Alpha Wolf's Secret Mate: An Enemies

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Alpha Wolf’s Secret Mate

Anika Skye
Also by Anika Skye
Alpha Wolf’s Secret Nanny
Alpha Wolf’s Fated Mate
Alpha Wolf’s Fated Bride
 ALPHA WOLF’S SECRET MATE.
Copyright © 2023 by Anika Skye.

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organization and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including
infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

ISBN-13: 978-1-950405-58-9 (paperback)

Printed in the United States of America.
 Contents

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Skye’s Corner
Stay in Touch
About the Publisher
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 XX About XX
Alpha Wolf’s Secret Mate

I’m the runaway bride, slogging through his forest in my wedding gown, fighting for my life
when Mark, an alpha from a rival pack, saves my….tush.

With his golden eyes, powerful physic, and commanding presence—on two feet and four.
He’s everything any woman would want. But not me.
Our packs have hated each other for so long it’s no longer questioned.
But I have no choice but to ask Mark to hide me in enemy territory until I uncover why my father
is forcing this marriage on me.
And why suddenly, the Wanders, the outcast of our kind, want me dead.
Hiding with his pack, I never thought I’d find my fated mate, and now we have something bigger
to fight for: our child.
But a gem is hidden in my being, and they’re willing to kill me to get it out.
Once again, I’ll need Mark to protect me from the wolves plotting my death.
I need him to save our forever.
 Chapter One
Lennox Grayson

The moment my eyes meet hers, it’s like the whole world stands still.
Leaning against the wall, I gaze at her from across the room, seeing how she freezes like a deer in
the headlights, her pretty lips pursing into a slight frown. My heart is thudding rapidly in my chest,
those haunting feelings pulling at the seams of my hardened heart and tearing it apart. I hate it. I don’t
want to feel that ever again.
It’s been too long.
Rosalie… she is even more beautiful than I remember.
“Lennox!” I hear James call out to me, see him come up to stand beside her. “Come here!”
Oh great.
James and Rosalie Temple are twin siblings, but they are not identical. James is at least six-two
with a swimmer’s body, having been the captain of the swim team all throughout high school and
college. He is dressed in casual but nice clothing, since it is his wedding rehearsal, that hugs his lean,
muscular frame. James is nowhere near as big as me, but he can be an intimidating man as well. His
short brown hair is a curly mess on the top of his head, and his eyes are the color of moss. There
were times that I was jealous of his boyish looks because he is not as scary as me.
Or at least that is what I was told for as long as I could remember.
Rosalie on the other hand, is a beauty.
At only five-six, she has a lean, curvy body that is accentuated by the tight pants she is wearing
and the flimsy blouse that I feel like I could shred without a moment’s hesitation. Her long, straight
blonde hair is back in a messy bun, and her bright blue eyes are gazing at me with such hostility, it
sends a shiver down my spine.
I guess she still hates me after what I did.
I can’t say that I really blame her really.
“James, I was wondering when we were going to get a move on today.” I murmur as I approach,
moving my eyes from Rosalie to him, very conscious of her eyes on me. “I am a busy man, you know.”
My wolf is growling inside of me, trying to tell me something but I can’t hear a single thing that he
is saying. My wolf was dormant for as long as I could remember, but shortly after Rosalie left, he
came up with a raging fire and has not allowed me to be with anyone since. He claims it is because of
Rosalie but that doesn’t make much sense.
 Why is she so important to him?
“Oh, yes I know.” James tells me, a twinkle in his eyes when he looks away from me to Rosalie.
“Rose, did I ever tell you that Lennox took over his family’s business? He has been running it with an
iron fist for so long now, I’m surprised he has any workers still willing to work for him.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Thanks, James.
Rosalie looks at me with scorn, her eyes narrowing with distain. “Yes, you’ve told me time and
time again, even when I told you I wanted nothing to do with him.”
Wow, she really doesn’t pull her punches, does she?
“That’s quite rude, princess,” I mutter, trying to calm my wolf down and make sure I don’t pop a
boner in front of my best friend and his sister, especially when she is the reason I am this horny. “You
