Caught by The Dark A Werewolf Monster Romance Monsters in Moonlight Alexa Michaels Alexa H Michaels Full Chapter

Caught By The Dark: A werewolf
monster romance (Monsters In

Moonlight) Alexa Michaels & Alexa H.
Michaels
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Table of Contents
Caught By The Dark | Copyright
Dedication
A Note From The Author
Prologue – The Man
Chapter 1 – Adélaïde
Chapter 2 – The Man
Chapter 18 – The Beast
Chapter 43 – Miroslav
Chapter 47 – Miroslav
Epilogue 1 – Miroslav
Epilogue 2 – Natasha
About The Author

Caught By The Dark
Copyright
Copyright © 2023 Chowen Publishing House LLC All Rights Reserved
Kindle Edition All Rights Reserved
Editor: North Pines Editing LLC
Cover photo and design: © Covers by Aura
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system
without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and
trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used
without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or
sponsored by the trademark owners.
Dedication
To Dad.
Dad, I finally used the phrase creamy white thighs. Thanks for being the cool dad who let me
watch rated R movies as a kid and let me borrow smutty books from the library as a teen. There’s
probably a correlation between those habits and the books I write. I couldn’t have done it without
you. XOXOXO, Tootie.
A Note From The Author
Dearest Reader,
This isn’t a fairytale retelling, or it never was meant to be that way from the start. I’ve spent many
hours contemplating the Beauty & Beast archetype. I think all romances, especially the darker ones,
all have a touch of this story in them. Or maybe the original French masterpiece simplified something
fundamental, and now it’s always associated with that. Either way, that topic for another time. As it
stands now in this final version, Caught By The Dark has Beauty & Beast flavor, but also a
smattering of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—another masterpiece, which I implore you to read!
The story you’re about to read isn’t the nicest story. What I mean is that this is a dark romance—
bad stuff happens or is mentioned. Let me explain further. That is a broad statement, and has two
distinct parts. Dark and romance.
In my research, dark is a spectrum amongst writers we use to talk about these things. This story is
dark in that the world is dark. Bad things happen, and fallible souls make mistakes. But I also worked
hard not to make these characters toxically dark, especially to one another.
Romance is romance. That means I’m taking two half-hearted people, finding their other, and
making them whole. If you’re here, expect spice as part of that process.
In conclusion, this is a dark romance, so if certain content bothers you, proceed with caution,
because I did write something mature.
Thank you so much for selecting this humble little story as your next read. I’m truly honored.
Please enjoy.
Best regards, Alexa
Prologue – The Man
~Three Months Ago~
The door of my old truck creaked as I stepped out into the warm spring afternoon. A shiver
wracked through my muscles. The change was always close at hand, right under the surface, and so
long as the sun remained high in the sky, I had the upper hand and the power to keep it at bay. But the
craving for destruction would eventually overwhelm me, pushing me to take a back seat and observe
him rage about all night long. The beast I was cursed with knew not a shred of moral decency. The
other werewolves, my packmates, couldn’t imagine the soul-draining agony I went through daily to
suppress the villain who would hold me hostage for all time unless I fought like mad when the sun
shone bright.
“You made it!” Svet called out, hurrying from his back porch to where I stood. My brother
clapped me on the back, sending me staggering forward.
“Good to see you, too,” I ground out, rounding on him with an upper cut to the abdomen. Svet
crumpled, wheezing a laugh. “But I can’t stay long.” I jerked a thumb at where the Louisiana moon
hung low in the sky, waiting for night to fall in earnest.
Svet rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a solid two hours before sunset. Come! Eat, drink, and be
merry.”
My chest tightened with unease as I stepped around the protective shield that was my truck.
Across the well-kept lawn was the meeting barn, where the pack was gathering. The werewolves
were streaming in groups toward the great doors, which were thrown open, and the smells of food
and sounds of music enticed all to gather. We might originally be from northeast Europe, but our pack
adapted over the decades to crawdad boils here in the swamps like we were born and bred on
Southern soil in the States.
The pack was family. They were kind. Welcoming. They loved me despite my curse. But as I
approached them, the usual feeling that it was wrong to receive their good-natured acceptance crept
up my throat like acid. Guilt weighed heavy on my chest.
A monster like me doesn’t belong here.
But they wouldn’t let me sit at home and wallow.
Walking up to the long picnic table outside the shelter of the great red structure, I accepted an ice-
cold beer from my brother. While I would much prefer something harder, I needed to drive back to my
property. At the rate my body metabolized alcohol, one beer was the same as a bottle of water.
“You said there was something you wanted to tell me.” I spoke low, leaning close to my brother.
“Do we need to step inside your house?”
“It would look rude to leave the party.” Svet clenched his teeth in a tight smile. The gutted barn
that was strung with glittering lights was on the property next to his house. As alpha, he was always
central to pack life. But his house, unlike many homes sprawled through the back country, was
soundproof, warded with spells our shaman carved.
“Svetovit,” I warned. “If it has to do with my...predicament, you know I hate making the aspects of
my situation public knowledge.”
“The pack is family,” my brother mumbled, but turned away. Together, we retreated from the
gathering and jogged to the back steps of his house. He paused at the door to wave to Queen Consort
Astasia, who was walking up to the meeting barn with a basket of fresh biscuits. Our stepmother
smiled fondly after us but didn’t interrupt, for which I was grateful.
“Alright, satisfied?” Svet croaked when the door closed tight.
I waved my hand for him to proceed, tipping the beer to my lips.
“Bogdana cast the bones this afternoon and called me straight away.” From the way my brother’s
black eyes lit up, I already knew where this was going. He’d spoken with our shaman, and they’d
cooked up some plan. “She is confident the end is finally approaching for your curse.”
I let out a long sigh. What I was going to say would hurt my older brother. “The knuckle bones led
us down a rabbit hole once before.”
The whole pack had been behind Bogdana’s prediction. Everyone pitched in to hunt for the
mystical means to break my curse. When the chase gave out, when the hearts of my kin were broken, I
made the shaman swear to never again broadcast the results of her findings.
“She still insists that they were correct the last time, but that our timing was off.” Svet wouldn’t
be dissuaded.
“What did the damn bones say this time?” I bent, letting him have a moment to display his
excitement.
The beast stirred under the surface. A malicious glint flashed through my veins, but since I was the
master of day, I squashed it.
“Bogdana read there is a daughter of the sun, one with a vědmák as an ancestor.”
That was new information. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but it was hard not to be intrigued.
“And...there’s a blood moon coming up in twelve weeks.” Svet crossed his arms over his chest, a
smug smile turning up the corners of his mouth.
Fucking hell, didn’t I know it. Ever since the first time Bogdana read the information about the
blood moon in her bones, I marked the calendar every time there was such a celestial event. That was
five years’ worth of orange-tinged moons.
“Did the bones say where this female is?” I retorted, letting anger and futility bat down the fickle
flames of hope. I’d been disappointed so many times before.
“It’s not hard to find out,” Svet responded. “I’ll find her, I swear it, and we’ll break this curse.
Once and for all.” I sighed, but he continued, “I need you, little brother. Here, by my side. I’m the
ruler, but I’m only half that without my sword.”
It was always the same. Svet refused to take another as second-in-command because it was my
birthright. The dangers in the swamp were frequent enough that we needed the chain of command to
be organized appropriately. And since I couldn’t change form, and I had to be on my property before
sunset, I wasn’t dependable.
“There are many in the pack who would die for you,” I said with a bite in my tone.
“They’re not blood,” Svet insisted.
My brother had never once stopped fighting for me even though I gave up long ago. Looking now
at his haggard expression, I felt a pinch in my gut. Svet had obliged my most desperate request once. I
could still feel his knife sliding across my throat. With my blood drenching the earth, he’d sworn that
we would break this curse, since death would never let me escape it. He’d vowed to never stop
trying. I couldn’t sit back now and let him struggle alone. So I agreed with his plan. “Let’s find
Bogdana’s girl. If it doesn’t work—”
“If not, we keep trying.” Svet slapped me on the back.
“Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want the pack to get their hopes up.”
“Always with the secrecy!” But Svet was grinning.
I pray I don’t let you down, brother.
Stomach full of good food, and heart lightened by the laughter of my pack, I rolled my truck into the
garage. Cutting the engine, I dropped my head onto the steering wheel. There was a generous half-
hour before sunset, since my paranoia forced me to always be home early.
Another long night lay ahead of me. It’s been an eternity.
Gathering the mail from the passenger seat, I drug myself out of the truck, glancing at the tuner car
I washed and waxed this morning. It was a beautiful ride, but there wasn’t time to do more than cast a
longing glance over the sleek surface before exiting the garage. I secured the great door, checking that
the protection runes were still carved. It was damn near ritualistic to trace my fingertips over them.
The beast destroyed anything in its path; it was almost funny how the little chicken scratches could
ward him away.
I dumped the mail on the kitchen table, flipping through the pieces. Something dark and volatile
lurched through my chest, and I sprawled forward onto the table, panting at the sudden onslaught. The
beast wanted out. His roar shattered through my mind, causing a pulsing headache right behind my
eyes. I breathed through the pain and tightened my grip on control. The curse was inescapable, but at
least these spasms gave me plenty of warning when the twilight battle would take place. Prepared to
abandon the mail and go finish my preparations for sunset, one of the envelopes caught my eye.
My blood heated in sharp spikes of rage.
“Another one,” I shouted to the empty kitchen, fists clenching and wanting to pummel the
mysterious sender. It took several deep breaths to master the rage.
Time slowed. As if in a trance, I watched myself open the letter, fingers shaking with barely
contained wrath. Svet would laugh if he saw how easily these letters set me off.
Svet would kill me for not telling him about them.
Run, run, run as fast as you can.
I’ll still catch you, because I’m the hunter man.
“Great, more bad rhyming.” Except my snarky comment, while spoken aloud to bolster my spirits,
couldn’t chase away the chill that penetrated my soul. This was the fourth such missive I’d received
in the last four weeks. My covert attempts to track down the source had failed. While I wanted to
chalk these up to being a prank, their ominous tone and blatant threats couldn’t be ignored.
Of course, unless the sender was the one who’d cursed me, whoever it was didn’t know that I
couldn’t be killed.
And it wasn’t from lack of trying.
Bringing the paper to my nose, I inhaled deeply. Coffee beans, silt soil, and cooking herbs hid any
more unique scents. There was no scent trail, same as the previous letters. It was becoming
convincingly obvious: I had a stalker. At least if the person was crazy enough to come during the
night, the beast would take care of him. I was annoyed enough after this letter to consider shooting the
fool on sight if ever I could find the stalker.
Although the new development had been enough to distract me for a few minutes, another bone-
shattering spasm rippled through my frame. Fisting the paper, I took it to the decorative tin can on top
of the cabinets in the butler’s pantry and put it inside. I made short work of removing my clothing,
setting it on the table with a bottle of water and a small dessert dish full of aspirin, vitamins, and
herbs rolled into pill form.
There was nothing else to do but go outside because, no matter if I liked it or not, at sunset the
beast was coming out to play. My life was a living hell. As I paced the yard without a stich of
clothing on, I considered Svet’s revelation. The definition of a curse was an unbearable situation. I
had no choice but to bear it. The misery was such a part of my life that pessimism, ugly and black,
rotted my heart. I was told I had to pay; every night, the beast made sure that I did.
A walnut branch scraping against my window woke me from a dead sleep. I didn’t need to move the
chic, lacy curtains to know that sound. Midnight fingers caressed the panes as thick emerald leaves
fluttered in the light breeze. They rustled and shivered in delight. Nothing out there was going to hurt
me. The walnut was my guardian. I’d planted it from a seed and fed it potions to make it grow into the
mighty, damn near sentient monument that it was. I let out a ragged breath and flopped onto my side.
Thanks to Julgan, I would now have to work hard to fall back asleep. That was what I got for naming
a tree.
Think about Margot and the monster.
I snorted. With any luck, yesterday would be the last time I would see those warriors from
Serrano. Just because it was the second time meeting the shade, it wasn’t easier. No, hours earlier,
his...shadowy companion had been present. A shudder of revulsion trailed down my spine as I thought
of the nightwalker, and my whole body twitched. For the sake of the missing girls around New
Orleans, I hoped they acted fast once my sister went to their aid. In my vision, I’d seen that monster
and her becoming friendly as they saved all the supernatural virgins. Interacting with that creature
was Margot’s destiny—thankfully not mine! The nightwalker was going to end up close to my soul’s
sister. A potential mate. A dedicated lover.
No, talking to the shade and meeting the monster made of malice and shadows wasn’t what
bothered me. It was impatience that kept me tossing and turning.
Why hasn’t he come yet?
Dammit!
Now that I’d thought about him there would be no turning my mind off until every detail was
hashed out. I settled in, snuggling deeper under the duvet to reexamine the puzzle pieces Fate had
shown me. Was it insanity to wait for a mystery man who was somehow linked to the house I’d
dreamed about for the last twenty years? Probably. As history showed, Fate wasn’t always kind to
psychics, and our premonitions made us seem crazed. But I didn’t care how silly it sounded—not if it
had to do with that house.
I’ll finally go home.
That house was a constant in my life. I knew I would get there someday. But recently, I’d seen the
path. And it all hinged on a male who was a figment in the darkness. He needed my help. The only
other clue I’d seen was that it would all happen before a blood moon. According to my calendar,
there was one coming soon. The conclusion I’d drawn from the visions was that if I helped him, then
he would lead me to the house or maybe it would be my payment for helping. That technicality was
still fuzzy. My fingers caressed my favorite stuffed bear. Home. It had been a long time coming.
Who was he? Even in the more recent dreams, I couldn’t see the stranger clearly. I just knew that
whoever he was, he would take me to my forever home. For an orphan, it was a dream come true. For
that reason alone, I felt friendly toward him.
“I can’t wait to meet you,” I whispered into the dark.
There was another tap as something brushed against the glass pane. That was definitely more than
the walnut tree.
Tap. Tap.
Scrape.
Fear flickered in my gut. Something was out there. Clutching my duvet tight, I debated screaming
for Barbara—the matron who ran the supernatural children’s home I’d grown up in. But I kept my
mouth shut. If the noise was nothing and I woke her, I didn’t want to deal with her cranky old ass. A
berserker might make a temperamental guardian, but the orphanage was never in danger with her
strength and fighting abilities at beck and call.
The sounds stopped.
The protective wards! I breathed a sigh of relief. There couldn’t be anything out there. Even if
something had broken onto the property, breaking the wards would have alerted the proprietress.
Still, if something was outside my window, Barbara would dash in here any moment—or maybe she
was already outside dealing with it?
Too active of an imagination. That was my problem. Eyes peeled wide, I stared hard at the empty
twin bed across from mine. If Margot was here, my soul’s sister would have a gut feeling to reassure
me that everything was alright. But she just had to move out the moment she came of age, and now she
wanted me to run away with her, to ramble over the world and explore cities far away. I sighed. That
wasn’t my future, and as much as I loved her, it would hurt her to learn I wanted something else. Any
day now, I would seize the opportunity to take what my heart desired most. The blood moon was
seven days away.
This time, the noise was glass sliding open.
I’m not imagining this! Taking a deep breath and steeling my resolve, I sat up and turned to face
the dormer window. My heart nearly exploded.
A huge male was sneaking through the opening.
I tried to scream, but it just sounded like a dying cat.
At the strangled noise escaping my lips, the intruder tripped through the rest of the way. “Oh, shit!
You’re awake. Please don’t worry, I won’t hurt you!”
That voice.
I knew that voice. It didn’t sound quite right, but it could be his low tone? This man was
freakishly similar to the mystery man I’d seen. With that realization came another thought that had my
heart bounding faster than a race car at Daytona.
Is this really it? “Who are you?” I demanded, forcing down the jolt of fear with a heavy dose of
curiosity.
“Please don’t scream.” He padded forward, the anxious tone immediately striking a chord in my
chest.
I shouldn’t have sympathetic feelings about stranger coming into my room. I should be shouting
and yelling like mad for Barbara! And yet, I’d heard that voice before—in a vision. I reached to yank
on my frilly bedside lamp, fingers bumping into the worn pair of ballet slippers. The cozy light fell
across the man who was crouched, hands up, three feet from my bed.
He had dark hair longer on the top but faded short on the sides, sharp black eyes, and a rich tan
that looked more natural than sun induced. But that body—such a powerful build. Fear lumped in my
throat. I didn’t want this brute as my enemy, no matter what effort he was making to assuage me.
He’s so familiar—but not quite right. “What’s your name?” I whispered.
“Svetovit, but you can call me Svet. Why—why aren’t you screaming?” He raked a hand through
his buzzed hair.
I snorted a soft laugh. “I should be, shouldn’t I? But I won’t if you promise not to hurt me.”
“Well, I can’t promise that.” Svet crossed his meaty arms over his chest and rose to tower over
my bed. “Adélaïde Volkov, I’ve come to sequester you on official Blackwater Pack business. You’re
coming with me, little lady. Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
This wasn’t the man from the visions. The details were off. And yet.... Tipping my head to the
side, I considered the male. “You look like him—but you’re not. Do you have a relative—a brother or
cousin—who sounds freakishly similar to you?”
The giant opened his mouth. No words came out. And then he clapped those lips closed.
Obviously, I wasn’t behaving as he expected me to.
“How did I know about him? Yeah, that’s kinda my thing,” I murmured. Swinging my legs out of
the bed, I drew a crocheted throw over my shoulders to hide the fact I was only in a lacy nightgown.
The rag tie curlers bounced around my head, and as I slipped my feet into dainty slippers, I knew I
looked like something out of by-gone eras. I quickly ripped the curlers from my head, and placed them
inside my white washed nightstand.
“What are you doing?” he warned, shifting his stance to always be facing me as I moved about the
room.
“Well, you’ve come to collect me on his behalf I assume, and since there is a blood moon in a
week, we’d best get going.” I peeped back at him as I made my bed, tucking in the corners and folding
the top down flat.
“So you really are a seer.” Svet let out a short, harsh laugh of disbelief.
“Something like that.” I jerked my thumb at the bifold doors of the closet. “Be a dear and fetch my
valise? I’ll only be a moment.”
“Waait—wait, just a damn minute, missy. I’m abducting you.”
“Okay—” I threw up my hands “—call it what you want. I’m coming with you now that you’re
finally here, and nothing you say or do will change that.”
“You’re just letting me kidnap you?” he stammered.
“Yep. Already packed and ready. I knew someone was coming for me.” I pointed at the closet
with an impatient gesture. “But it’s in poor taste, don’t you think, with all the supernatural girls
disappearing around New Orleans?”
“Oh, right. We’ve had news about that. Terrible business; I hope whoever’s behind it is caught
soon.” Svet pulled at the back of his neck.
They would be. But that wasn’t my adventure.
Walking to the antique chaise lounge, I paused. “Where have you been that you sound surprised?”
“Deep in the bayou,” was the clipped answer. “I’ll grab your...valise. What’s a valise?”
“An old fashioned word for suitcase.” I hid my smile.
The man nodded once.
“Thank you,” I chirped and grabbed my clothes set out for tomorrow off the lounge, where I was
in the habit of laying them out each night. My fingers brushed against the mauve velvet, and a shiver
rolled over my skin. This was it! My mystery man must be part of a pack—it could be any number of
supernatural species.
Svet moved with an ethereal grace. It made him seem more animal than not. He also didn’t turn
his back to me but kept me always in his sights. With a laugh, I slipped behind the changing screen
and only when I risked a peep to see that he was busy with the luggage did I slip into the full maxi
skirt and peasant blouse. As a habit, I folded my nightgown and tucked it under my pillow and
smoothed the crocheted throw at the foot of bed after I made it.
“So...you’re really coming with me?” Svet asked cautiously.
Tying my hiking boots onto my feet—thankful Margot made me own them in case there was rough
terrain in the bayou—I nodded. “Of course! But you could have approached me in broad daylight,
explained your situation, and I would have come willingly. There wasn’t any need to sneak into my
room and abduct me.”
“Yeah, sorry about all this.” Svet rubbed the back of his neck again. “In my defense, we’re really
desperate.”
“I know.” I let out a long sigh. “I’ve been waiting for you—or him. Who is he?”
“My brother.”
I rolled my hand in the air, inviting him to elaborate.
Svet just shook his head. “It’s not my story to tell.”
“Urgh fine!” I threw up my hands. “Let’s go.”
Svet stepped toward my bedroom door, but I scooted in front of him, hissing sharply. “What are
you doing?!”
Those bushy dark brows drew together. “Leaving?”
“Out the window.” There was no need to tack on the Are you stupid? sentiment. That was
implied.
Svet looked between me and the door. With a shrug, he turned and went back to the window.
Except, he paused. “Ladies first.” Those dark brows waggled.
I rolled my eyes. He most likely wasn’t being gentlemanly. This was so that I couldn’t slam the
window closed behind him. “I really do want to help him. Your brother. I...didn’t see much, but what I
did was enough for me to pack a bag and wait impatiently for one of you to show up.”
“Prove it,” Svet hummed, hurrying me out the window with a wave of his hand.
The walnut bowed, sweeping its branches over me in a tender caress. A touch and whispered
word of kindness was all it took for the limbs to shiver in delight. Maybe I can replant this in my
home. There were witches who could do it for an enormous fee. I might just have to content myself
with coming back to visit.
“I’ll be back, my darling,” I murmured, and then gripped the fascia board as I turned. It wasn’t the
first time I’d climbed onto the porch’s roof and shimmied down the trellis.
Making short work of the descent, I waited breathlessly in the yard. The night was cloudy so I
could barely make out Svet’s shape as he angled through the window, paused to shut it, and crossed
the shingles, skeletal fingers of Juglan snapping at his heels. Ignoring the tree, Svet didn’t bother
climbing. He jumped.
“What are you?” I hissed.
“You foresaw my arrival, but you don’t know what we are?” A smirk pulled at the corners of his
mouth.
But now was not the time to play games. I anxiously looked around him and fidgeted. “Let’s go.
We can talk when we get away from here.”
“My truck’s parked a block down the road.”
I had to jog to keep up with the brute, who mercifully carried my luggage. There was a faint,
woodsy smell that rolled off him. But something primal, damn near animalistic, underlaid the scent. I
knew that if I reached out and touched him, I would no doubt get a good read on what he was.
I just wasn’t sure if I was ready to see that.
The truck was glossy even in the moonless night. It might be vintage, four decades old at least, but
the bright, iridescent beetle-green paint was fresh, and the chrome details were polished.
Svet stepped around me and opened the door. Foot on the running board, I paused. “Thanks for
making this a pleasant kidnapping,” I said.
“Thanks for not screaming bloody murder and making my night twice as difficult as it had to be.”
Svet grinned back.
We were going to get along splendidly. I didn’t need to be a psychic to know that. Reaching inside
to pick up a work rag, I intended to toss it over onto the bucket seat.
Blood dripping from manic faces. Clawed fists raised to punch. Four hybrid lupine-humanoids
were sparring, shredding, and beating one another to a pulp for...fun.
A shudder wracked my body as I leaned forward onto the seat.
“Werewolves—” I gasped, stomach roiling from the mix of emotions I’d just experienced
firsthand. “You’re freaking werewolves! And you beat the shit out of each other.”
Svet gaped in awe at me, eye open wide. “How did you do that?”
I held up the rag, the dark stains clearly blood. “I can get images from objects. Nasty little gift that
makes me relive strong emotions. Like brutal brawling at underground fight clubs.”
“It’s not a fight club,” Svet mumbled sheepishly. “Training for combat keeps us sharp. If an enemy
arises, males—and females—rise to the occasion to defend their homes and pack.”
I nodded, still trying to swallow the aftershock of the violence. “Great, just great.”
“Are you reconsidering?” His arched brow dared me to be honest.
Body aching with the relived memory, I pursed my lips. My home is worth it. “Never.”
Werewolves. Why did it have to be werewolves?! I collapsed into the truck. Once I was securely
in the seat, I clasped my hands in my lap. I didn’t want to touch anything else if possible. But since
these were creatures who bloodied each other regularly, there might not be any help for it.
“Here,” Svet said as he opened his driver’s side door. A small object flew across the space and
landed in my lap. It was a beautiful pendant on a leather cord. I looked at it with skepticism and
refused to touch it.
“What is it?” I snapped my head to look at him. The tight, messy curls smacked into my head, and
I absently wished I could have fixed them pretty before leaving.
“A charm,” Svet explained. “So long as you wear that, they won’t know where you are.”
I let out a short laugh.
“What’s so funny?” the werewolf asked as he climbed into the truck seat and started the engine.
“This whole situation. It’s like we were on the same page from the start.” I bound the necklace to
my throat.
“How so?”
The pieces of vision told me I would go to the brother, that I would help him with some problem.
And so, I didn’t want anything getting in my way. I needed to do this, but there were people in my life
who wouldn’t understand that. They loved me, but they were overprotective.
I fingered the pendant. There was no rush of images, which had my shoulders relaxing. “You’re
going to let me do the one thing I need to do.” The one thing that will take me home.
Svet just laughed. “Let’s go, Shirley Temple.”
I fluffed at the mess of curls, embarrassment flooding through me as we drove off into the night.
Fate was cruel. Was it too much to ask for a bit more of a heads up so I didn’t try new product in my
hair the very same night my future started?
What did you do, big brother? I staggered out of the woods, inhaling deeply. My yard was perfumed
with a stranger’s scent. A female, not entirely human. She wore an oil made from a bouquet of
wildflowers on her skin. But there was a spicier scent that was all her lurking under the exotic nod to
nature. She reminded me of a sharp, citrusy white wine. I could get drunk on that.
The beast growled in approval.
The bastard. I wanted to punch him, even though it was physically impossible. Instead, I shoved
him harder into the recesses of my mind. He wasn’t going to interfere in whatever was happening.
Pausing just inside the tree line, I scanned the house. There was a shadow of movement through
the back window. They were in my kitchen. It wasn’t as though they’d been there long; Svet wasn’t
stupid enough to come until after sunrise. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I debated how to approach
this.
Cuts covered my body. The shallow ones were already pinkish scars. But the deep ones would
need to be cleaned and the ointment from Bogdana used to prevent infection. We might be immortal
unless killed, but it didn’t mean a nasty infection couldn’t lay us up for weeks on end. Something my
taxed strength couldn’t handle.
With a sigh of resignation, I crossed the yard and pushed the door open. Leaning my arm against
the frame, skin touching the protective runes, I took in the bare, albeit clean kitchen. Svet shook his
head. My brother let out a frustrated breath and turned sharply on his heel into the living room. I
ignored him. It was the pretty little redhead I zeroed in on. “Well, hello, little one. What’s a dainty
morsel like you doing out in these wicked, wild woods?”
“Listening to some bad alliteration from the male who needs my help.” She put her hands on her
hips, eyes meeting mine without flinching. They were the most illustrious shade of grey with flecks of
green in them.
She might put on a strong front, but I caught the rosy hue on her cheeks. The rounds of her ears
were damn near fire hydrant red.
Not used to naked men? That thought had a warm possessiveness flaring in my chest.
“Cover yourself up, Miro.” Svet returned and tossed a blanket at me. “Seriously? Where the hell
are your manners?”
“A man’s the lord of his castle. If I want to walk around without a stitch of clothing, that’s my
prerogative.”
“Miro!” Svet snapped.
I wrapped the blanket around my hips, noticing how the woman’s sharp gaze skated over my
chest, dipping lower for a half-second. Quickly, she turned back to the stove without meeting my
stare.
Big mistake, red.
“He’s not wrong,” the petite beauty muttered. “I don’t really expect anything more from a
werewolf.”
Ouch! “You wound me.” I sauntered into the room, letting the door fall closed with a heavy bang.
“Really? A mite like me wounding a big, bad boss wolf like you?” She flicked a glance at me
before shifting the pan with her wrist. “Might want to rethink your strategy, castle man.”
“What is happening?” Svet muttered under his breath. The woman’s hearing wasn’t sharp enough
to pick it up, but I did.
“Where are your manners, brother?” I gestured magnanimously. “Introduce us!”
“Addi, this is my younger brother Miroslav.” Svet scowled at me. “This is our seer, who you’re
going to be very, very nice to.”
The beauty moved across the kitchen with the grace of a dancer. Something primal tugged deep in
my chest, and I had to turn away because I did not understand the reaction.
“A redheaded psychic, how original! Like we haven’t tried that—what was it? A hundred years
ago?”
“You don’t have to be such a dick. You agreed to this,” Svet lashed back.
Because I’m tired and hungry. You don’t have a curse draining you every night, dear brother.
You don’t know the torment of this agony. All the things I wanted to shout at my brother, I
swallowed. It wasn’t fair to him. He saw me, he knew what I went through. I just wished he knew
how degraded, how physically brutal it felt, how mentally broken I was from being so powerless. But
I would never wish this experience on him. It was the protective side of me that was grateful it was
me and not him that suffered.
So instead of griping or snapping, I agreed with him. “You’re right. I did agree to this idea, no
matter that it’s a snowflake’s chance in hell. Alright, seer, what do you see.”
“It doesn’t work like that.” Addi brought the chipped trivet to the table and set the pan full of
cooked sausages on it.
“Great, an oracle that doesn’t work.” I plucked a piping piece of meat from the pan and grinned
down at her as she fumed at my bad manners.
“I work just fine!” Addi snapped. “I saw you in the shadows, and I saw something important
happen around the time of the blood moon. I’m part of whatever that is, and I wanted to come help
you. All you had to do was ask!”
“Wait,” I laughed, holding out a palm at both of them. “My brother didn’t ask you?”
“Technically, no. He kidnapped me.”
Svet stammered, hands raised in defense.
But I lost the playful air. “Really, big brother? With all the terrible stories coming from New
Orleans, you thought it was smart to kidnap our seer?”
“I just wanted to talk to her! I was so excited when I found her that I couldn’t wait till morning.
You know me: act fast, deal later.”
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask. How did you get around the wards at the orphanage?” Addi angled
herself to speak to Svet. She didn’t seem in physical distress over the situation.
I still saw red. I’m going to kill him for this.
The beast stirred inside, creeping closer to the mental barrier that kept him locked away during
the day. He was restless from his lost battle at dawn, not done with his reign of terror that spanned the
dark hours. Violence and lust—they called to him like a siren’s hymn.
I swallowed hard, breathing slow to calm the ire in my veins. It was daylight. I could deal with
Svet in a calm, rational manner. I have dominion over the light.
The beast snorted, mocking me by curling down to watch the proceedings from my own eyes.
Sharing a body with a monster was the definition of a living hell.
“Your guardian is a berserker,” Svet was explaining to Addi. “Geographically, we come from the
same neck of the woods in northern Europe. Her marks were ones I was familiar with. A few drops of
blood, etching new lines into the runic script. It was easy to slip past her wards.” Svet shrugged.
“Who knew the orphanage was protected by something so flimsy.” Addi shook her head in
disgust.
“No, they’re strong wards. Few supernaturals would know the trick to change them. Most would
try to break through, which would be as hard as surviving in hell. And if they did, they would unleash
the she-devil. The orphans are safe, Addi.”
With a humph, Addi gestured to the food. “Well, let’s eat, and then we can discuss the plan to help
Miroslav with—?”
She didn’t even know what she was here for. I snorted and plucked another link of meat from the
pan. “I’m full of woods, dirty swamp water, and deer guts. I’m going to go shower.”
“We’ve got a lead and you want to shower?” Svet scoffed. He took the chair across the table and
spun it, sitting down by straddling it backward. “I thought you wanted this curse broken. To help me
solidify my reign as alpha by taking your place at my side in our kingdom!”
You believe in each chance to break this curse so fiercely, brother. I can’t bear to see you
disappointed again. “Feed her. I’ll be back down shortly,” I clipped.
A flicker of hurt flashed so quickly through her beautiful face that I nearly missed it.
As I passed her chair, I leaned down and whispered, “It smells really fucking good. Don’t let him
eat it all, red. I’m...starving.”
Her soft gasp filled my ears as I jogged to the back staircase, dropping the blanket on the first
couple of steps. They creaked under my weight, the wood old and well worn. Only one of the
bedrooms was furnished with a functioning bathroom. I rubbed my chin. Did my idiotic brother intend
for her to stay here? Where was she going to sleep?
Did it matter? I was never home at night. And the thought of her curled in my bed wasn’t
abhorrent. Not only did I like her scent, but I liked the first impression of that little dove. She moved
about the kitchen like a bird, the way she was flighty and sensual. A selfish part of me wanted to keep
this oracle around. She was feisty, but there was an innocence around her, like some of the flowers
out in the garden.
“The idiot tried to kidnap her.” I slammed my bedroom door a little too forcefully. Svet was
clearly desperate going to these lengths to save me.
I glanced at myself in the mirror. It was hard to believe there was a monster inside me, but if my
inability to change forms wasn’t evidence enough, the destruction out in the woods and swamp of this
property was. The beast left my body ravaged. I could sleep for an eternity and not be rested.
The blast of heat from the shower beckoned me, but I paused as I heard the tinkling of laughter.
That woman...she was breathtaking. Maybe hope isn’t such a bad thing to have.
My body mocked me with a spasm of pain.
The cross breeze from the open windows replaced the chilled air I was used to in the orphanage.
Otherwise, this place was perfect. And I happened to like the hot, sultry weather of the deep south. I
would trade a thousand modern conveniences to be here. This house. This place from my dreams was
real, and I was here...with a pair of werewolf brothers. One of whom was gorgeous, and yes, I’d
snuck a peep. Miro was naked, after all, having been running around out there in his hybrid wolf form.
He was the one from my visions, not that those blasts from the future had prepared me for the glorious
sight of his tight, sculpted rear. The cherry on top of this convoluted situation was the naked one
owned my house. Somehow, I was going to help Miro. Fate, however, wasn’t clear in her instruction
concerning destiny.
The giddy rush of endorphins still flooded my veins. I’d pushed back and carefully concealed the
waves of delight at seeing this house in person for the first time after dreaming about it for so long.
Oh, this house was going to become my home. But the how and when didn’t need complication; they
couldn’t know that this place would become mine—they might make trouble for my acquisition.
I refused to look after where the nude male was thumping up the stairs, blanket dropped on the
bottom steps. However, from the corner of my eye, the twig that had fallen from his hair was very
noticeable. I counted to ten in my head. I don’t need to pick up after him. If he wanted to bring the
great outdoors inside, who was I to stop him? Fisting my hands and pretending to ignore the stick
lasted only thirty seconds.
Pushing my chair back, I leaned over to grasp the twig. My fingers wrapped around the piece of
wood, no bigger than my pinky. The contact immediately had my pulse racing as the dandelion-tinged
images consumed my mind, forcing my body to relive the past experience which was strong enough to
leave an imprint on a piece of nature. From somewhere far away, I heard myself fall off the chair.
But it didn’t matter. A brutal terror was after me—me as a deer. Breathing labored, I tried to
