in clumsy conventional phrases.
“Now, will you dine with me to-night?”
She wanted to refuse even this, but she lacked the courage; in the
end she passed a pleasant enough evening, listening to her host
expatiate upon the career for which he assured her again and again
she was certainly destined. He wanted her to lunch and dine with
him on the next day too; but she pleaded the urgency of shopping
and packing and her desire to see something of her daughter.
“Very well then,” he said, as he put her into a hansom outside
Verrey’s where they had dined. “I’ll be at Victoria on Wednesday
morning.”
 Nancy was glad to be jingling back to St. Joseph’s, alone with her
dreams in the sharp apple-sweet air of the October night.
The next day Mrs. Pottage arrived to say good-bye and help
Nancy with her shopping. By now she had long been an institution at
St. Joseph’s, where her conversation afforded the most intense
delight to the nuns.
“Well, when you wrote you was off to Italy I was in two minds if I
wouldn’t suggest coming with you. I don’t know what it is, whether
I’m getting old or ugly or both, but I’ve not had a single proposal for
eighteen months. I suppose it means I’ve got to be thinking of
settling down and giving some of the younger ones a chance. Well,
take care of yourself in Italy, and don’t eat too much ice-cream.
Funny thing, I-talians should eat so much ice-cream and yet be so
hot. There was an opera company came to Greenwich once, and the
tenor who was an I-talian stayed with me. ‘Well,’ I said to myself,
‘what he’ll want is plenty of macaroni and ice-cream.’ He looked a bit
surprised, I’m bound to say, when I give it him for breakfast on the
Sunday morning, but I thought he was only surprised at any one
knowing his tastes so well. But, will you believe me, when I give it
him for dinner again, he used language that was far from I-talian,
very far. In fact, I never heard any one swear so fluent in English
before or since. It quite dazed me for the moment. But we got on all
right as soon as I found he liked good old roast beef. He gave me
two passes for the Friday night, and Mrs. Bugbird and me thoroughly
enjoyed ourselves. The opera was called Carmen and Mrs. B.
thought it was going to be all about them, and when she found it was
actually the name of a woman she laughed herself silly. Every time
this Carmen came on she’d whisper to me, ‘a good pull up,’ and then
she’d start off shaking like a jelly. But there, she’s very quick to see
the radiculous side of anything, Mrs. Bugbird is. Well, good-bye,
dear, and take good care of yourself. You know your old Mrs.
Pottage wishes you all the best you can wish for yourself.”
Sister Catherine had repeated her request that Nancy should sing
to them, especially as it was the feast of All Saints. So after
practising with Sister Monica, who had charge of the music, she
sang Mozart’s motet Ave Verum Corpus at Benediction amid the
glowing candles and white chrysanthemums of the little chapel.
“Mother, you don’t often sing in church, do you?” Letizia asked.
“Didn’t I sing well?” said her mother with a smile.
“Yes, I expect you sang very well, but I thought it was a little loud,
didn’t you? Sometimes it sounded like a man singing. I think you
ought to be careful and not sing quite so loud, mother.”
Luckily the nuns themselves enjoyed Nancy’s rich contralto a great
deal more than did their pupils. The warmth of femininity spoke to
their hearts of something that they had lost, or rather of something
that most of them had never won. It was easy to understand and
sympathise with the readiness of the nuns to turn away for a few
minutes from the austere ecstasies of Gothic art to worship some
dolorous “Mother” of Guido Reni. A flush had tinged their cheeks so
virginally tralucent, as if a goblet of water had been faintly suffused
by a few drops of red wine.
Kenrick was at Victoria to see Nancy off next morning. Just as the
train started, she leaned out of the window of her compartment and
exclaimed breathlessly:
“Please don’t think me ungrateful. I do appreciate tremendously
what you are doing for me. Really, I do.”
His long, sombre face lit up with a smile, and he waved his hand
as Nancy withdrew from London into the train again.
France dreamed in a serenity of ethereal blue. In the little
wedding-cake cemeteries black figures were laying wreaths of
immortelles upon the graves. Nancy remembered with a pang that it
was All Souls’ Day and reproached her cowardice for not having laid
flowers on Bram’s grave at Greenwich before she left England. The
bunch of carnations with which Kenrick had presented her became
hateful to hold, and she longed to throw it out of the window. She
would have done so, if two English old maids had not been regarding
her curiously from the other side of the compartment, the one above
her Baedeker, the other above the Church Times. Why should
elderly English women travelling abroad look like butterfly-collectors?
 “Parlez vous anglaise?” said one of them to the ticket-collector,
nodding her head and beaming as if she were trying to propitiate an
orang-utan.
“Yes, I spik English, madame,” he said coldly after punching the
tickets.
The other elderly lady congratulated her companion upon the
triumphant conversation.
“He undoubtedly understood perfectly what you were saying,
Ethel.”
“Oh, yes, I think we shall get along capitally after a time. I was
always considered very good at French in my schooldays, and it’s
just beginning to come back to me.”