haven’t spoken to me in years but you hold such hostility towards me when you don’t even know what
kind of man I am.”
“I know what kind of man you are,” she corrects me, shrugging her slim shoulders. “You’re the
kind of man who does whatever YOU want, no matter how much it might hurt someone else. It may
have been years, Lennox, but I’ll never forget what you did. I’ll never forget how much you hurt my
best friend, even though she has moved on and thank goodness for that! You never deserved her if I am
being honest with you, and I am.”
I wish I could’ve told her that she is wrong, but the words dry in the back of my throat. I gaze at
her, those desperate feelings I have been holding in for so long trying to claw their way back up. I
might’ve grabbed her and begged her to listen to me if James hadn’t been looking between us, his
eyebrows slightly etched together in confusion.
I love my best friend, but it is his fault I’ve never acted upon those feelings and hurt that woman
the way that I did. I know that I can’t fully blame it on him because I am at fault as well. I made the
choice to do what I did, and I take full responsibility for it.
“The man I used to be,” I mumble, seeing her eyes narrowing on me once again. “I know what
I’ve done, Rosalie, you don’t have to remind me at every second of the day. Isn’t there a way that we
can move on, and I can prove to you that I am a changed man?”
James is watching me carefully now, suspicion in his eyes. I don’t even want to deal with him at
this second. Not while trying to calm my raging wolf who wants nothing more than to drag Rosalie
into his arms and beg her to forgive him.
To forgive us.
I still don’t know half of what he is saying, but it is clear to me that he is not happy at the moment
and is desperate to fix things. I know how he feels, wishing I can reach out and place my hand on her
slim waist. It makes me wonder if she is still as soft as I remember.
The one time I did act on my desires…
The time that she forgot about.
It makes my blood burn just thinking about it.
After James made it very clear that I could not touch Rosalie, it pissed me off but I accepted what
he wanted from me because he does not ask for much. It was a little hard, especially with that
beautiful kiss we shared by the lake, but I did so to make sure I didn’t lose the friendship that we’d
had for years.
A girl was easily replaceable.
The son of a multibillionaire, I have had everything that I could ever want. Including the Alpha
title that was passed down to me the moment dad died. I could’ve had any girl that I ever wanted.
Girls flung themselves at me at least ten times a day, whether I wanted them to or not.
Dating Kelly White was the worst thing that I could’ve ever done, but I stuck with it, trying to make
something form that wasn’t ever going to be there. Kelly had liked me for the longest time, and I used
that to my advantage.
But it didn’t make me happy.
I broke up with her, leaving her heartbroken, but I finally felt content. I thought that maybe if I
talked to Rosalie and explained to her why I couldn’t be with Kelly, then she might understand. I
should’ve realized it wasn’t going to be that easy.
After that day, Rosalie wouldn’t speak a word to me.
Later on, I quickly realized that I made a mistake and that I did things the wrong way. I couldn’t
dwell on it though, deciding to do what was best for myself at the time. Now, I am very content with
life, but I don’t have a lover, nor did I bring someone with me to the wedding. I guess that I hoped
Rosalie would see that I don’t need a woman on my arm like she expects from me, and that I can
prove to her that I just need her.
I know it will take time and patience, but I am willing to do whatever it takes to make her realize
that I’m not going anywhere. I stood on the sidelines for too long, waiting for the right opportunity to
present itself so that I may run over to her and sweep her into the cradle of my arms, satisfying the
aching desires raging inside of me that have been brewing for so long.
I just need her more than anything else in this world.
I don’t need anyone else.
I hold out my hand to her, offering her a small smile. “Truce, Rosalie?”
She eyes my hand, and I can’t help but wonder if she is going to smack it away. It wouldn’t really
surprise me considering her hostility towards me, but, if she doesn’t, it would be a start.
Rosalie sighs, reaching out to take my hand. “For now.”
The moment her hand touches me and her scent envelops me, my whole body freezes as my wolf
comes roaring to the front, his words more clear in my mind.
I can’t believe this.
Is this real?
For my wolf is saying something I never expected him to ever say.
“Mate.”
 Chapter Two
Rosalie Temple