outrun the beast. The roar chased me, the soft ground trapped my hooves. Panic swelled, and I snorted
in a furious effort to free myself. Too late! Vicious tearing rent the air as pain consumed me. My
muscle and sinew shredded in such a way that I didn’t die immediately. Minutes were spent in agony
under the teeth and claws of the violent brute.
The beast wanted me to...suffer.
The werewolf wanted to inflict pain.
I wasn’t a meal, I was a being to be preyed upon. Something to work off that terrible anger.
Blinking back tears of horror, the bright tint disappeared, taking away the animal’s experience. I
took a second look at the twig and saw blood. The deer’s blood. I’d just relived the dreadful final
moments of that poor animal. While it might not be a sentient creature, the cervine animal had been
terrified out of its mind. The glimpses of the monster I’d seen from its point of view—
“Addi!” Svet was crouched across from me. He’d been calling me, worry wafting off him like a
bad perfume.
Reality slammed back into me, and I blinked up at him. It took a few moments to form a sentence.
“What is he?” Voice hollow, I pointed a shaking finger up the stairs.
“What did you see?” the pack alpha carefully asked.
I blew out a long breath, trying to regain my composure. “Miro isn’t like you.”
Svet nodded carefully. “He’s not. And that’s because he’s cursed. He isn’t in control of his other
form. A monster is.”
“And that’s why I’m here.” Even as I said it, terror induced self-survival screamed at me to flee.
What was I thinking in wanting this?! I’d been dreaming about this man for months, and now that I was
finally here, saw the rest of the picture so to speak, I was kicking myself for wanting this so much.
But despite the maliciously driven brute I’d just felt make ribbons of my flesh—the deer’s flesh—
I needed to stay, to see this through. This was how I finally found my way home. How this house
would become mine, I didn’t know. But I wasn’t going to let a nightmare stop me.
Which proved how insane I was.
I swallowed hard. “Okay, so he’s possessed?”
“You want to run.” It wasn’t the answer to my question. There was hurt deep in Svet’s dark eyes.
“That werewolf is unhinged.” My whisper betrayed the horror still screeching through my mind
after experiencing the deer’s fate.
“Miro isn’t the beast. He’s as much a victim as anyone else.”
Fear clutched tightly at my chest, making me hiccup. I couldn’t speak as desire to stay and terror
warred in my mind.
“I’m begging you not to leave.” Svet clenched his folded hands as if in prayer to me. “I kidnapped
you, and you didn’t even blink! You said—”
“I know what I said,” I ground out, furious at myself for thinking this would be easy. “I’m not
someone who reneges on their deals. It’s just...he’s a...” I couldn’t say it.
“I’m a monster,” came the words, smooth as velvet from the stairs.
A shiver ripped up my spine. I stiffened, twisting slowly to face him. “Yes, you are.”
Miro didn’t flinch.
I rose off the floor, body still shaking, and resumed my seat in the chair. Hiding my discomfort, I
cradled the cup of tea. From what I saw in the truck, werewolves were scary creatures. But I already
knew that, having been a bookworm. I was familiar with many types of supernatural beings and their
wicked proclivities. While I hated touching things and reliving suffering, I also wasn’t surprised
when it happened. Not until today. Normally, nature was safe. Few things happened outside that were
traumatic enough for essences to be left on objects. Even death amongst animals was part of the
proper order, calm and peaceful. I would see a squirrel killed by a hawk from last summer as I sat on
the grass in a park. But that kind of image was a blip. That twig was the first time something of this
magnitude had left its strongest emotions on a piece of nature.
This was a curse. Miro became pure, unadulterated evil. The chaos he delighted in was raw and
devastating. I saw the beast—feral and nightmarish. Not a normal wolf-man hybrid. Miro was a
monster. The way he pulverized the deer. Didn’t eat it. Delighted in shredding it.
“What happened to you?” I asked the damp figure on the steps when I could trust myself to speak
again. “How did that thing possess your wolf form?”
A somber flash distorted his handsome features for a moment. “I pissed off the wrong person.”
“That’s a typical reason.” I let out a harsh breath. “So, obviously, the curse needs breaking.”
“How can you help with that? You said your powers don’t work the normal way.” Miro stepped
purposefully into the room, going for the fridge.
To explain my gift.... I took a deep breath. This was never easy. “I see the future, but the images
are like pieces to a puzzle, never the whole picture. I can’t change what I see—and unlike other
psychics, my visions always come true.”
“Just not always as you expect,” Svet added helpfully.
“Exactly.” I smiled sadly and swallowed, buying myself a moment to prepare for the harder part.
“The other facet of my gift is that I can see the past. With people, it’s something they hold close to
their heart. Good or bad, as long as it was strong enough to leave a marked impression.” I gestured to
the twig still lying on the floor. “If an object has a personal connection—a favorite piece of jewelry
or a toy doll for instance—and if that person has a deep secret, it generally is imprinted on an object.
Or, in the case of trauma, if an object is associated with a violent incident or demise.”
“From a twig, you saw what it—the beast—did to the deer?” Miro poured himself a glass of
water from a chilled pitcher. It was as if the mundane act grounded him as we spoke. He wouldn’t
look at us.
“No, I relived what it did to the deer.” My words stilled him as he replaced the water container in
the fridge.
“She can help us,” Svet declared, splaying his hands on the table.
They needed to know the rest. But I couldn’t get the words out. Instead, I stared at the food, which
was now cold. I watched the cheese, stiff and shiny with grease. I’d been so ecstatic to finally be
home that I’d immediately set to work cooking. Which turned out great! Because as Svet explained,
werewolves, like other shape changing beings, loved to eat. It was a great way to make an impression
on the male I was going to work closely with. But my new boss no longer seemed interested in the
food I’d prepared, and my chance to make a good impression was fast slipping away.
Might as well get it over with.... “I saw myself here. During a blood moon, and there is one not
too many nights from now. I don’t know if it has any significance in breaking this curse, other than a
time marker. Because, whatever I’m doing, I didn’t see that. But I saw you.” I lifted my gaze, meeting
Miro’s intense, jet-black eyes. They were deep and haunted. A little shiver raced over my skin,
sprouting gooseflesh. I hid my arms under the table lest they see. “I’m here to help you. Even if you
did kidnap me; even if that image from the deer made me want to run like hell.”
“Perfect! Welcome to Blackwater Manor. This house sits on eighty acres and borders the pack
lands on all sides. We’re the Blackwater Pack.” Svet was obviously relieved as he stabbed his food.
“How familiar are you with pack structure?”
“It varies with different supernatural beings.” I dropped Miro’s gaze to have the absent
conversation with the alpha.
“Right, and werewolves are pack creatures, but they’re a little more...brutal. Which you saw in
my truck.” He pinched his lips together, hesitating on how deep to venture.
“Y’all won’t scare me away.” I trailed my finger around the rim of the cup.
“You should be terrified, red.” Miro’s response sent another shiver over my skin. It wasn’t from
fear. If that was what he’d intended, he failed. I felt a spark of warmth deep in my belly at the
delicious way his words seemed to caress my skin.
My cheeks warmed. I didn’t date, but that was because the young supernatural men of my
acquaintance were nothing more than dashing boys. Here, deep in the wilderness, the proximity to
these primal males was damn near overwhelming. Can I really stay here and help them? Squaring
my shoulders, I reassured myself as much as stating my intent. “I’ve seen myself here. I’m supposed to
be here. Now, start talking so we can get this done by the deadline.”
“You see us breaking this soon?” It was the first time something raw consumed Miro’s voice.
Hope. I was giving him hope.
“Well, there’s a blood moon, that’s all I know. And that’s a powerful celestial event so something
we do will culminate at that time.” I sighed. “Honestly, there are too many unknowns at this point.”
“Did you see the curse broken?” Miro’s voice was deadly.
The little hairs at the nape of my neck tingled. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “You can start by
telling me what exactly happened to make you this way.”
“Little brother, should I start, or would you like to take the stage for this entire soliloquy?” Svet
quipped, trying to lighten the somber atmosphere of the kitchen.
It didn’t work. “Do whatever the fuck you want,” Miro bit back.
The table already felt too crowded with my hope-filled brother and the innocent seer. It was best I
stay back away from Addi. Her pulse thundered in her veins. Instinct should have sent her screaming.
Instead, she turned those soulful eyes to me, watching with caution, but staying with determination.
I held my plate and leaned against the island, as even my cold food stared back at me with an
accusatory glare. A knot of hunger tightened in my stomach. Not having a microwave, I was too
hungry to dump it in a skillet to reheat on the stovetop. But my mouth felt like sand as my brother
waited for my confession.
“I don’t know where to start,” I admitted.
“The beginning is usually the best place,” the beautiful apparition offered. She’d turned in her seat
and rested her chin on the chair back as she gazed across the kitchen at me. “Where is your pack
from? You’re not native to North America.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Svet told me. But even though you speak English well, you both get so comfortable
that your accent slips. There’s a roughness to your cadence that isn’t American English—definitely
not Southern dialect or Creole.”
Damn, this one is sharp. “The Blackwater Pack migrated from the Ural Mountains to this part of
the world in the 1700s. Our father was tired of the endless wars our kind faced in those vast, snowy
terrains.”
“We barely remember our homeland,” Svet added, gazing into the distance, mind no doubt
consumed with vague images.
“You’re ancient,” Addi breathed, pressing her lips together to hide a smirk. “Think of how much
history you’ve experienced.”
I snorted. “Something like that.”
Whether she meant to or not, she was putting us at ease. Svet must have felt it too, because he
started again. “What you have to understand about my brother is that little Prince Miroslav grew up
reckless. Our parents encouraged any displays of brash behavior, chalking it up to a bold backbone.
The years passed, and he grew worse. Too late, they realized it also made him willful.”
“The respect for authority or others was lacking. While it was part of our training, I pushed the
limits,” I ground out. I hated this, my flaws and the sins of the past ripped open and set on full display.
I deserved judgement and condemnation, but I couldn’t meet those keen grey eyes. The flecks of storm
cloud green made her seem more sympathetic. Maybe she was a kind soul, but I couldn’t bear to be a
hero in her eyes.
“Who did you upset?” Addi pressed, her voice suddenly so gentle it hurt.
“Mardi Gras was always my weakness. It’s changed over the years, seen its share of world events
and catastrophes. After the ugly, brutal war that ripped the humans in this country apart, and between
plagues of illnesses, the 1880s celebrations were wild.” I stopped. The fondness slipping into my
voice was dangerous. The old nostalgia for debauchery was hard to condemn. Of course, my curse
was an easy reminder of the price for those sins.
“Who did you piss off?” Addi repeated, clearly fixated on that aspect.
“An Argét Sorceress.” I watched as no flicker of recognition passed over her features. “Although
she lives in the utmost secrecy, she rules this area with an iron will. I hurt one of her children. A
cunning queen, she didn’t strike me down or even approach me at first. The sorceress watched,
waited. And five years later, she caught me at a bad time and split me from my wolf form, cursing that
form to be the epitome of villainy. ‘If you want to act like a monster, I’ll make a beast who consumes
you.’”
My voice had grown quieter with each sentence until the words of my judge were a whisper. Even
so, they hung heavy in the air.
Addi licked her lips, her tongue capturing my attention and stirring me from my stupor. “Have
you...tried apologizing?” she asked.
I snorted. “Did you not hear the part about secrecy?”
“We can’t find the sorceress.” Svet pushed back from his seat and grabbed his plate.
What came next was the worst. I hated it. Reliving that night—the memory would forever haunt
me. There would be no putting it to rest as long as I lived. But it needed telling, and it was my story to
tell. If Addi was going to stay, she needed to know who she was trying to save.
“That night was the first time the beast came out to play,” I finished, this time staring hard at Addi,
unable to look back at my brother. “I couldn’t shift form at will all that day. At sunset, I blacked out
—”
“Liar, liar. I’ll burn your ass in a fire, motherfucker. Why don’t you tell them you see
everything and that it fucking eats you alive?” That voice. It rumbled in my mind. The beast pushed
against my control, forcing me to set my plate down quickly. Svet threw me a look, but I gave him a
curt shake of the head. I resisted the urge to grip the counter in a white-knuckle hold. There was a
brief struggle, the beast restless and wanting to come out, even though the sun was up.
Finally, with a mighty shove, I pushed the beast away. His laughter trickled through my mind.
Exhaustion washed through me on the tail of the struggle. Having a monster barrage me every day, all
day, for the endless decades was truly the worst curse imaginable.
“Miro?” Addi asked gently. “You don’t have to finish the story.”
It’s not that, red. Steeling my spine, I spoke the lie I’d been giving out for decades. That I didn’t
see the destruction. That the screams of that family didn’t fester in my mind, fueling the guilt that
broke me over and over. “In the morning, I woke in a pack member’s house, lying amidst the carnage
and gore of the female to whom I’d been betrothed and all her family. We—” I gestured to Svet “—
were set to marry twin sisters; today, not a pack member from that bloodline is living.”
Those pink lips parted, and Addi drew in a shaky breath. My words hadn’t surprised her. She saw
what the beast did to the deer, and it must have prepared her for the final straw of my tale. Svet
bustled around the kitchen, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away. Those stormy eyes became an
anchor somewhere during my confession.
From the sink where the pouring water was already mixing into suds, Svet added a few relevant
details. “Our father sectioned off this manor—its owner eager to sell and move. For other reasons,
mind! My father made the property line distinct from pack land. Our shaman cast a protection here. So
long as Miro is on this property before dark, the beast can’t leave its borders.”
“And the beast can’t get into the house, garage, or shed,” I said.
“Okay, I’m confused.” Addi held up her hands, shaking her head. “What exactly was the curse?
You talk like the beast is a different being, but it’s Miro’s curse.”
I recited the words from memory. They were burned into my brain. “‘If you want to act like a
monster, I’ll make a beast who consumes you. By night and by day, nature will be split. Until your
wolf is tamed, the beast will have the power of destruction he so badly desires.”
“So you’re the beast.” Addi lifted her hands, her face crinkled in confusion.
“I am not the beast. My wolf form is cursed.” Even as I said it, the words rang hollow. I stalked
over to the fridge, dumping my mostly untouched breakfast into a reusable container. Without looking
at my brother or the strange, pleasant-smelling woman, I ground out, “I’m going to bed. There are
journals and books on magic, if you have any inclination to read them. Until you have a plan how to
break this, we have nothing more to offer.”
“We have one more matter to discuss,” Svet called after my retreating form.
Of course he did. I just wanted to take my sleeping potion and steal a few precious hours away
from the beast. Rolling my eyes to the ceiling, I turned enough to glare at him. “What is it?”
“We need to explain her presence to the pack.”
When he paused, I waved my hand to elaborate.
“I have an idea, but I wanted to ask your opinion first?” Svet lifted a questioning brow.
He didn’t imply the rest. It had taken nearly a decade, but the pack had rallied around me. At first
it was because of my father. But slowly and surely, they’d championed me. The curse molded me into
their second prince, the sword who stood behind the heir who was now our alpha and had been for
the last year, after finding our father’s headless corpse being chomped on by alligators. Thinking
about that dead end always gave me a headache. How he’d met his demise couldn’t be confirmed.
“They can’t know her true purpose,” I reiterated, taking a step upstairs. “Not unless she finds
something concrete to break the curse.”
“Then what is she doing here? What’s the cover story?” There was a smile in Svet’s voice.
I didn’t like it.
“I don’t know, make something up,” I snapped.
“Okay, I will.” Svet turned, taking Addi into the conversation by addressing her more than me.
“We don’t want to get the pack’s hopes up. It’s happened before, and it’s crushing to know we’re
causing them angst. So, for better or worse, the only thing that will occupy wagging tongues is a juicy
story. Congratulations, Addi, you’re Miro’s mate. You’ve been dating secretly for months and now
finally decided to elope, and you tied the knot this morning in the presence of your alpha—the
surprised and delighted best man.”
My roar of protest echoed Addi’s shriek of disagreement.
“Like hell I am!” She shot to her feet, hands fisted on her hips.
The strange fire in her eyes entranced me, killing the words on my lips. Would it be so bad?
“I’m the alpha, my word is law.” Svet put the frying pan away and stepped toward the door. “I
need to protect my brother, and he’s right about the pack’s hopes. I have a ring, and you can sign a
marriage license. We’ll avoid a blood exchange ceremony. Anyway, is there anything you need to
make your stay here more pleasant, Addi?”
Addi blustered, words stuck in her throat. “Just like that? Do you always move with such
authoritative speed?”
Her sharp tone set me at unease. I didn’t like hearing the note of fear her anger was trying to
cover.
Svet just grinned. “I’m the alpha; it’s the only way I know how to roll.”
“Isn’t there another way, brother?” I ground out. “Having her stay here isn’t wise. You know I hate
people on the property after dark.”
“She’ll be safe in the house, and y’all can annul this easily when the curse is broken.” Svet
crossed his arms over his chest. “Sign the damn paper and put the ring on your bride, Miroslav.”
There it was. An alpha command. The physical pull to obey threaded through every fiber of my
being. It could be resisted. But that would take more energy than I currently had time for. “Are you
good with being my fake mate for the time being?” I asked, hardening my voice so that my fatigue
didn’t seep into it. It would never do to let my “bride” see me as weak.
“Well, if that’s the only way. But—but I’m not twenty-one yet.”
Anger ticked in my chest, and I clenched my hands, glaring at Svet. “You took an underage
supernatural girl?”
“I’ll be twenty-one soon!” she objected.
Svet waved his hands. “It’s a generality in the supernatural communities, taking after the humans
—who have short ass lives.”
Addi winced, but Svet didn’t seem to notice. I did. I noticed everything about her. From the long
line of her neck to the curve of her shoulders to the swell of her breasts hidden under that frothy white
blouse.
“Werewolves, like other pack beings, consider the age of adulthood to be eighteen at the highest.
Most mature by fifteen or sixteen,” Svet continued as if I hadn’t just lost myself in the lovely vision
across the room.
Addi just shook her head, but her eyes took in the kitchen, and she let out a long sigh. “Let’s break
this curse. I’ll fake mate him.”
“Good.” Svet clapped his hands together.
“On one condition,” Addi continued. “No one from New Orleans can know I’m here. I need to
stay hidden so I can focus on this work.”
“That means they’ll think we actually kidnapped you,” I warned.
Addi shrugged. She made the small movement look elegant. “It has to be secret.”
“The pack will keep quiet about you. That’s an easy one to settle. So! Time to marry my baby
brother,” Svet faked emotion in his voice just to screw with me.
“Get it over with,” I snapped.
“So romantic, Miro.” Svet cleared his throat. “Addi, do you take my brother as your lawfully
wedded mate?”
“I do.” She looked at me, and whatever that emotion was crossing her face, I couldn’t read it.
Svet repeated the question to me. It was as if it came from far away. My voice was hollow to my
own ears. “I do.”
“Great! Fantastic. By the power of the alpha of the Blackwater Pack, I pronounce you mated. To
make it legal, and add another layer, here’s a human marriage license. Sign here, both of you.” Svet
pulled a paper out of his back pocket with a flourish. The date on the thing read that it was issued
weeks ago, when Bogdana cast the bones. I narrowed my eyes at my brother, but he simply held out a
pen to me.
With a scowl, I put my name to paper, and then watched as my “mate” moved gracefully to where
I stood. There wasn’t fear in her stormy eyes as she approached her fate. But when Addi’s fingers
wrapped around the pen, our skin touched. The brush of her against me sent a bolt of fire straight
through my veins, heating my blood with a delicious arousal. She’s going to be mine....
Fake. This is all fake.
“Do you need anything to make your stay here easier?” I asked my new mate, echoing Svet’s
earlier question.
My mate. That was going to take a long time to get used to. But hopefully, it wouldn’t have to last
much longer than the blood moon.
“Actually, I could use a few items from the store. I’ve got cash—”
“Give me the list,” Svet interrupted her. “We’re not a poor pack, and you’re helping me. Whatever
you require, it’s yours.”
Jealousy sparked bright emerald in my mind. He was gruff, but my brother wasn’t bad. He was my
biggest supporter. Still, as my mate, it was up to me to provide for her. Not him.
As I worked through this wash of new emotions, Addi responded to my brother. “Good, because I
don’t want to go back into town and have them find me. It will distract from our purpose.”
“You really don’t want to be found, do you? Aren’t you afraid they’ll worry?” I asked.
“Nope. I mean, it sucks, but this is my life. It’s something Margot—my sister—doesn’t
understand. She has these grand plans and is ambitious as fuck.” Addi stopped and shook her head.
“This is my adventure. I won’t have her ruin it—or come fix it for me.”
Huh. She really wants to be here.
“Here, bro,” Svet tossed me a box. I opened it and a plain, albeit large ring sat inside. It
was...yucky.
I coughed, turning to Addi. She looked at the ring with anything but excitement. Fingers splayed,
she lifted her hand. And then those beautiful green eyes lifted to meet mine.
Something flickered in the far recesses of my mind.
“With this ring, I thee wed, and for however short a time we’re together, I’ll look after you as a
princess our pack deserves. You’re safe with me, Addi.” As I spoke, I slid the ring over her finger. It
was loose and slipped over the knuckle easily.
It wasn’t the piece of jewelry but the feel of her solid fingers in mine that struck me. Hers were
strong, but not rough, scarred, or calloused. That made them look delicate engulfed in mine. There
was a long moment were we only looked at one another.
My brother bustled about behind us, and the creak of the back door broke the moment. “I’ll file the
marriage license. Text me your list.”
“I don’t have a phone,” Addi admitted.
“Use my brother’s.” With a salute, Svet was gone, leaving a peacefulness in his wake.
With a tug, Addi slid her hand out of mine. “So you stay outside all night...husband?”
The teasing smile on those lush lips was a relief to see. “Yeah.” I pulled at the back of my neck
with my hand. “But you’ll be safe here as long as you stay inside.”
The moment the words were out of my mouth, I realized how dumb they sounded. I wanted to be
the good guy, to put her at ease.
“Alright then—” Addi walked to the other room “—have a pleasant nap. I’ll go find those books
you talked about.”
I let my gaze trail over her lithe frame. She was wearing a long skirt and blouse that rode up to
flash tanned midriff. A spark of hunger flared in my chest, and I recognized the pull as desire. Addi
was a damn fine woman, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she would be like as a real mate.
“Thanks. You want me to show you where the library is?” Already I was stalling, trying to make
her stay.
“Nope.” She gave me a full smile. “Go to sleep, you’re awfully grumpy.”
I flashed her a devilish grin. “Well, honey bunny, you’re welcome to join.”
Flaming red splotches appeared on her cheeks. “I’m good with the fake mating, but it doesn’t
mean I need to act that way when no one is watching.”
“Suit yourself, but I only have one bed in this entire house, so feel free to snuggle in it at night.”
“Don’t you have a couch?”
I wish I’d burned the damn thing. “Yes.”
“Perfect. That’s where I’ll sleep.”
Chuckling darkly to myself, I went upstairs. Except when I folded into my bed, I tossed and
turned. Exhaustion from the physical strain of the curse dragged me into a fitful sleep, and the sleeping
potion didn’t pull me deep enough to forget. Addi’s smell trickled up here. It was divine, and I
couldn’t get that scent out of my nose.
What am I going to do with a...bride?
The late afternoon sunlight fell on the old, worn boards of the wraparound porch. Up here in the front,
the drive wove through the mighty dogwood trees and luxurious magnolias, the dirt path passing by
the stone pavers that lead to the front door. It then trailed around to the back where a garage housed a
truck and covered car, and a mostly empty shed fanned out in the circle of the drive. Other than the
need for landscaping, flower gardens, and trellises of winding greenery, this farmhouse was amazing,
far better experienced in real life than in dreams. It was spacious and full of potential. Already, my
mind wandered to paint samples from the hardware store, planned a trip to Home Goods or Hobby
Lobby to get decorating pieces, and wondered what charming, authentic finds I could collect at the
antique shops around the city.
It’s not my home. Every time I dreamed up a new scenario, that aggravating little voice chirped a
reminder. But...it could be. I had seen myself here. The various visions that’d come to me over the
years showed this place as my home.
Now that I was finally here, I doubted what I’d seen. How did Miro play into this? My visions
were puzzle pieces. Just because glimpses of this place were frequent, didn’t mean I’d ever seen the
whole picture. What if this was just part of my epic adventure, and I never came to live here
permanently?
Leaning on the push broom handle and fidgeting with the loose wedding ring, I sighed. That hurt
too badly to think about. The orphan who wanted a home of her own—how tragic.
How cliché. I squeezed my eyes tight, fighting back the pinch in my chest.
“What’s that for?” Miro’s soft question was like velvet to my ears.
“Damn you, don’t you make any noise when you move?” I snapped, hiding the guilty feeling about
daydreaming over this beautiful house that was the perfect blank canvas for my creative longing under
my annoyance.
Miro was holding the portable part of a single serving blender in one hand. He leaned against the
wall and took a long sip of the green, colored contents. It was probably one of the healing smoothies
I’d found a recipe card for in the drawer by the fridge.
“You deep cleaned my house.” He stared at me over the rim of the drink, as if he was trying to
puzzle something out.
I shrugged. “I needed a break from those heavy spell books.”
“So you cleaned every room on the lower level?”
It wasn’t like there was a delicious stack of raunchy regency novels to devour. Not that I wanted
this alpha male to know about my guilty little pleasure.
“I lost track of time.” My voice rose as if it was a question as I nervously pulled the spelled
necklace chain.
“Addi, you don’t have to help me. You don’t know me, you don’t owe me anything, and other than
paying you, we have nothing to offer you.” There was a raw desperation to his tone.
“Well, you don’t know me either. I’m supposed to be here, and I’m here. But those books are
thick, and it will be work paging through them,” I added, not wanting him to get his hopes up.
“I’ve spent years studying those texts for an answer. There is nothing. But who knows, maybe
you’ll see something I didn’t. Read between the lines.” Miro sounded...defeated.
It made my chest clench. But I doubted he wanted my pity.
“I’m staying.” I stretched my arms out, pushing the broom handle away. “I will be here at the
blood moon. Something I do will help. Until then, I can see if the beyond sends me anything useful
when I touch the books.”
How I wished I could contact Margot! Her nifty gut instinct could direct us to which books to
choose. She lived and made every damn decision based on that ability. Sometimes it drove her to
extremes, like jumping off the roof to fall harmlessly onto beanbags when we were ten. I could use
that ability to brush my hands over the books and see if one would help. Instead, I had to read the
tomes the old-fashioned way.
Thinking of her wasn’t helpful either. Already, as the day wore on, I knew how sick with worry
she’d be. I’m such a shitty person to put her through this.
I swallowed hard. Hiding out here was the right thing to do. Technically, I was Barbara’s ward
until my birthday, and that wasn’t until after the blood moon. Neither my guardian nor my sister would
let me stay here if they knew where I was.
“What is it?” Miro asked, keen gaze never wavering.
“Nothing,” I chirped, flashing him a smile. “As I was saying, I’m staying, lover boy.”
“My brother is a good man. Single, too, if you’re interested.”
I blanched. “What?” I stammered. “You...me...we’re supposed to be the fake couple.”
“You flirted with him.”
“I was friendly. Nothing more!” Oh, merciful heavens, I didn’t need this right now.
“Is that what this is?”
“Yes.”
He pushed off the wall. The screen door creaked as he opened it. “What do you want for supper?”
The question was so normal. It made me pause for a moment, repeating the words in my mind.
“What can you cook?” I teased, knowing from the contents of his fridge that he ate fairly normal
food considering his alternate form was part animal. And that as a wolf-man, the hybrid was raging
and destructive.
“I can grill.”
“That works for me.” This felt like a strange dance. My skepticism and deep mistrust of Fate’s
agenda made this seemingly domestic routine hard to believe.
“Great, I already have the steaks out. How do you like your meat, red?”
Dammit with that nickname! I knew my cheeks were scalding. “Medium rare.”
His brow jerked. He moved to go inside but stopped. “One more thing. No matter what you hear
tonight, stay indoors. You’ll be safe.”
A shiver raced over my body, and it wasn’t the good kind. “Don’t worry, I have no intentions of
meeting the beast.”
Miro grunted, sweeping one more long glance over me. My body warmed in response. After he
retreated into the house, I let out a long breath. My fake mate was...hot.
“Oh, Addi, that’s trouble,” I whispered to myself. Sure, I’d seen Miro in a blip of a vision. But
I’d never stopped to consider him like that. I rested my chin on the broom handle and chewed over
this strange physical and emotional draw. Would it be the worst thing to get close to him?
Or was he always going to see me as a business arrangement? I snorted a laugh. I had neither
Margot’s vivacity, nor her friend Cassidy’s raw sexuality. But now that I was finally here, in this
place, an inner goddess was stirring inside me. She begged to be fueled and unleashed.
She seemed to promise that everything would be okay, that it was safe for her to finally take up a
voice in my decisions.
“Alright, I trust you,” I caved. “But I’m going to keep you on a tight leash.”
There was a snort of derision. Challenge accepted, she seemed to say.
Fate have mercy.
It was going to be a hard shift tonight. Physically, I was spent. There was no choice but to endure this
living nightmare. Leaving my clothes folded on a chair near the back door, I ventured out into the
early evening.
I’d left the seer—my new bride—ensconced in the antique couch, face smooshed against the
elaborate stitching. I offered the bed.
Wasn’t that the rightful spot of a bride on her wedding night? A dark smile curved my lips, but it
was short lived.
A pulse of pain spread through my joints. I grit my teeth and went through the safety procedures.
The doors were locked, as were the windows, the patio furniture and gas grill tucked away in the
shed. The garage was shut tight, my truck and car safe from destruction.
Supernatural beings who could shift form were used to the sight of naked flesh, but as I went
through the nightly security checks, I absently wondered if Addi would catch a glimpse out the
window. The curtains were drawn, but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t peep.
A low growl rumbled through me. I wondered why I liked that idea so much.
On the heels of the pleasant thought was another spasm of agony. This one shook through my
whole being. Time to get down to the bayou.
The banks of turf down there were distorted and most of the trees were scarred by the violence of
the change. What I’d told Addi wasn’t quite true. Hell, no one knew what it was like to encounter the
beast. To lose the battle to the monster every damn night.
I didn’t black out—ever.
How could I hold my head up as a fearsome member of our pack and admit that for the time
before the sun set, during the fresh hell of twilight, I knew my monster. And no matter how bitterly I
fought, I lost. Every single time. I was Sisyphus and Prometheus wrapped in one hellish existence.
Addi asked why I called the beast a separate entity. Well, it was.
“I am?” an evil voice taunted. It was my mouth. The sound was that of my voice. But it was the
beast who spoke.
“Fuck you,” I snapped.
“You’d like that too much, asshole.” There was a nail grating chuckle that ripped through my
throat, and I was helpless to stop it.
Humans would say I had a split personality. How little they could comprehend a real curse; what
they spoke of was a sickness, something their medical professionals were getting better at treating as
the ages progressed.
I picked up the pace and ran to the water’s edge. It was a close call, escaping from the house just
in time before the beginning stages of the curse took over.
“So...we have a new house guest?” the beast mused. “Pretty, isn’t she.”
“You leave her alone!” I shouted. But the beast wasn’t in control of my body. Not until the stroke
of sunset. And the house was safe.
“I’m going to have fun with her,” the beast promised, laughing maniacally.
I coughed through the laugh, regaining my vocal chords. “You can’t touch her.”
“I can sing, croon to her as a true lover would.”
A dark shiver chilled my blood.
Down by the bayou, I sank by the shore. I didn’t want to fight. Right now, it didn’t feel like there
was any energy in my body to do so. But I knew the moment the shift happened it would be such a
struggle that I couldn’t help but fight off the curse.
I always lost.
The bloodlust was already creeping around the edges. The shift’s pull was brutal.
“Why didn’t you tell her you can talk to me?” The beast was talkative tonight. That high, petulant
tone nauseated me. I didn’t sound like that, but it was my body talking, my vocal chords capable of the
sound.
As if the whining wasn’t enough, the muscles in my back seized. I pitched forward, falling
headfirst into the brackish water.
“You can’t escape me, weak one,” the voice taunted in my mind. “You’re unkillable. We’re going
to spend eternity together!”
I pushed out of the water, spitting and hacking. “I hate you!”
“So...you hate yourself?” the voice snickered.
“You’re a curse—you’re not me!” I insisted.
“Hmm, wrong again,” the beast chortled.
“Not only are you a monster, but you’re a filthy liar,” I raged. But the pain was so intense that I
dug my hands into the earth.
“Now you’re just being mean, Miro, my boy!”
My body quaked, and I clenched my arms and legs to fight it off.
“For your naughty little insult, which I’m fucking sick and tired of hearing by the way, I’m going to
have some fun tonight.” The beast sang out gleefully. “You can’t fight me—I am you!”
“Nnooo,” I sobbed. This was it. This was the worst. The pleading. When it reached this point,
there was no turning from it.
My only solace was that no one else ever witnessed this portion of the change.
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passé avec le présent, et celle-ci en contraste. J’étais venue en joie,
je reviens en deuil ; j’avais un frère vivant, il est mort…
Je me plais à Montels : on y vit comme on veut, sans visites ni
ennuis du monde ; on entre, on sort, on se promène, sans nul
assujettissement ; puis la campagne est grande, toute diverse en
paysages, en toupes de montagnes, douces, couvertes de
châtaigniers ; cela plaît à voir et à parcourir. Si je devais quitter le
Cayla, c’est ici que je voudrais demeurer. Pour faire de ce château
une demeure agréable, il n’y aurait qu’à relever quelques ruines qui,
même telles quelles, sont toutes remplies d’intérêt. Quel charme n’a
pas ce vieux salon tout tapissé de vieux portraits de militaires,
d’hommes de robe et d’église, de belles dames, comme on n’en voit
plus, de mise et de beauté ? J’en ai remarqué une en toilette de bal
à côté d’un capucin méditant sur une tête de mort. De tout temps les
contrastes se sont touchés. Montels n’est plus autre chose partout,
dans la demeure et ses habitants, dans cette chambre appelée
chambre du cardinal pour avoir logé le cardinal de Bernis, toute
pleine à présent de pommes de terre.
Je ne suis pas étonnée que ce bel esprit, qui se connaissait en
jolies choses, eût choisi ce lieu pour sa maison de campagne, assez
près et assez loin de la ville, paysage parfaitement dessiné pour des
pastorales et des rêveries poétiques, si le cardinal rêvait encore. Qui
sait ? Qui sait en quel temps et en quel état on cesse d’être poëte ?
Celui-ci cependant, dans le cours de sa vie, se souvenant qu’il était
prêtre, eut repentir de ses chansons légères et fit faire des
recherches pour les détruire ; mais de la plume au vent ! Le mal ne
s’arrête pas comme on veut. Les épîtres à Chloé et à la Pompadour
sont restées, et nul ne sait, ou bien peu, que leur auteur a voulu les
mettre en cendre. Je tiens cela de mon père dont le père avait connu
l’Apollon cardinal.
Il y a encore ici dans un vieux tiroir une curieuse correspondance
sentimentale du fameux La Peyrouse avec Mlle de Vézian, sa
fiancée, devenue ensuite marquise de Sénégas, pendant sans doute
que le marin courait les mers. Il faut que je demande, pour les voir,
ces lettres à ma cousine. Précieuse découverte, débris du cœur de
La Pérouse, aussi curieuse que celle de son vaisseau. Mais qui
songe à cela ? Qui songe à chercher un grand homme dans son
intime ?
Voilà comme Montels occuperait son petit coin dans l’histoire.
Bien des lieux célèbres ont eu moins d’intérêt ; le tout, c’est de
savoir le faire ressortir, cet intérêt ; et ce n’est pas, ce me semble, ce
qui manque soit dans les hommes ou dans la nature. Que de trésors
sous une mousse et, si je veux, dans cette chambre inélégante et
glacée ! D’abord le soleil à mes pieds sous la table où je les chauffe
dans ce grand carré lumineux qui me vient de la fenêtre à côté…
Description interrompue par le départ annoncé au beau milieu de
ma page.
[Sans date.] — Que dire ? que répondre ? Que m’annoncez-vous