Her ambition had been kindled by her success with the first ticket-
inspector. With the next one who invaded the compartment she took
a line of bold and direct inquiry.
“Paris, quand?”
The inspector stared back, indignation displayed upon his
countenance.
“Comment?”
“Non, quand,” said the elderly lady.
The inspector shrugged his shoulders and slammed the carriage-
door as he retired.
“That man seemed rather stupid, I thought, Ethel.”
“Most stupid,” the ambitious Ethel emphatically agreed.
Nancy felt thankful that Letizia would be taught French properly.
Sister Catherine had already suggested to her that when she was
twelve she should be sent for three years to a convent in Belgium
with which the Sisters of the Holy Infancy had an arrangement of
exchanging pupils. Nancy had been a little alarmed at first by the
prospect of sending Letizia abroad all that time; but after these two
absurd Englishwomen she felt no trouble was too great and no place
too far and no separation too long that would insure Letizia against
talking French like them in public.
But presently Nancy was too much occupied with her own
problems—transferring herself and her luggage from one station in
Paris to another, finding out how the wagon-lit toilet arrangements
worked, how to reply to the Italian examination of baggage in the Mt.
Cenis tunnel, and how to achieve the change at Rome into the
Naples train—either to criticise anybody else or even to dream and
speculate about her own operatic future.
Then Vesuvius loomed above the russet orchards and dishevelled
vines on the left of the railway. Nancy suddenly remembered that
when she and Bram were first married he had one day said how
much he should like to visit Naples with her. He had told her that he
had seen a picture of it when he was a boy and of what a thrill it had
given him. Now here it actually was, and he was not by her side to
behold it. Here Naples had been all these years, and he had never
seen it.
Time heals many wounds; but in some he makes a deeper gash
every year with his inexorable scythe.
 CHAPTER XXI
CLASSIC GRIEF
Nancy was lost at first in the pensione to which Kenrick had
entrusted her. The bareness of it seemed to reflect the bareness of
her own mind amid the unmeaning sounds of a strange tongue.
During the first week she felt that she should never, stayed she in
Naples for years, acquire a single word of Italian, and the week after
she was convinced that she should never be able to say anything
more than the Italian for “yes,” “no,” “please,” “thanks,” “good night,”
“good morning,” and “bread.” For a fortnight she was so completely
stunned by the swarming rackety city that she spent all her spare
time in the aquarium, contemplating the sea-anemones. The stories
of great singers with which Signor Arcucci was to have entertained
her leisure seemed indefinitely postponed at her present rate of
progress with Italian. She should have to become proficient indeed
to follow the rapid hoarseness of that faded voice. Meanwhile, she
must wrestle with an unreasonable upside down language in which
aqua calda meant hot water and not, as one might suppose, cold.
Nancy cursed her lack of education a hundred times a day, and an
equal number of times she thanked Heaven that Letizia already
knew twenty-two Italian words and could say the present indicative
of the verb “to be.” Signora Arcucci was a plump waxen-faced
Neapolitan housewife who followed the English tradition of
supposing that a foreigner would understand her more easily if she
shouted everything she had to say about four times as loud as she
spoke ordinarily. She used to heap up Nancy’s plate with spaghetti;
and, as Nancy could not politely excuse herself from eating any
more, she simply had to work her way through the slithery pyramid
until she felt as if she must burst.
Nor did Maestro Gambone do anything to make up for the state of
discouragement into which her unfamiliar surroundings and her
inability to talk had plunged her. Nancy found his little apartment at
the top of a tall tumbledown yellow house that was clinging to the
side of the almost sheer Vomero. He was a tiny man with snow-white
hair and imperial and jet-black eyebrows and moustache. With his
glittering eyes he reminded her of a much polished five of dominos,
and when he wanted anything in a hurry (and he always did want
things in a hurry) he seemed to slide about the room with the rattle of
a shuffled domino. Although his apartment stood so high, it was in a
perpetual green twilight on account of the creepers growing in rusty
petrol tins that covered all the windows.
“You speaka italiano, madama?” he asked abruptly when Nancy
presented herself.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Allora come canta? How you singa, madama?”
“I only sing in English at present.”
“What musica you havva?”
Nancy produced the stock-in-trade of ballads, which the maestro
fingered like noxious reptiles.
“E questo? Anna Lowrie o qualche nome indiavolato. Probiamolo.
Avanti!”
The little man sat down at the piano and was off with the
accompaniment on an instrument of the most outrageously tinny
timbre before Nancy had finished deciding that he was not so much
like a domino as a five-finger exercise.
“Eh, avanti!” he turned round and shouted angrily. “What for you
waita, madama? Di nuovo!”
In the green twilight of this little room hanging over the precipitous
cliff above the distant jangling of Naples Nancy could not feel that
Maxwellton Braes had ever existed. She made a desperate effort to
achieve an effect with the last lines.
“And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I would lay me down and dee.”
There was a silence.
 Then the maestro grunted, twirled his moustache, rose from the
piano, and sat down at his desk.
“Here I writa when you come,” he said. “A rivederla e buon giorno.”