Looking across the room, I can’t help but look at Lennox Grayson in disdain, wondering how a man
that handsome could be such an utter asshole.
Nervously sipping on my glass of red wine, I keep a careful eye on him, making sure that he isn’t
out here doing anything scandalous to make my brother seem like a guy who has assholes for friends. I
smirk at my own thoughts, remembering the time when I used to have the biggest crush on him. Before
he ended up breaking my heart by dating my best friend.
I was supportive of it until he broke her heart too.
That, I wouldn’t stand for.
I trail my eyes up and down his muscular frame, clenching my thighs together in frustration, hating
that my body still reacts to his no matter what I do. I scowl, seeing how the women, single or not,
practically gawk at him and whisper to one another about how hot he is and how they wouldn’t mind
snagging him in their bed. I can’t help but roll my eyes at the scene, watching him run his long fingers
through his tousled black hair, his black eyes practically glittering with mischief.
The big smile that spreads across his face is enough to make any woman’s panties drop, and it
pissed me off to no end that I felt the same way as well. Clearing my throat, I have to also admit that
whether in a suit or casual clothing, there seems to be nothing that he wears that he doesn’t look good
in.
What wouldn’t a girl give to rip those clothes off of his fine body?
Startled by my own thoughts, I shake my head, quickly trying to get the image of that out of my
brain. It disgusted me a little to think that I had just thought some unholy thoughts about Lennox,
knowing what kind of lady-killer he is with that blinding grin of his. If I didn’t know any better, I
thought I saw him glancing over at me a time or two, but I had to be wrong.
He's never once looked at me.
Not like that.
“He’s so handsome,” a girl muses from beside me, the lust clear in her eyes and voice. “What I
wouldn’t give to be on the receiving end of that man, huh?”
I roll my eyes, unable to help myself. “Yeah, only if you want to get your heart broken in the
process.”
She sighs wistfully, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t even care. Just a night in his bed would be
more than enough.”
I felt a pang in my chest and tried to quickly push it away before it overtook me. There were too
many times that I felt this gnawing, aching feeling in my chest whenever the mention of Lennox with
another girl came to mind. During high school, it’s all I ever knew, and I hated it.
I hated him.
I hated myself for loving him.
I thought at one point that I would have a chance with him, that our kiss at the lake meant
something, but after that day, he pretended like nothing had happened. I had been a little buzzed and
worked up the courage to kiss him, but it’s like he thought that our kiss meant nothing and that he
didn’t even need to remember it!
I remember the sinking feeling inside of me when he ended up telling me that he and Kelly, my
best friend, were dating. It hurt, a lot, but I gathered up all the courage inside of me and gave them
both a big smile, congratulating them even though I felt like dying inside.
It was hard to be around either of them, seeing Kelly hanging on his arm and kissing him, taking
the place that should’ve been mine. Originally, I was a little mad at myself because I was the one who
had been easily fooled by Lennox. I know that he isn’t the kind of man to just be in a relationship with
someone, it doesn’t matter how much he likes them, but I thought that we had a real connection.
It's going to sound really cheesy, but there was a point when I thought that we might be soulmates.
I really hated myself for thinking that way.
I hated myself more for what happened next.
We were nearing graduation and Kelly comes to me at my house, sobbing her eyes out. She tells
me that Lennox had sex with her and then broke up with her, saying that he never could love someone
like her and that she was out of his league.
I knew it was horrible, but a part of me was happy that they broke up, even though I hated seeing
Kelly hurt the way that she did. I was even more mad at Lennox for playing both of us, especially
since he slept with HER. It quickly made me realize what kind of person Lennox is, and I just didn’t
want to be around him after that.
Any time that he tried to talk to me, I walked in the other direction, ignoring the aching in my heart
every time that I did so. It didn’t matter how much I cared or how much I loved him, he took it all for
granted and it would never happen again.
I sort of moved on, seeing other guys and trying to get him out of my mind. I stopped trying to see
anyone after I couldn’t do so, realizing that if I can’t get Lennox out of my mind yet, then it’s not fair to
try and date someone else.
It wouldn’t be right.
“Rosalie!” I hear my name being called out, breaking me out of my thoughts.
Everyone’s eyes seem to turn to me as Lennox heads my way, a brilliant smile on his handsome
face. My heart flutters, wondering why it seems like I am the only woman he smiles at like that. His
dimples are very prominent against his tan skin, giving him an even better look.
Curse him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman beside me practically swoon, fanning herself like a
cat in heat. My blood turns ice cold, really wanting to just reach out and smack her, yell at her that he
will never be hers.
“Hello.” Lennox greets the woman, and she giggles.
This fucking man!
I whip around and walk away from them.
 “Rosalie!” I hear him call out once more, but this time I don’t pay any attention.
My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can’t help but wonder if he might be able to hear it. The
blood is rushing through my brain, making me feel a little fuzzy, but I don’t even want to think about it.
It’s obvious what Lennox still is, smiling that handsome smile at just anyone, and I can’t allow myself
to fall for it.
Just then, he catches my wrist and spins me around.
“Rosalie, I have been calling for you!” he growls. His eyebrows etch together in confusion, a big
smile no longer on his face. “What’s the matter? I thought we called a truce!”
I scoff, wondering if he is really clueless enough to not realize the attention he is attracting. “We
may have called a truce, Lennox, but that doesn’t mean I need to be at your beck and call like I’m your
woman or something.”
If possible, his eyes darken even more. “I would never think that, Rosalie. You’re… You’re
different than—”
I cut him off before he can continue with that cheesy line I’ve heard so many times before. “How
am I different, Lennox? I am just your best friend’s little sister who you never paid any attention to.
You had your fun, let her kiss you and then pretended like it never happened.”
I am more than fueled up to fight this battle.
His eyes widen considerably. “You remember the kiss? Why didn’t you say anything?”
I jut my chin up in defiance, wondering how he will react at what I am about to say next. “Because
it meant nothing to me.”
I jump as a low, dangerous growl escapes his lips, and in the blink of an eye, I am pinned against
the wall. His body leans into mine, not letting me go. I can feel the hard ridge of his cock through his
pants, pressing against my belly, causing my breath to hitch. Holy fuck, it’s massive.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” he growls softly in my ear, trailing the tip of his nose along
my jawline, sniffing softly, “but this time, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”
Before I can even say or do anything else, he lets me go and walks away, back to the rehearsal,
leaving me a panting mess.
What the hell just happened?
 Chapter Three
Lennox