qui se prépare pour Maurice ! Pauvre rayon de gloire qui va venir sur
sa tombe ! Que je l’aurais aimé sur son front, de son vivant, quand
nous l’aurions vu sans larmes ! C’est trop tard maintenant pour que
la joie soit complète, et néanmoins j’éprouve je ne sais quel triste
bonheur à ce bruit funèbre de renommée qui va s’attacher au nom
que j’ai le plus aimé, à me dire que cette chère mémoire ne mourra
pas. Oh ! le cœur voudrait tant immortaliser ce qu’il aime ! Je l’avais
ouï dire, je le sens, et que ceci s’étend du ciel à la terre ; soit par
amour ou par foi, soit pour ce monde, soit pour l’autre, l’âme
repousse le néant. Maurice, mon ami, vit toujours, il s’est éteint, il a
disparu d’ici-bas comme un astre meurt en un lieu pour se rallumer
dans un autre. Que cette pensée me console, me soutient dans
cette séparation ! que j’y rattache d’espérances ! Ce rayon qui va
passer sur Maurice, je le vois descendre du ciel, c’est le reflet de son
auréole, de cette couronne qui brille au front des élus, des
intelligences sauvées. Celles qui se perdent n’ont rien devant Dieu
qui leur reste, qui les marque, quelque signe de distinction que les
hommes leur fassent, car toute gloire humaine passe vite. Je ne me
réjouirais pas si je ne voyais que celle-là seule pour mon frère ; mais
il est mort saintement, et j’accepte avec transport la glorification de
son intelligence qui peut s’associer à la canonisation de son âme.
Je ne vous dis plus rien sur ce sujet infini, vous ayant écrit et dit
mes sentiments et remercîments profonds, à vous, à M. Sainte-
Beuve, à Mme Sand, pour la part que vous aurez chacun à cette
publication du Centaure, cette belle œuvre inconnue de mon frère, à
la mise en lumière de sa vie et de son talent.
Oh ! que vous me touchez de me dire que mes pensées, mes
expressions, mes images tiennent beaucoup de Maurice, que nous
étions, lui et moi, frère et sœur jumeaux d’intelligence !
Ressemblance la plus belle que vous puissiez me trouver et la plus
douce pour moi [32] …
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
[32] Lignes effacées.
[Le 2 avril.] — Courant d’impressions et de pensées abandonné