He thrust the paper into Nancy’s hand and with the same gesture
almost pushed her out of his apartment. The next thing of which she
was conscious was walking slowly down the Vomero in the honey-
coloured November sunshine and staring at the hours and days
written down upon the half-sheet of notepaper she held in her hand.
So the lessons began, and for a month she wondered why she or
anybody else should ever have suffered from a momentary delusion
that she could sing. She knew enough Italian by that time to
understand well enough that Maestro Gambone had nothing but
faults to find with her voice.
“Have I made any progress?” she found the courage to stammer
out one morning.
“Progresso? Ma che progresso? Non sa encora camminare.”
Certainly if she did not yet know how to walk she could not
progress. But when should she know how to walk? In her halting
Italian Nancy tried to extract from the maestro an answer to this.
“Quanda camminerà? Chi sa? Forse domani, forse giovedì, ma
forse mai.”
Perhaps to-morrow, perhaps on Thursday, but perhaps never!
Nancy sighed.
When she got back to the pensione she sat down and wrote to her
patron.

Pensione Arcucci,
Via Virgilio 49.
Napoli.
Dec. 8.
Dear Mr. Kenrick,
 I really don’t think it’s worth your while to go on paying
for these singing lessons. Maestro Gambone told me to-
day that I might never know how to sing. I’m sure he’s
disgusted at my slowness. I’ve been having lessons for a
month now, and he has had ample time to judge whether
I’m worth his trouble. He evidently thinks I’m not. It’s a
great disappointment, and I feel a terrible fraud. But I’m
not going to reproach myself too bitterly, because, after all,
I would never have thought of becoming a singer if you
hadn’t put it into my head. So, next week I shall return to
England. I’m afraid your kindness has been....

Nancy put down her pen. Her struggles with Italian seemed to
have deprived her of the use of her own tongue. She could not
express her appreciation of what he had done for her except in a
bread-and-butter way that would be worse than writing nothing. For
all the sunlight flickering on the pink and yellow houses opposite she
felt overwhelmed by a wintry loneliness and frost. And then she
heard coming up from the street below the sound of bagpipes. She
went to the window and looked out. Two men in heavy blue cloaks
and steeple-crowned felt hats, two shaggy men cross-gartered, were
playing before the little shrine of the Blessed Virgin at the corner of
the Via Virgilio an ancient tune, a tune as ancient as the hills whence
every year they came down for the feast of the Immaculate
Conception to play their seasonable carols and grave melodies until
Christmas-tide. Nancy had been told about them, and here they
were, these—she could not remember their name, but it began with
“z”—these zamp something or other. And while she stood listening
by the window she heard far and wide the pipes of other pious
mountaineers piping their holy ancient tunes. Their bourdon sounded
above the noise of the traffic, above the harsh cries of the street-
vendors, above the chattering of people and the clattering of carts
and the cracking of whips, above the tinkling of mandolins in the
barber-shops, sounded remote and near and far and wide as the
bourdon of bees in summer.
The playing of these pipers calmed the fever of Nancy’s
dissatisfaction and seemed to give her an assurance that her failure
was not yet the sad fact she was imagining. She decided to
postpone for a little while her ultimatum to Kenrick and, tearing up
the unfinished letter, threw the pieces on the open brazier, over
which for so many hours of the wintry days Signor Arcucci used to
huddle, slowly stirring the charcoal embers with an iron fork and
musing upon the days when he sang this or that famous part. He
was out of the room for a moment, but presently he and his Signora,
as he called her, came in much excited to say that the zampognieri
were going to play for them. The pipers in the gimcrack room looked
like two great boulders from their own mountains, and the droning
throbbed almost unbearably in the constricted space. When
everybody in turn had given them a lira or two, they acknowledged
the offerings by presenting Nancy as the guest and stranger with a
large wooden spoon. She was taken aback for the moment by what
would have been in England the implication of such a gift. Even
when she had realised that it was intended as a compliment the
omen remained. She could not help wondering if this wooden spoon
might not prove to be the only gift she should ever take home from
Italy. Nevertheless, the zampognieri with their grave carols healed
her fear of discouragement, and during the next fortnight Maestro
Gambone on more than one occasion actually praised her singing
and found that at last she was beginning to place her voice
somewhat more approximately where it ought to be placed. It was as
if the fierce little black and white man had been softened by the spirit
of Christmas, of which those blue-cloaked pipers were at once the
heralds and the ambassadors with their bourdon rising and falling
upon the mandarin-scented air. Absence from home at this season
did not fill Nancy with sentimental regrets. Since Bram died
Christmas had not been a happy time for her, so intimately was its
festivity associated with that dreadful night at Greenwich four years
ago. She welcomed and enjoyed the different atmosphere of Natale,
and after so many grimy northern winters these days of turquoise,
these dusks of pearl and rose, these swift and scintillating nights.
On the anniversary of Bram’s death she drove out to Posilipo and
sat on a rock by the shore, gazing out across the milky cerulean
waters of the bay. For all the beauty of this classic view she was only
aware of it as one is aware of a landscape by Poussin or Claude,