After the fiasco last night with Rosalie, I haven’t seen her since.
I must admit, I felt a little bad for snapping on her the way I did, but the moment my wolf took
over, I knew that there was absolutely nothing that I could do while he held the reigns.
The moment I realized that Rosalie is my fated mate, it was like everything had come crashing
down and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. I know that I’ve had feelings for her for as long as I can
remember and that no one can ever live up to how I’ve felt towards her, but to think she is my mate? I
thought perhaps my wolf was lying to me, trying to make up some dumbass excuse to get me to go and
talk to her.
I didn’t even care about the women gazing at me with lust, like I am their prize of the night. The
only person that I belong to and will forever belong to is Rosalie.
I just need to prove it to her.
But pushing her against the wall and scenting her, it wasn’t a good idea.
Especially with how James about killed me last night.
“What was that about?” I remember him hissing in my ear, not looking too pleased. “I need you to
be upfront and honest with me, Lennox. Do you have a thing for my sister?”
I thought about fibbing and telling him that he was seeing things, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t
even give him an answer. My feelings for Rosalie are so chaotic right now, I’m not sure what goes
where. If I had it my way, Rosalie would be locked away in my house for only me to see.
I would show her how I feel for her, make her realize that I’m not playing her, and then I would
ravage her on every surface of the house that I could get her on. I don’t think I could be nice about it
though. I just want to bury my cock inside of her and fill her with my seed until all she smells like me.
No other wolf will dare to touch her.
Not if they don’t want to die.
“How do I look?” James asks from beside me, the nervousness clear in his voice. “Fuck, man, I
am so nervous, I’m not even sure what I’m going to be able to do next. I hope I don’t go and screw
everything up that Nya has worked so hard for.”
Nya is James’ high school sweetheart, but much different than I expected his type to ever be. At
five-nine, she was the head cheerleader, with fair, freckled skin and a curvy body that most girls
would die for. Her long, curly red hair is a fiery mess cascading down her back, and her eyes are an
emerald green. She is a beauty, that is for sure, but I never thought of her as anything but a friend or,
James’ woman.
Nya has a feisty attitude that sometimes makes me wonder how James handles it. It is obvious that
James would do anything to keep her happy, whatever it may be, and it always made me smile seeing
it. It made me wonder if Rosalie and I could be like that as well.
If she would ever give me the chance to.
“You look good, James,” I tell him as I fix his suit, making sure it is straightened up. “I promise
you, so long as you are down that aisle, I don’t think that Nya is going to be complaining that much.
You two are perfect for each other, and I know that you’ll make each other happy for the rest of your
lives and even the life after that.”
Us wolves believe that once you die, you and your mate will meet in the afterlife in wolf form and
run the Goddess’ endless forest for eternity. I smile at the thought, knowing that Rosalie is just a
human but there is no way she’s not going with me. A wolf’s mate, even if she is human, will turn into
a wolf spirit the moment she passes over. It is a way to ensure that a wolf will be with their mate for
eternity.
It is a blessing from the Goddess, that much is true.
I could only hope that my words were enough to inspire him and make him realize just how lucky
he really is. James gives me a sheepish smile, slightly shrugging his shoulders before moving away
from me, examining himself in the mirror once more.
I can’t help but wonder if I too would have that someday like he does, marrying the love of my
life and spending the rest of our lives together. The only woman I can ever imagine myself marrying is
Rosalie, but I have a strong feeling that she isn’t going to want to be with me like that. I don’t think it
matters what I say to her at this point.
“You’ll find your true love someday,” James tells me as if he had just read my mind. “Any girl
would be lucky to be with you, Lennox. Some days it really surprises me that you aren’t with
someone, but I guess you’re waiting for that special someone, right? I can’t say that I blame you
really.”
It is like a punch to the gut, but I can never let him know.
“It is what it is,” I murmur, hoping to divert the conversation. “Rosalie should be here any second
for when we need to start g—”
“I’m here.” I hear her sweet voice come from the doorway, immediately cutting me off.
“Thankfully you guys are dressed, and we are just in time.”
I look over, curious as to what she is wearing since I hadn’t paid much attention during the
wedding planning. My mouth goes dry almost immediately as I rake my eyes up and down over her,
feeling my cock twitching in appreciation.
Fuck, she is just so beautiful.
Rosalie wears a beautiful blue gown that falls to the floor elegantly. The dress has thin straps and
a sweetheart neckline that shows off the curves of her shoulders and the dips of her breasts. The one
thing about the dress I don’t like is the fact it doesn’t show off all the curves that she possesses, but I
can only imagine that is Nya’s doing.
Still, Rosalie is the most beautiful woman in the entire world.
It doesn’t matter what she wears.
Her eyes meet mine briefly, and for once, she doesn’t look like she wants to punch me in the face.
“Ah, Lennox, there you are. Have you got everything prepared on your end?”
It makes me smile at the fact that she still wants to make her brother’s day the best day ever, even
if that means having to work with me. I would obviously never get in between either one of the
groups, not being that petty, but I did wonder for a second if we were ever going to get anything done
with her being mad at me.
It doesn’t help though that I am the best man while she is the maid of honor.
We must work together.
Whether she likes it or not.
“We are ready to go.” I respond. Seeing how she is watching me carefully, I’m not even trying to
woo her over right now.
A pleased smile spreads across Rosalie’s face as she nods her head. “Good. I can tell the
wedding planner that we can start the wedding on time. I must admit, I thought that you men would be
dragging us behind. I’m thankful that it didn’t have to turn out that way.”
I can’t say anything as she turns around and walks out of the room. My eyes are locked in on her
ass, biting my bottom lip as I wish that I could grab those firm round globes as I press her against the
wall and have my way with her.
Fuck, how good she would feel.
“It’s time to get a move on, James,” I finally tell him, hoping that he didn’t notice me ogling his
sister. “We have a wedding to attend.”
I don’t know how I’m going to get through the night…