à l’endroit effacé, rentré dans l’âme et perdu pour ce papier. Dois-je
le regretter ? Non, sans doute, mais ces refoulements, ces
épanchements arrêtés, j’en voudrais connaître la cause. Il n’en était
pas de même autrefois : la pensée, la vie coulait d’abondance, s’en
allait à pleins bords, s’épandait en mille endroits, en mille façons, et
maintenant cela s’arrête à un grain de sable, je me délaisse à tous
moments, les petits riens font quelque chose : indice
d’affaiblissement. Que serait-ce sans le soutien d’en haut qui me
soulève si puissamment quelquefois ? Je serais toute et toujours
abattue. Le monde, les conversations, la diversion sont de bien peu
de secours dans cette langueur de l’âme. Je viens de l’essayer. Rien
n’y fait radicalement, rien ne change le fond. Toute la puissance des
distractions n’agit qu’à la surface, n’arrive qu’à faire naître quelque
sourire au dehors.
Lu Waverley. Oh ! la déchirante mort d’un frère, l’horrible
catastrophe à la fin ! J’en suis tout émue. Quoique fictions, ces
sortes de choses pénètrent, font souffrir ; un conte m’a tiré des
larmes, quoique j’en verse peu pour des contes ; mais Walter Scott
est si intéressant et plein d’effet sur le cœur dans cette lugubre
peinture remplie de traits attendrissants ! Que n’ai-je quelquefois des
livres, ces parlants à l’âme, qui lui font tant d’impression ! Rien n’agit
si puissamment sur moi que les lectures, rien ne me fait tant sentir, à
présent que se perd le goût de toutes choses.
Et écrire, que me fait d’écrire ? Interrogation muette parfois, plus
souvent pleine de réponses. Cependant je n’écris guère. Ce cahier
même, je le néglige ; plusieurs jours se passent sans y rien laisser,
et je n’y mets plus de date. Je n’ai plus de plaisir à retrouver
d’époque ni rien dans ma vie si douloureuse de souvenirs. Ce qui
m’avait charmée ou me charmerait me désole, parce que tout
s’empreint de deuil. Peut-être un jour, avec le temps, cet état d’âme
changera ; mais il n’est pas de diversion possible encore. Je viens
d’essayer du monde, décidément le monde m’ennuie ; l’esprit qu’on
y rencontre n’est pas de mon goût, le sot rire ne m’égaye pas. Je n’y
puis prendre part, et aussi je puis dire comme disait Esther, je crois,
qu’au milieu de la foule et des divertissements je ne laisse pas de
me trouver seule. Savez-vous où je me plais, dans quel monde ? A
l’église. Là je suis chez moi. Toute ma vie j’ai préféré une chapelle à
un salon, les anges aux hommes, et ce parler intérieur avec Dieu à
celui qui bruit au dehors. On n’est pas né en solitude, on n’est pas
élevé, on n’a pas vécu entre ciel et terre, en plein air, près de la
croix, pour sentir comme les autres, comme ceux qui reçoivent du
monde leurs pensées et leurs affections. Rien ne m’est venu de là,
rien ne m’en viendra sans doute. Ce n’est pas la peine ni mon
vouloir de me tourner de ce côté.
Quel souvenir me prend ! A pareil jour j’ai perdu ma mère, à
pareil jour j’ai quitté Maurice et Paris. Triste date du 2 avril ! La vie
est toute coupée de douleurs. Les oiseaux n’ont pas de chagrin sans
doute, du moins la grive qui chante tout aujourd’hui sous ma fenêtre.
Joyeuse petite bête ! Je me suis mise à l’écouter bien des fois, à
prendre plaisir à ces sifflements, gazouillements et salutations au
printemps. Ces chants doux et réjouissants sous un genévrier,
montant avec l’air dans ma chambrette, sont d’un effet que je ne
puis dire. Valentino n’en approche pas pour le charme : Valentino où
j’entendais pourtant quatre-vingts musiciens et du Beethoven.
Préférer à cela une pauvre petite grive, quelle impertinence aux
beaux-arts ! Décidément je suis une sauvage.
Oui, je me demandais, à ces concerts et à bien d’autres choses à
Paris : Où donc est le ravissement qu’on t’avait promis ? Cependant
je voyais, j’entendais des merveilles, et rien pour m’étonner ! Il n’y
aura donc d’étonnement que dans le ciel ? Ce mécompte de
sensations, d’où vient-il ? De notre fini et de notre infini, sans doute,
de ce que l’âme qui est touchée sous les sens ne reçoit pas autant
qu’elle perçoit. D’ailleurs, depuis Ève, toute curiosité satisfaite est
désappointée.
[Sans date.] — Parcouru l’Histoire de Bossuet, toute pleine de

grandeurs, de cette élévation du siècle de Louis XIV, personnifiée
religieusement en cet homme de génie et de foi. C’est trop grand
pour que j’en parle, mais l’impression de cette lecture sur moi est si
belle et bonne que je le marque ; et puis que de souvenirs se
rattachent à ces fragments d’éloquence qui nous reportent à la plus
belle époque de la France, à la plus brillante cour du monde, et moi
à mon enfance et à Maurice ! A treize ou quatorze ans, je dévorais
les Oraisons funèbres qu’Érembert avait apportées du collége, sans
les comprendre sans doute, sans autre attrait que ces pensées du
ciel et de la mort, qui ont eu de bonne heure tant d’influence sur
moi ; et puis, plus tard, Maurice m’a si souvent, si admirablement
parlé des sermons de Bossuet, que nous avons lus ensemble, dont il
m’avait noté des passages, le dernier livre religieux que je lui ai
ouvert pendant sa maladie : tout cela m’a touchée en lisant cette
histoire où j’ai vu revenir la mienne. Mousse sur un cèdre, un rien qui
m’a donné à penser autant que le grand siècle. C’est le mien à moi,
mes beaux jours passés de jeunesse, et Maurice, le roi de mon
cœur. Peut-être y a-t-il de la faiblesse dans cette pente d’esprit vers
le cœur, vers soi et tout ce qui tient à soi ; c’est amour-propre,
égoïsme. J’en aurais peine si ce n’était le propre de la nature
souffrante de lier le monde à sa douleur. D’ailleurs il n’en paraît rien
au dehors, cela se fait dans l’âme, nul ne s’aperçoit de ce que je
sens ni n’en souffre. Je ne m’épanche que devant Dieu et ici. Oh !
qu’aujourd’hui je fais d’efforts pour écarter la tristesse qui ne vaut
rien, cette tristesse sans larmes, sèche, heurtant le cœur comme un
marteau ! C’est la plus pénible à sentir, et cependant il faut porter
celle-là comme une autre, et on la porte avec le même secours : la
croix, avec Jésus triste à la mort au Jardin des Olives.
Les litanies de la tristesse, que j’ai faites dans un élan
d’angoisses, trouveront ici leur place :
O Christ, qui êtes venu pour souffrir, ayez pitié de ma tristesse.