Fuck, I’m about to lose control…

The wedding went perfectly, and it made my heart ache with happiness when I saw James and
Nya become husband and wife, kissing one another under the altar after exchanging their vows.
It was what happened throughout the ceremony that left me on edge.
I’m not sure if she did it on purpose, but Rosalie’s eyes met mine every now and then. She kept a
smile on her face but there had been an unreadable expression there too. I wasn’t sure how to take it,
and I’m not even sure what to make of it now. It was like she was studying me and trying to figure out
my motives.
Trying to figure out everything going on in my brain.
I can’t lie and say that it didn’t freak me out a little bit, knowing that Rosalie is really smart for
being a human. There were times I couldn’t control myself and revealed more of my wolf side to her
than I’d ever like to admit. I don’t think that she remembers, but if she did, I don’t think that she really
cares honestly.
She doesn’t care…
I sip on my beer, my eyes locked on her from across the reception, seeing her chatting with guests
with a glass of wine in her hand. The tension in the air is high, but I am sure only we can feel it. I
catch her eyes flitting over to me every now and then.
It made me painstakingly aware that I am not sure what she is thinking, and it is driving me
completely nuts. I don’t even care when women try to approach me and do who knows what. I don’t
even want to focus on them, more concerned about what would happen if my eyes left Rosalie’s for
even a moment.
“Excuse me,” I mutter at the woman beside me, not even caring that she looks offended as I walk
away, heading straight for Rosalie who is now watching me.
“Dance with me,” I tell her, leaving her no chance to protest.
I think that she might try but she can tell that I am challenging her. I am practically letting her know
that she has a choice to make now, and if she follows me onto the dancefloor, I’m not so sure that I
can stop myself from doing what I want.
What I hope she wants from me as well…
She takes my hand, and that is the final straw.
Taking her onto the dancefloor, I know that all eyes are on us, but I could care less. I pull her in
close, loving that it is a slow song. Her body melts against mine perfectly, her arms sliding around my
neck with confidence.
My heart is thudding away in my chest, wanting me to leap forward and be done with it but I know
that it doesn’t quite work that way. Rosalie’s eyes meet mine, and I am practically lost in the blues,
wishing she would look at me with love too.
“It’s always been you.”
Rosalie’s eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion. “Huh?”
I smile down at her. “I know that I am a grumpy asshole sometimes who doesn’t deserve
forgiveness, but I have loved you for as long as I can remember.”
Her breath hitches, eyes widening slightly.
“I should’ve never dated anyone while trying to get you off of my mind,” I confess, laying it out to
her. “I thought I was doing the right thing by fighting my love for my best friend’s sister, but I don’t
want to anymore. I hate feeling this way. All I have ever wanted is you, and I’m hoping you feel that
way too.”
The song slowly dies, and I’m thinking she might push me away.
She steps back, but to my surprise, she grabs my hand and starts leading me away from the
dancefloor. I catch James’ eye, seeing the confusion on his face but I wave him off. If she’s going to
scream at me, she might as well do it away from the party.
Outside the reception building is a beautiful garden full of flowers, making it a flower
wonderland. As her hand slips from mine, I think that she might yell at me, but she does the thing I
expect least.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Rosalie leans up on her tippy toes and presses her lips against
mine, fireworks practically exploding from the sudden touch.
Finally….
 Chapter Four
Rosalie

I am a weak person sometimes. I’m only human. I’m not perfect.