O Christ, qui avez pris sur vous nos douleurs,
O Christ, qui avez été délaissé en naissant,
O Christ, qui avez vécu sur la terre étrangère,
O Christ, qui n’avez pas eu où reposer votre tête,
O Christ, qui avez été méconnu,
O Christ, qui avez souffert les contradictions,
O Christ, qui avez souffert les tentations,
O Christ, qui avez vu mourir Lazare,
O Christ, qui dans vos angoisses avez sué le sang dans le Jardin
des Olives,
O Christ, qui avez été triste à la mort,
O Christ, qui avez reçu le baiser de Judas,
O Christ, qui avez été abandonné de vos disciples,
O Christ, qui avez été renié par un ami,
O Christ, qui avez été couronné d’épines,
O Christ, qui avez été flagellé,
O Christ, qui avez porté votre croix,
O Christ, qui vous êtes abattu trois fois dans le chemin du
Calvaire,
O Christ, qui avez vu les femmes de Jérusalem qui pleuraient,
O Christ, qui avez rencontré votre mère,
O Christ, qui avez vu au pied de la Croix le disciple que vous
aimiez,
O Christ, qui avez vu à vos côtés le larron impénitent,
O Christ, qui avez tant souffert pour les pécheurs,
O Christ, qui avez fini la vie en poussant un grand gémissement,
ayez pitié de ma tristesse.
Le jour des Rameaux. — Aujourd’hui que tout verdit, fleurit et

s’éjouit sous le soleil des Rameaux, quelque chose qui tient un peu
de cela me vient dans l’âme. Je m’y livre, je me repose sur ces doux
sentiments comme sur l’herbe d’un pré. Oh ! qu’il fait beau là dans
ma solitude et mes pensées du jour, jour d’hosanna, d’hymnes,
d’élans de foi et d’amour au Sauveur, le roi de gloire, le triomphateur
du monde, qui s’avance monté sur un âne, amenant à sa suite non
les peuples vaincus, mais les malades qu’il a guéris, les morts qu’il a
ressuscités ! J’avais devant moi à l’église, parmi les enfants de
chœur, un petit garçon dont la voix, la taille et les vives allures m’ont
rappelé Maurice quand il balançait l’encensoir à Andillac. Cela, se
mêlant aux émotions religieuses, me fait en ce moment un état
d’âme où je me plais, que je laisse ici sur ce mémorandum, devant
ce rameau bénit et garni de tant de pieux et doux souvenirs. Dans
mon enfance, c’était un bouquet de gâteaux et de fruits que nous
portions joyeusement à l’église. Qui avait le plus beau rameau était
le plus heureux, et avait été le plus sage : charmant objet
d’émulation pour les enfants qu’un arbrisseau couvert de doux
manger, banquet flottant sous la verdure, donné par Jésus aux petits
enfants qu’il aime et pour lui avoir chanté à pareil jour Hosanna dans
le temple ! Que la religion a des côtés gracieux ! Qu’elle est aimable
au premier âge !
Marie, Marie des C…, tout abattue, effrayée d’un redoublement
de souffrances qui la tiennent au lit dans de tristes pressentiments.
« Adieu, me dit-elle, non pas pour la dernière fois, j’espère, mais il
n’en est guère de plus triste et de plus douloureux. » Faut-il que
nous soyons à deux cents lieues ! Faut-il que je ne puisse aller
joindre cette chère amie, que je vois tant souffrir dans sa solitude !
Mais mon père, mais mon frère me retiennent aussi fortement qu’elle
me tire. J’ai l’âme écartelée. Mon Dieu, que l’amitié fait souffrir ! Tout
pour moi se tourne de ce côté en souffrances, soit pour cette vie soit
pour l’autre ; ou l’état d’âme ou l’état de santé de ceux que j’aime
m’afflige. Érembert cependant m’a bien consolée aujourd’hui. J’ai un
frère chrétien, qui remplit toutes les obligations de ce nom dans ce
saint temps de Pâques.
A pareil temps, l’an dernier, comme Maurice pareillement
m’occupait ! Ce souvenir se mêle à tout dans ma vie. J’ai passé
cette nuit en songe avec lui, moitié vivant, moitié mort. Je le voyais,
je lui parlais, mais ce n’était qu’un corps qui me disait que son âme
était au ciel. O âme de Maurice, à Maurice tout entier, quand te
verrai-je en effet ! Que d’élans vers ce lieu qui réunit le frère et la
sœur, tous ceux que la mort avait séparés ! et d’autres fois que de
craintes et tremblements devant cet autre monde où Dieu nous
juge !
Mon âme pourtant n’a rien qui lui pèse, rien qui lui donne un
remords. J’ai vécu heureusement loin du monde, dans l’ignorance
de presque tout ce qui porte au mal ou le développe en nous. A l’âge
où les impressions sont si vives, je n’en ai eu que de pieuses. J’ai
vécu comme dans un monastère ; aussi ma vie doit être incomplète
du côté du monde. Ce que je sais sous ce rapport me vient presque
d’instinct, d’inspiration, comme la poésie, et m’a suffi pour paraître
convenablement partout. Un certain tact m’avertit, me donne le sens
des choses et des airs d’habitude là où je me trouve le plus souvent
étrangère, comme dans les cercles. Mais je parle peu. J’ai l’esprit de
comprendre bien plus que d’exprimer. Pour ceci il faut l’usage ;
quand je converse, je sens que j’en manque, que l’à-propos ne vient
pas, ni la pensée juste ; presque jamais je ne dis d’abord ce que je
dirais ensuite. Les compliments me trouvent nulle ; la plaisanterie un
peu moins, à cause sans doute qu’elle aiguillonne l’esprit.
Dernièrement j’ai répondu par une bêtise à des démonstrations de
politesse qui m’ont prise à l’improviste. C’était aussi de la part de
quelqu’un qui m’intimide, un homme d’esprit qui me gêne, ce qui
comprime le jet de la pensée. Chose étrange ! j’aborde sans
embarras les premières intelligences ; je ne me sens pas plus
intimidée devant M. Xavier de Maistre que devant son fauteuil, et je
demeurerai liée près des gens les plus ordinaires, je perdrai mon
assurance pour passer parmi des paysans qui me regardent, pour
parler à mon confesseur. Il n’y avait que Maurice au monde avec qui
je n’ai jamais été timide.
La veille de Pâques. — Oh ! quelle différence l’an dernier, à