The moment Lennox confessed to me the feelings he has been bottling inside of him, it was like
something inside of me snapped and knew that I had to have him now. There was nothing holding me
back, but I didn’t want to jump him in the middle of my brother’s wedding.
I hate him, yes… but I can’t deny the feelings that are still there.
Leaning into his kiss, I am stunned when it feels like sparks are flying from where our lips meet. I
wrap my arms around his neck once again, digging my fingers into his thick hair, not wanting to let go.
His hair is just as soft as I thought it would be, and I feel my pussy throbbing from the need to have
him buried inside of me.
Why should I hold myself back?
Why can’t I be happy as well?
It’s not like this is a permanent thing… right?
“Why are you doing this to me?” he growls against my lips, his body pressing against mine, and I
feel his hard cock digging into my belly, seeming more than a little desperate to be inside of me as
well. “Why are you tempting me, Rosalie? You don’t know how much I want you. How much I’ve
always wanted to do this to you. With you.”
I smile, fiddling with the back of his hair, my nipples hardening into peaks beneath my dress and
brushing against his wide chest. “Well, it looks like it is your lucky day, Lennox. It’s getting late and
I’m sure we won’t be missed…”
I trail off, hoping he will catch on quickly to what I am trying to tell him. His body stiffens
slightly, and he pulls back, forcing me to let him go. I gaze into his black eyes, seeing the desire
raging there but he doesn’t look so sure. It is like he is battling with his inner self, deciding if it really
is a good idea to take up my offer.
I really hope that he will so I can do all the sinful things to him that I have planned. I’ve always
wanted to fall to my knees in front of him, roll down that metal zipper and free his big, hard cock. I’ll
take him into my mouth, laving my tongue up and down the smooth, silky length, feeling the hard pulse
of the vein beneath my tongue.
I want to taste his precum on my tongue and feel his body shudder with desire to cum. I want to
hear the moans escaping his lips as I suck his cock, feel his balls tighten before he cums right down
my throat. I want to greedily take in every big gulp of his cum, and wish that he would fill me with it,
make my body his.
I could only imagine how his raw cock would feel sliding inside of me.
I clench my thighs together.
I need it.
“I have a cabin not far from here that I rented,” I whisper huskily to him, clenching my thighs
together to try and relieve some of the tension that is welling inside of me. “Come there with me. You
won’t be disappointed.”
His eyes flash, and he cups my cheeks, frowning slightly. “I’d never be disappointed with you,
Rosalie…”
I think he is about to reject me, but he slips his hand into mine, offering me a small but strained
smile. Feeling a little giddy now, I lead him away from the reception, thankful that everything is pretty
much done with. Knowing everyone else, they won’t even realize that we are gone and will just
assume we went back to our homes.
Except that I’m bringing the hottest bachelor back to my place…
It is a win indeed.
I can’t even make it through the door before Lennox gently pushes me inside and slams me back
against the door, shutting it so hard in the process that I felt the cabin shake. He fists his hand in the
back of my hair, jerking my head back with a little sting, but it is quickly replaced with the desire that
I have been holding back.
“Kiss me!” I demand of him, needing it.
His lips twitch into a small smirk. “It’s a good thing that you’re not the one in control, Rosalie…
now, get on your knees.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I allow him to guide me to my knees, trying to calm my racing heart but it isn’t an easy thing, I
must admit. I draw in a deep breath, coming face to face with his tented slacks, wondering how this
flimsy material can contain him. Peeking up at Lennox, I see that he is watching me, his cheeks
slightly reddening with his desire.
Fuck, he’s going to drive me nuts.
“Can I touch you, daddy?” I whisper huskily, reaching up to lightly stroke him through his pants.
“I’m aching to see what you’ve been hiding for so long.”
His eyes flash, and I swear he hardens even more in my hand. So he has a daddy-kink, I conclude.
Pleased that he lets me do what I want as I pop open the button and lower the zipper slowly, inch by
measly inch.
I draw in a deep breath, still trying to calm my raging nerves as I hook my fingers in the waistband
of his Calvin Kline underwear, pulling them down slowly. My eyes widen as every piece of his cock
is slowly revealed, having to keep pulling down his underwear until it is finally let loose, nearly
smacking me in the face.
Holy fuck, this has to be a good nine, ten inches.
I am mesmerized.
“What are you doing just staring at it?” Lennox growls softly, gently tugging me forward by his
hold in my hair. “Do a good job and please daddy’s cock. Show me just how much I should reward
you later.”
And again, he doesn’t need to ask me twice.
I grasp the hard but silky cock in my hands, shuddering at the sheer size, wondering just how in
the world it is going to get inside of me without tearing me in half. I exhale softly, licking my bottom
lip as I slowly jerk his length, wanting to take it a little slow even though I know it will drive him
insane. Lennox doesn’t try to rush it though, his body obviously straining as he gazes down at me,
helpless as I work my hand up and down, feeling his cock throbbing with life.
It's like he’s already about to cum.
Cum for me.
Feeling a boost of confidence, I lean forward and kitten-lick the tip of his cock, hearing his quick
hiss of an exhale, not even realizing he had been holding his breath when I had been leaning closer.
The taste of his precum explodes on my tongue, and it surprises me a little bit to realize how much I
like it.
It is a little salty, but it has an interesting taste to it.
Kind of like... peaches?
I don’t dwell on it though as I part my lips wider, sucking the tip of his cock into my mouth, his
groan of pleasure echoing around me. There is no way that I am going to be able to take all of him in
my mouth, but I sure am going to try.
I’m going to be the best that he ever had.
The best he will ever have.
He will never forget about me, not this time.
“Suck daddy’s cock, Rosalie!” he commands me, sending a tremble through my body at the
hoarseness of his voice. “Your kitten-licks and tip teasing will not be enough for me. Open your
mouth wider and take me in… my cock needs to be wet enough to fill your tight pussy.”
Feeling like he is challenging me now, I look up at him defiantly as I take more of him into my
mouth, feeling the straining of my jaw that makes my eyes water momentarily. But I’m not going to
give up now. Not when I have him like this.
Watching him throw his head back, his jaw clenching with control, I decide then that I need him to
lose that control. I want him to fuck me like a mad man and make me addicted to his cock. These
primal desires running through my veins should scare me since I am still supposed to hate him, but