Paris ! Retour de profonds souvenirs. Ce soir-là il y avait eu
consultation de docteurs, j’étais bien affectée. Nous étions à
Valentino ; là fut remis ce paquet cacheté de noir ; là se trouvait cette
pauvre Marie, singulière rencontre un soir d’adieu ! Ce concert
finissait mon séjour à Paris, c’était le glas de ma mort au monde,
que j’écoutais sonner avec je ne sais quelle douce et triste émotion,
semblable un peu à celle que j’éprouve au souvenir de ces choses,
de ces personnes qui me reviennent comme des ombres dans ma
chambrette, à la même heure et moins harmonieusement qu’à
Valentino. Le concert, c’est la pluie qui bat ma vitre, et tant de
regrets qui me battent l’âme. J’ai senti, j’ai vu ce que je ne faisais
que craindre : la mort, la séparation à jamais ! Que j’ai besoin de
penser à la fête de demain ! Que cette résurrection est bonne ! Mon
Dieu, puisqu’il faut voir mourir, qu’il est doux de croire qu’on verra
revivre ! Puissent ces pensées de foi auxquelles je vais me livrer en
écarter d’autres qui font foule et m’oppressent l’âme !
Le soir de Pâques. — O Pâques, Pâques fleuries, jour de

renaissance, de reverdissement, de jubilations célestes ! Je ne sais
que dire, qu’exprimer de cette fête du passage, si magnifiquement
belle dans les temps anciens et nouveaux, qui a fait chanter l’In
exitu, l’O Filii, et à moi tant de cantiques intérieurs quand j’ai vu ce
matin Érembert à la table de communion. Encore un frère sauvé ! Il
faut être sœur chrétienne pour sentir cela et cette sorte de bonheur
qui vient d’espérer le ciel pour une âme qu’on aime, de la voir unie à
Dieu, au souverain bien.
Le 20 avril. — Oh ! c’était bien un rossignol que j’ai entendu ce

matin. C’était vers l’aurore et sur un réveil, de sorte qu’ensuite j’ai
cru que j’avais rêvé ; mais je viens d’entendre encore, mon musicien
est arrivé. Je note cela tous les ans, la venue du rossignol et de la
première fleur. Ce sont des époques à la campagne et dans ma vie.
L’ouverture du printemps si admirablement belle est ainsi marquée,
et le retard ou l’avancement des saisons. Mes charmants calendriers
ne s’y trompent pas, ils annoncent au juste les beaux jours, le soleil,
la verdure. Quand j’entends le rossignol ou que je vois une
hirondelle, je me dis : « L’hiver a pris fin », avec un plaisir indicible. Il
y a pour moi renaissance hors de la froidure, des brouillards, du ciel
terne, de toute cette nature morte. Je reverdis comme un brin
d’herbe, même moralement. La pensée reparaît et toutes ses fleurs.
Jamais poëme épique ne fut fait en hiver.
[Sans date.] — Adieu, grand’tante, que je viens de baiser morte ;

adieu, dernier reste d’une génération d’aïeux, famille de Verdun,
toute dans les tombes à présent, et si dispersée : à l’île de France, à
l’île Bourbon, ailleurs, ici. Ma pauvre tante a pleuré sur tous les
siens, père, mère, neveux, que la Révolution d’abord et la mort
ensuite lui ont pris, et la voilà maintenant qui suit le nombreux
convoi. Nous la suivrons de même ; hélas ! nous ne formons qu’une
procession funèbre ici-bas, et quelle rapidité dans la marche ! On
s’effraye d’y regarder, mais on avance en détournant la tête ou sans
y penser. C’est bien triste, mais bien utile cependant. Les saints l’ont
compris, ces hommes qui méditent sur une tête de mort pour se
préserver de la corruption de la vie.
Mais d’où vient que ces pensées ne me touchent que peu,
qu’agonies, morts, cercueils, dont je ne pouvais entendre parler, me
sont objets ordinaires pour l’impression ? Quel frémissement
j’éprouvais, rien qu’en voyant la maison ou la chambre d’un décédé !
et maintenant j’entre, je touche, je baise ; mais quel baiser, mon
Dieu ! C’est le second que j’ai posé sur des joues qui glacent les
lèvres, qui donnent le frisson dans tout le corps et des sensations de
l’autre monde dans l’âme. J’ai appris cela de Maurice, j’ai appris la
mort et tout ce qui suit. Depuis, rien ne m’étonne ni ne m’épouvante.
On ne veut pas que j’aille à cet enterrement, mais j’y pourrais aller
sans risques, rien ne m’y ferait mal. J’ai en moi l’habitude de
pareilles choses. N’y eut-il pas un roi qui s’accoutuma au poison ?
Eh bien, je prierai Dieu ici pour ma tante, du temps qu’on la met en
terre. De partout, Dieu nous entend, et je puis facilement, si je veux,
me figurer un cimetière.
[Sans date.] — M. de M… m’écrit que sa femme est trop faible

pour m’écrire. Quelque peu bonne que soit cette nouvelle, j’en suis
contente, tant je craignais d’apprendre pis, tant cette lettre des
Rameaux m’effrayait. Enfin je me rassure, puisque ceci tourne au
mieux. Mon Dieu, que je voudrais ne pas perdre cette chère amie ! O
malheur des séparations ! Celle-ci y mettrait le comble. Une
religieuse de Nevers qui repart m’offrirait une bonne occasion de
voyage, si je pouvais sortir d’ici. Mais Érembert, mon père, tant de
fortes raisons me retiennent. J’ai le cœur écartelé, tiré par le Cayla
et les Coques, attaché presque également des deux parts. On aime
cela et on en souffre. Il nous faudrait un centre d’affections, un
quelque part où se trouvât tout ce qu’on aime, petit paradis sur terre,
image de celui du ciel qui n’est qu’une société d’amour. Que j’ai
souvent rêvé cela, et que le Cayla me plairait si j’y pouvais réunir
mes élus, le petit nombre que j’ai dispersé par le monde, et que j’en
distingue ! Si on me disait : « Qui sont-ils ? » Je dirais : « Mes choisis
ne ressemblent à personne ; cherchez-les parmi ce qu’on voit le
moins, parmi les natures rares. »
[Sans date.] — Si je n’ai rien mis ici depuis huit jours, c’est que je
n’ai fait qu’écrire à Marie, écrire un journal intime, feuilles volantes
d’amitié qui s’en iront joncher son lit un beau moment à sa surprise,
et la pauvre malade aura plaisir à cela. Ce sont des riens, mais les
riens du cœur ont leur charme. J’ajoute à cela des livres qu’elle
m’avait prêtés et une carte de mon pays, de ces lieux qu’elle habite
tant par l’âme. Je veux les lui faire voir, et je jouis d’avance de ce
qu’elle va éprouver. Quant aux livres, j’ai peine à les renvoyer ; je ne
me sépare qu’à regret de ce qui fut emporté au départ, pages
empreintes d’adieux, de souvenirs de voyage, lues dans la diligence
de Bourges à Tours, quand je me trouvai assez seule pour pouvoir
lire. Si jamais je les revois, je les relirai encore en mémoire de ce
passé, de cet état d’âme où je me trouvais en regrets, en tristesse,
en craintes, en suspens entre la vie et la mort, roulant sur ce pauvre
malade, que j’allais voir, les pensées les plus déchirantes,
quelquefois les plus opposées ; car on ne peut s’empêcher
d’espérer, quoiqu’on ne voie pas trop où se tient l’espérance. Marie,
Marie, avec quels tristes pressentiments nous nous sommes
quittées ! J’ai toujours en souvenir ce dernier regard qu’elle me fit à
la fenêtre, enveloppée d’une mante noire. Elle m’apparut comme le
deuil en personne…
Le 1er mai. — Quel que soit mon sans-intérêt aujourd’hui pour

tout ce qui se fait sous le ciel, je veux néanmoins marquer ce
premier mai, comme j’en ai l’habitude. C’était un autre jour pour moi
qu’il ne l’est à présent, ce retour du plus beau mois de l’année. Tout
est changé.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Poésie interrompue par la foudre. Quel bruit, quels éclats, quel

accompagnement de pluie, de vent, d’éclairs, d’ébranlements !
rugissement, terribles voix d’orages ! Et cependant le rossignol
chantait, abrité sous quelque feuille ; on aurait dit qu’il se moquait de
l’orage ou qu’il luttait avec la foudre ; coup de tonnerre et coup de
gosier faisaient charmant contraste que j’ai écouté, appuyée sur ma
fenêtre ; j’ai joui de ce chant si doux dans ce bruit épouvantable.
Le 6 mai. — C’est pour retrouver la date d’une lettre du
Nivernais, chères nouvelles qui font événement dans ma vie toute
de cœur. Dans la suite des temps, dans quelques mois même, je
serai bien aise de revoir un jour marqué d’émotions douces à fond
triste, comme me les donne Marie. Cette fois-ci c’est sa mère, une
mère adoptive pour moi, qui m’écrit et ne me touche pas mal en me
parlant de sa fille, et de l’espérance, je ne sais comment venue,
qu’elle a de me voir avec la sœur de Nevers ; mais la sœur est
partie… Oh ! mon père ! il l’emporte encore sur Marie. Je le sens en
ce moment qu’il a été question de le quitter. Que tout cela fait
souffrir ! Et cependant c’est bonheur d’être aimé. Mais qu’est-ce
qu’un bonheur qui touche aux larmes ?
Je n’ai pas vu l’Orient, mais je doute que ses belles nuits soient
plus belles que celle qu’il fait à présent. Une admiration m’a surprise
en ouvrant ma fenêtre avant de me coucher, suivant ma coutume de
regarder l’état du ciel : qu’il est clair, transparent, étoilé avec ces
demi-teintes de demi-lune, et…
[Sans date.] — Plusieurs jours depuis cette nuit, et entre ces

deux lignes d’écriture. Comme le temps occupe peu d’espace ! Une
fois passé, ce n’est rien. Dans ce peu d’espace on pourrait faire
entrer un siècle. Je n’y vois rien, quoi qu’il soit venu dans l’histoire
de ma vie, parce que tout reste au dedans, que je n’ai plus d’intérêt
à rien raconter, ni moi ni autre chose. Tout meurt, je meurs à tout. Je
meurs d’une lente agonie morale, état d’indicible souffrance. — Va,
pauvre cahier, dans l’oubli avec ces objets qui s’évanouissent ! Je
n’écrirai plus ici que je ne reprenne vie, que Dieu ne me ressuscite
de ce tombeau où j’ai l’âme ensevelie. Maurice, mon ami ! il n’en
était pas ainsi de moi quand je l’avais. Penser à lui me relevait au
plus fort d’un abattement ; l’avoir en ce monde me suffisait. Avec
Maurice, je ne me serais pas ennuyée entre deux montagnes.
Une lettre de mort, une mort de jeune fille, Camille de Boisset,
sœur d’une de mes amies, la céleste Antoinette.
Depuis longtemps je n’avais trouvé d’aussi agréable lecture et

plus de mon goût que celle que je viens de faire, et dans un livre
dont le monde ne se doute guère, un Catéchisme, dont la seule
introduction gagne l’esprit et le cœur, morceau le plus distingué
entre tous les avant-propos, exquis avant-goût d’une œuvre exquise
de foi, d’intelligence et d’amour. J’ai pressenti de suaves émotions et
entrevu de beaux traits de lumière pour moi dans cette religieuse
lecture, et je m’y livre. Je vais voir et connaître ma religion telle que
je ne l’ai pas encore vue d’ensemble. Comme elle est infinie en
merveilles et en admirations, à chaque nouvelle attention, à chaque
regard on découvre pour l’aimer et l’admirer davantage. Le besoin
de mon cœur me porte de ce côté, il n’est satisfait que par les
choses divines. Ce fut de tout temps, mais plus encore quand les
charmes qui restaient dans la vie et qui nourrissaient l’âme sont
perdus. Heureux sommes-nous quand l’esprit de Dieu vient sur ce
vide et y fait une création ! Il me semble que cela se fait en moi, que
quelque chose de nouveau et qui n’est rien d’humain s’opère,
transformation d’une autre vie, d’un autre monde où Dieu habite, où
j’ai ma mère et Maurice. Oh ! que la mort nous ôte d’ici et nous en
dégoûte ! J’ai vu quelque chose de pareil dans sainte Thérèse.
Après la mort de son frère, elle écrivait : « J’ai quatre ans de plus
que lui et je ne puis pas parvenir à mourir ! »
« … Quand la tige est parvenue à la hauteur et à la force
convenables, on voit se former à sa partie supérieure un petit
bouton. Ce bouton renferme tout ce qu’il y a de plus précieux dans la
plante. Aussi nous allons voir de quels soins tendres et multipliés la
Providence l’environne. Elle le couvre d’abord de trois ou quatre
enveloppes bien unies, bien serrées, afin de le protéger contre le
froid, la chaleur, les insectes, les vents et la pluie. La première de
ces enveloppes est plus dure et offre plus de résistance ; la seconde
surpasse en finesse et en beauté la mousseline et la soie ; enfin la
troisième, qui touche à la graine, n’a rien qui lui soit comparable pour
la délicatesse et la douceur. Elle est faite ainsi, afin de ne pas
blesser la petite créature qu’elle renferme. A mesure que ce germe
précieux grossit, les enveloppes s’élargissent ; enfin elles s’ouvrent,
mais non pas entièrement ni tout d’un coup, afin de ne pas exposer
le petit nourrisson au danger de périr. Quand il est assez fort, toutes
ces petites enveloppes de mousseline, tous ces tendres duvets sont
écartés, ainsi qu’on écarte les langes qui emmaillottent un enfant. »
Que c’est joli ! Cette admiration m’échappe, mais je veux prendre
le charmant tableau tout entier :
« Ce germe précieux est destiné à donner naissance à de
nouvelles plantes ; mais cette nouvelle naissance sera
accompagnée d’une joie et d’une magnificence inexprimables.
Lorsque l’enfant d’un roi vient au monde, on le reçoit dans un
berceau doré, on le place dans des appartements richement
décorés. Voilà ce que fait le bon Dieu pour l’enfant ou le fruit de la
moindre plante. Des feuilles d’une douceur, d’une finesse, d’un
moelleux inimitables, peintes des couleurs les plus belles, les plus
variées et les plus agréables, lui servent de langes et de berceau.
Autour de lui s’exhale le parfum le plus suave ; c’est au milieu de
cette demeure plus riche que les Louvres des rois qu’il naît et qu’il
grandit. Examinez tout cela de près, et, si vous pouvez, défendez à
vos lèvres de dire avec le divin Sauveur : Je vous assure que
Salomon dans toute sa magnificence ne fut jamais si richement
habillé. »
Jamais fleur ne fut non plus si richement dépeinte, jamais si
gracieuse description n’en fut faite. On croirait lire un nouveau
Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, et ce n’est qu’un passage de catéchisme,
de ce Catéchisme de persévérance dont je parlais, de l’abbé
Gaume. Bon et bel ouvrage de l’époque, où, sous le plus simple
titre, se trouve l’histoire complète de la religion racontée à des
enfants de la façon la plus attachante. Rien que quelques aperçus
m’ont charmée. Je vais me raviver l’âme à cette lecture.
Le 23 mai. — Enfin, je sais que cette chère publication du
Centaure a paru. Des jeunes gens venus de Gaillac me l’ont appris.
Depuis je ne pense qu’à cela, et au passé, hélas ! où moindre chose
me ramène. Me l’enverrez-vous ? Qui sait ? Je suis injuste peut-être,
mais votre silence est si durable et le cœur humain si changeant ! Et
qu’y aurait-il d’étonnant que quelqu’un du monde vînt à oublier une
pauvre amitié d’anachorète qui ne peut pas lui offrir beaucoup
d’agrément ? Je n’ai d’autre titre que d’être la sœur de Maurice, et
cela se peut effacer : le temps efface tout.
Ce matin visite aux champs pour les Rogations, au lever du
soleil. Que c’est joli de parcourir à cette heure-là la campagne ! de
se trouver au réveil des fleurs, des oiseaux, de toute une matinée de
printemps, et qu’alors la prière est facile ! qu’elle s’en va doucement
dans cet air embaumé, à la vue de si gracieuses et magnifiques
œuvres de Dieu ! On est trop heureux de revoir un printemps. Dieu
l’a voulu sans doute pour nous consoler du paradis terrestre. Rien
ne me donne l’idée de l’Éden comme cette nature renaissante,
ondoyante, resplendissante dans la belle fraîcheur de mai.
Arrêtée au village. Passé au cou d’un jeune homme malade la
petite croix d’or que Maurice portait sur lui. Il l’a baisée avec des
larmes, et cela lui fera du bien. La vue d’une croix est bonne quand
on souffre. Je ne connais pas de meilleur calmant, et je le donne
avec foi et amour.
[Sans date.] — Non, je n’écrirai pas mes émotions d’aujourd’hui,