hate fucking is much better than making love sometimes.
I want him to ravage my pussy, not make love to it.
I bob up and down on his cock with such precision, feeling the tip of it pounding into the back of
my throat each time, but I don’t care. His cock is twitching and leaking precum against my tongue and
down my throat, showing me how much he is loving this. His soft grunts of pleasure are enough to
drive me crazy as well, feeling like I could explode at any moment, but I need to get him there. I need
to be the one that makes him this crazy.
“FUCK!” he snarls as he releases inside of my mouth, and like the good girl I want to be, I
swallow every drop.
Pulling off of his cock with a small pop, I am about to smile smugly at him, but he doesn’t give me
the chance to. Within a few seconds, he yanks me up to my feet and kicks off his pants, discarding
them wherever before dragging me to the back of the cabin where the bedroom is. I peek down, eyes
widening when I see his cock is still hard and throbbing, and if it’s even possible, looking bigger than
it was earlier.
“Lennox,” I start to speak, but it’s no use.
I am practically pushed down onto the bed, feeling my heart jumping to my throat as Lennox
kneels on the floor by the edge of the bed, dragging me closer as he throws my legs over his
shoulders, spreading me wide for his eager view.
 The animalistic desire on his face is enough to drive a girl wild.
My breath hitches as he bunches my dress around my waist, a slow smile spreading across his
face as he rubs the pad of his finger against my pussy lips through my dainty underwear, causing me to
blush when I realize he can feel just how wet I am for him.
He hooks his fingers in the band of my panties and rips them off before I can even stop him from
doing so. My eyes widen slightly as he brings my panties closer to himself, inhaling deeply as he
closes his eyes, his muscles flexing with barely concealed restraint. I’m not even sure when he lost
the jacket, but the way his shirt is unbuttoned, exposing his muscular chest and rock-hard abs, it is
enough to make any girl swoon.
“You smell so mouth-watering,” he growls, opening his eyes, and for a split second, I thought they
were a blazing yellow.
I don’t have time to think about it as he throws my panties across the room, leaning down and
swiping his tongue along my slit, causing me to cry out as he brushes against my clit, sending waves
of pleasure through my body. My legs lock around his head, a part of me wanting to push him away
but also wanting to draw him closer because of the intense pleasure he is wracking upon me.
He's not going to let me go though, holding me in place to do whatever he wants to me.
“So fucking good,” he growls against me, sending vibrations throughout my lower region.
Almost embarrassingly, I cum right there, crying out his name like I am a woman possessed.
Lennox is a good lover and licks me clean, like a man starved and craving more. Due to my orgasm,
the soft stroke of his tongue is enough to bring me over the edge once again, my body going slack from
the intense pleasure that I’m not sure how to handle.
“NO MORE!” I beg him, fisting my hands in his hair. “Please get up and fuck me.”
I think that he might try to fight me and do what he pleases, but he rises to his feet, shedding off the
last few pieces of his clothing. My dress is next to go, easily coming over my head and being tossed
aside like it is nothing.
But it is what happened next that changed everything.
Lennox carefully moves over me, his body covering mine easily as he braces himself on one hand,
not wanting to press his weight fully onto me. He hooks his free hand around one of my knees and
brings my leg over his waist, spreading me open for his viewing. My heart is stuttering in my chest,
feeling like it could explode at any second as I feel his wide head pressing against my entrance almost
intimidatingly.
“Are you on the pill?” he asks me huskily.
I barely am able to process his words. “Yes.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Lennox thrusts inside of me to the hilt, showing absolutely no
mercy. I cry out in pain and pleasure at the feeling of him burying himself inside of me, his body
practically shaking from controlling himself.
“Shit, you’re so fucking tight!” he snarls, and I swear his eyes go golden again. “Daddy’s cock is
buried deep inside of your little pussy. My pussy!”
Fuck!
“MY PUSSY!” he snarls once more, shifting his hips, his cock barely moving inside of me but it
is enough to make me want to go crazy.
“Yours,” I promise him, seeing his eyes locking with mine now. “It’s all yours, Lennox.”
I’m not sure of this confession now, but it seems to be what Lennox needs as he starts to pound
into me.
I hold on for dear life as Lennox thrusts, his cock burying itself so deep inside of me, I think I
might split in half. Stars form in front of my eyes at the intense feeling of his cock slamming into my g-
spot, feeling like I could cum at any moment but not wanting to.
Something is missing.
Something is not right.
But I don’t want it to end either.
“Fuck, keep fucking me, daddy!” I wail, lifting my hips to meet his forceful thrusts, and if
possible, make him go deeper. “You’re fucking me so good! I don’t know how much more I am going
to be able to take!”
I nearly whine as Lennox pulls out of me, the orgasm that has been lingering on the edge dying
down, feeling a little frustrated that he denied me that pleasure. The irritation is quickly gone as he
flips me onto my hands and knees, pressing my face into the mattress, gripping my hips, holding me in
place as he sinks his cock inside of me once more.
“You’re mine!” he snaps. “All mine!”
As his hips slam against mine once more, I feel him biting down on my shoulder, sharp teeth
piercing my flesh. I scream out in pain but with his next thrust, the pain slowly dissipates, making me
wonder if I had just imagined it as he lets go, his hips smacking into my ass as he fucks me.
As he makes me his.
“Daddy, I’m going to cum!” I cry out, right on the very edge but still unable to do so.
“Cum for me then!” he commands me, and it’s like the whole world stops.
I scream out in pleasure as I cum, drenching the bed beneath me as I squirt my release from the
intensity. I don’t even feel embarrassed, my insides tingling and my pussy clenching with excitement.
Lennox snarls behind me as he slams inside of me in quick succession before burying himself to
the hilt, spilling his seed inside of me. I can feel his cock pulsing as he cums, showing me no mercy
from his savageness.
I thought it would be fine.
The sex is mind-blowing, that much is true.
But when I look at him over my shoulder, I am horrified to see blood staining his lips and his eyes
are glowing yellow.
It’s like he is a beast.
I can’t run away though as he flips me over onto my back, sliding his cock inside of me once
again. He knows I can see him this way, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“We have all night, baby,” he growls before thrusting into me tenderly. “This time, I’m going to
make love to you.”
Who exactly is Lennox Grayson?
The better question is…
What is he?
 Chapter Five
Lennox