si diverses d’ailleurs. Oh ! que cela fait voir les mille facultés de
l’âme, tant de sentiments et pensées ! l’arc-en-ciel a moins de
couleurs, et cela en si peu de temps ! En quelques minutes, parfois,
par combien de sensations je passe !
Le 28. — Encore une mort, encore un disparu de cette

association d’amis qui se rattachait à Maurice : pauvres jeunes gens
tous pleins de joie et d’avenir, tous réunis naguère à Paris, et
maintenant deçà delà dans des tombes ! Oh ! que c’est désolant !
que de lamentations me viennent sur ces destructions lamentables
et si rapides des hommes ! Hommes du monde, hélas ! plus à
pleurer que d’autres, que j’ai vus, connus, appréciés, aimés par
quelque endroit ! J’avais trouvé M. Bodimont fort dévoué à Maurice ;
sa jolie petite femme (morte également) m’avait aussi gagnée
d’intérêt, et tout cela, se rattachant à mes plus chers souvenirs, m’a
frappée de tristesse en trouvant dans la Gazette, à l’article
nécrologique, le nom de M. Bodimont. Il ne me manque plus que d’y
rencontrer le vôtre, que je ne trouve plus nulle part.
Mon Dieu, ayez pitié de ces pauvres âmes d’amis !
[Sans date.] — Que c’est beau, que c’est beau ce Polyeucte, et

ce Corneille ! quel vers :
Je vous aime
Beaucoup moins que mon Dieu, mais bien plus que moi-même.
Après cela et tant de belles et sublimes choses que les grands

auteurs ont de tout temps puisées dans la religion, qu’on vienne
nous dire si cette religion n’est point un beau songe, une image
flatteuse ! « Quoi ! notre unique bien est-il une illusion ! Quoi ? ce
christianisme descendu du ciel sur la terre avec le Fils de Dieu,
promis par les prophètes, annoncé par les apôtres, vérifié par tant
de miracles, confirmé par tant de martyrs, cette religion seule digne
de Dieu, cette doctrine visiblement céleste qui a formé tant
d’hommes merveilleux sur la terre, n’est-ce qu’un songe ? » Paroles
de quelqu’un qui me reviennent.
Le 30. — « Chère Eugénie, votre cœur si aimant sera tristement

affecté en lisant le récit des souffrances de votre amie. »
Commencement d’une lettre toute remplie de douleurs, en effet,
écrites et senties. Pauvre Marie ! qui n’a plus la force de me parler
de ses souffrances. Je n’ai plus de son écriture, c’est sa mère qui
m’écrit le désolant bulletin. Deuil sur deuil, angoisses sur angoisses,
la vie n’est plus qu’un cours d’afflictions ; rien que des larmes, et
encore n’ai-je pas en cela tout ce que je veux, car je voudrais tant ce
Centaure. Ce matin, je comptais mes amitiés perdues, mortes de
mort ou d’indifférence, et le nombre en est grand, quoique j’aie peu
vu de monde.
Entre autres beaux effets du vent à la campagne, il n’en est pas
qui soient beaux comme la vue d’un champ de blé tout agité,
bouillonnant, ondulant sous ces grands souffles qui passent en
abaissant et soulevant si vite les épis par monceaux. Il s’en fait, par
le mouvement, comme de grosses boules vertes roulant par milliers
l’une sur l’autre avec une grâce infinie. J’ai passé une demi-heure à
contempler cela et à me figurer la mer, surface verte et bondissante.
Oh ! que je voudrais réellement voir la mer, ce grand miroir de Dieu
où se reflètent tant de merveilles !
Le 1er juin. — Visite rare, conversation distinguée. Il passe par

intervalle quelque passant aimable au Cayla, le grand désert vide ou
peuplé à peu près comme était la terre avant qu’y parût l’homme. On
y passe des jours à ne voir que des moutons, à n’entendre que des
oiseaux. Solitude qui n’est pas sans charme pour l’âme non liée au
monde, désabusée du monde.
Le 5 juin. — Oh ! ceci se date, ce jour, cette Revue arrivée, ce

moment où je vais lire enfin le Centaure ! Je l’ai là, je le tiens, je le
regarde, j’hésite à l’ouvrir, ce recueil funéraire, pour lequel j’aurais
donné mes yeux il y a un instant. Mon Dieu, que le cœur a des
contraires !
Le 9. — Depuis quatre jours je suis sans bouger sous

l’impression de ce Centaure, de ces lettres, de ces révélations si
hautes ou si intimes, de ces mots du cœur si profonds et si tristes,
de ces pressentiments si malheureusement réalisés d’une fin
prochaine, de ces tant précieuses et douloureuses choses de
Maurice que m’a apportées la Revue des Deux Mondes. Rien ne
m’avait émue comme cette lecture, même de ce que je lis de
Maurice. Serait-ce que ces écrits de lui, que je ne connaissais pas,
renouvellent et accroissent en se montrant le sentiment de sa perte,
ou que, présentés avec un charme qui en fait ressortir le prix, j’en
suis plus touchée que de ce que j’avais vu sans cela ? Quoi qu’il en
soit, je goûte une jouissance trempée de larmes, un bonheur à deux
goûts, une possession plus pleine, mieux estimée et par cela plus
triste que jamais de Maurice, dans ce beau Centaure et ces
fragments intimes. Qu’il est pénétrant dans ses dires du cœur ! dans
cette douce, délicate et si fine façon de parler douleur que je n’ai
connue qu’à lui ! Oh ! Mme Sand a raison de dire que ce sont des
mots à enchâsser comme de gros diamants au faîte du diadème. Ou
plutôt, il était tout diamant, Maurice.
Bénis soient ceux qui l’estiment son prix, bénie soit la voix qui le
loue, qui le porte si haut avec tant de respect et d’enthousiasme
intelligent ! mais cette voix se trompe en un point, elle se trompe
quand elle dit que la foi manquait à cette âme. Non, la foi ne lui
manquait pas : je le proclame et je l’atteste par ce que j’ai vu et
entendu, par la prière, par les saintes lectures, par les sacrements,
par tous les actes de chrétien, par la mort qui dévoile la vie, mort sur
un crucifix. J’ai bien envie d’écrire à George Sand, de lui envoyer
quelque chose que j’ai dans l’idée sur Maurice, comme une
couronne pour couvrir cette tache qu’elle lui a mise au front. Je ne
puis supporter qu’on ôte ou qu’on ajoute le moindre trait à ce visage,
si beau dans son vrai ; et ce jour irréligieux et païen le défigure.
Le 15. — Que me vient-il de Paris pour Maurice ? pour lui qui ne

se doutait point de gloire, qui n’en voulait pas. Mais je l’accepte en
sa mémoire et pour sa mémoire. Voici ce qu’un comte de Beaufort
vient de m’offrir : la publication d’une notice dans la Revue de Paris,
qui fera regard à celle de la Revue des Deux Mondes, dans toute la
beauté et pureté de ressemblance chrétienne. Mme Sand fait de
Maurice un sceptique, un grand poëte à la façon de Byron, et cela
m’affligeait de voir présenter sous ce faux jour le nom de mon frère,
un nom resté pur de ces déplorables erreurs. Je voulais écrire pour
rendre hommage à la vérité, et voilà qu’une voix s’élève. Dieu soit
béni ! je n’ai qu’à donner notre approbation qu’on demande. Nous la
donnerons avec joie.
Vendredi 19 juin. — Onze mois juste (et un vendredi !) de sa

mort. Quel jour et comme je l’ai passé ! Après la prière, cette
élévation de l’âme vers Dieu et vers lui, je n’ai fait que remuer ses
papiers, ses lettres, ses poésies, chères et saintes reliques, que je
n’osais pas toucher d’abord et dans lesquelles j’ai trouvé ensuite je
ne sais quoi à ne pouvoir m’en détacher. D’abord des larmes et puis
comme un enivrement de ce passé rouvert, goûté, bu à longs traits
de cœur. Oh ! quel triste charme à cela ! et qu’ai-je rencontré dans
ce carton funèbre en l’ouvrant sur un tas de choses ? Ces lignes,
ces lignes frappantes de rapport et laissées là, il y a deux ans !
« Je ne demande point où tu reposes, je ne chercherai pas ta
tombe. Nous avons connu les plus beaux jours de la vie, les plus
funestes n’appartiennent plus qu’à moi.
« Si je pouvais pleurer comme je pleurais autrefois, j’aurais sujet
de verser des larmes en pensant que je n’ai pu veiller auprès de ton
lit…
« Combien je préfère à tous les objets aimables le souvenir que
je garde de toi !… »
Hélas ! d’où donc avais-je tiré ces choses qui renfermaient une si
cruelle vérité, il y a bien sept ou huit ans de date ? Ne dirait-on pas
que notre âme entend de loin venir le malheur, tant ces pensées et
d’autres que je trouve dans le passé se rapportent à ma perte, à ce
cher Maurice. Mon Dieu !
C’est pour lui que j’ai fait ce triste inventaire, pour rendre à sa
mémoire ce soin pieux dans ce qu’il m’a laissé. Jusqu’ici je n’avais

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Caught By The Dark: A werewolf

monster romance (Monsters In

A Note From The Author

Prologue – The Man

Chapter 2 – The Man

Chapter 4 – The Man

Chapter 6 – The Man

Chapter 8 – The Man

Chapter 10 – The Man

Chapter 15 – The Man

Chapter 17 – The Man

Chapter 18 – The Beast

Chapter 24 – The Beast

Chapter 26 – The Man

Chapter 30 – The Man

Chapter 31 – The Beast

Chapter 33 – The Man

Chapter 34 – The Beast

Chapter 36 – The Man

Chapter 40 – The Man

Chapter 41 – The Beast

About The Author

[Sans date.] — Que dire ? que répondre ? Que m’annoncez-vous

[32] Lignes effacées.

[Le 2 avril.] — Courant d’impressions et de pensées abandonné

[Sans date.] — Parcouru l’Histoire de Bossuet, toute pleine de

O Christ, qui êtes venu pour souffrir, ayez pitié de ma tristesse.

Le jour des Rameaux. — Aujourd’hui que tout verdit, fleurit et

La veille de Pâques. — Oh ! quelle différence l’an dernier, à

Le soir de Pâques. — O Pâques, Pâques fleuries, jour de

Le 20 avril. — Oh ! c’était bien un rossignol que j’ai entendu ce

[Sans date.] — Adieu, grand’tante, que je viens de baiser morte ;

[Sans date.] — M. de M… m’écrit que sa femme est trop faible

Le 1er mai. — Quel que soit mon sans-intérêt aujourd’hui pour

Poésie interrompue par la foudre. Quel bruit, quels éclats, quel

[Sans date.] — Plusieurs jours depuis cette nuit, et entre ces

Depuis longtemps je n’avais trouvé d’aussi agréable lecture et

[Sans date.] — Non, je n’écrirai pas mes émotions d’aujourd’hui,

Le 28. — Encore une mort, encore un disparu de cette

[Sans date.] — Que c’est beau, que c’est beau ce Polyeucte, et

Après cela et tant de belles et sublimes choses que les grands

Le 30. — « Chère Eugénie, votre cœur si aimant sera tristement

Le 1er juin. — Visite rare, conversation distinguée. Il passe par

Le 5 juin. — Oh ! ceci se date, ce jour, cette Revue arrivée, ce

Le 9. — Depuis quatre jours je suis sans bouger sous

Le 15. — Que me vient-il de Paris pour Maurice ? pour lui qui ne

Vendredi 19 juin. — Onze mois juste (et un vendredi !) de sa

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