I messed up big time, I can’t even deny it now.

I groan as I lay in bed, gazing up at the ceiling in misery. I knew that it was a mistake to not tell
Rosalie what I am, let her know the truth about everything, but I didn’t expect things to go down the
way that they did last night. I didn’t think that my wolf was going to take over and mark her.
It’s not like it can just be erased.
It is permanent.
The following morning when I woke up, I had planned on talking to her about what had happened,
and the truth about myself. The only problem is that by the time I woke up, she was long gone. I tried
calling her, but she wouldn’t even talk to me there either. I don’t want to think that maybe she wants
nothing to do with me, but I quickly found out that she had holed herself up in James’ house while they
are away on their honeymoon and refuses to see me.
James messaged me and told me that she was asking me to give her some space for a while, and
even though my wolf was growling at me and demanding me to barge in there and demand for her to
see me, I couldn’t do that to her. I know that I scared her; she had every right to be afraid.
So here I am giving her space.
And it’s killing me.
Maybe if you grew a pair, she would be here.
I roll my eyes as what my wolf is saying to me, trying to block him out, but he comes rushing
forward every time.
If you would have patiently waited, she wouldn’t have run from us.
He practically scoffs at me.
You wanted to as well, you can’t even lie to me, Lennox. I am your wolf, you know?
I NEVER WANTED TO FORCE HER TO BE WITH ME! You know what the mark will do to her;
I don’t want her to just desire me because of what the mark is making her feel. I wanted her to
come to me with her own free will and love me because she wants to!
I hear him grumble but he doesn’t try to fight me on this anymore. He knows that I am right, that he
did the wrong thing and messed everything up. I growl softly, throwing my arm over my eyes,
picturing her in my mind and wondering how I am going to make up with her after what I did.
Fuck my life.
 I’m sorry, Lennox, I messed up.
I sigh, hearing the sadness in his voice.
It’s okay, wolf, I can’t blame you entirely. I should have pushed you aside, but I did want it as
well. I just wish that we would have done it a different way that she would want to accept us.
He sighs as well, and I can practically see him pouting with his tail lowered.
Do you think she will ever accept us?
I don’t know.
I hate to be that way, but I truly do not. I never expected for us to jump into bed together the way
that we did, but I don’t regret it. I don’t regret making love to her and I don’t regret marking her. I just
regret that I did it the wrong way. My secretary has been calling me for days now, asking me when I
am going to come back to work as paperwork is piling up, but I just can’t until Rosalie and I get all of
this figured out.
I just need an answer.
Before I can think of anything else, I hear my phone go off and I immediately shoot up in bed,
hoping that it is Rosalie. I am a little miffed when I see it’s not her, but James. Oh, he should be
arriving back from his honeymoon, I conclude, opening up the message to see what he wants.
James: We need to talk NOW. Come to my house.

I saw this coming beforehand, and it doesn’t even surprise me. I slowly get out of bed, looking
down at my ragged clothing, wondering if I should change before going. I don’t need any sympathy
even though I look terrible. It’s not what I want from anyone right now.
If anything, I just hope that Rosalie will listen to me.
Go, we can only try.
I decide then that it is worth a shot.

Inside of his house, James is sitting across from me at the kitchen table, his arms crossed over his
chest, and he does not look happy. After letting me in, he led me to the kitchen where he poured me a
glass of water before sitting down. Neither one of us has said a word, the tension in the air, very high.
I’m not sure where Nya is, but I assume that she is with Rosalie right now.
“I don’t want you seeing Rosalie right now,” James tells me, a coldness in his voice that is like a
punch to the gut. “First, we need to have a talk.”
I visibly wince, knowing I completely fucked up and he has every right to be angry at me. I won’t
even fight back if he tries to punch me a few times because I know that I deserve it. We have been the
closest friends, but I can only imagine what he is thinking after coming home to all of this.
To his sister holed up in his house.
To his best friend who looks like crap.
“I made a mistake,” I tell him honestly, scratching the back of my neck, “but I don’t regret loving
her.”
His eyes flash. “You screwed around with my little sister, Lennox!”
I clench my jaw in frustration. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it, Lennox?” he yells at me, practically shaking the entire house from the loudness
of his voice. “Was she just a one-night stand to you? Did you take advantage of her and break her
heart just like everyone else? How in the world did you two end up in bed together anyway? I thought
she hated you. And you…”
“I’ve never hated her,” I snarl, my wolf trying to peek through once again and show his ass off. “I
have loved Rosalie for years, but I curbed everything I felt for her because I thought that it was wrong
to like your best friend’s sister. I came to the conclusion the day of the rehearsal that those feelings
are still there, and I have a good explanation now as to why.”
James looks a little surprised because I never say the L-word, knowing that I don’t use that word
lightly. “Okay? What is it?”
James knows a little about me being a wolf, having told him shortly after we turned eighteen. At
first, he didn’t believe me because who would? But the moment I turned and showed him what I was,
he sat down, and we had a long talk about everything. Why I needed to hide it and that I didn’t want to
hide it anymore.
Rosalie doesn’t know though, or at least I don’t think so. Because she wasn’t talking to me at the
time, I didn’t feel it was necessary to bug her anymore with me.
“She’s my fated mate,” I explain to him, going a little farther into detail since I’m sure he doesn’t
remember me telling him about this. “Basically a fated mate is the person the moon goddess
specifically picked out for us to be our soulmate. The one who will make us the happiest and follow
us into the afterlife in the wolf world. It doesn’t matter if they are human or wolf, we can be mated to
anyone. The day of the rehearsal, my wolf made it known to me that Rosalie is mine.”
I know he believes me by the look in his eyes, but he sighs. “Okay. That doesn’t explain why my
sister is holed up in my house though.”
I close my eyes, remembering her scream of pain when my canines sunk into her tender neck,
forever marking her as my mate. The dark desires pummeling inside of me were quickly quenched the
moment it happened, and it was like I had lost all control over my body.
It was the primal side coming out.
I hated it.
“I did something I didn’t expect,” I whisper, hanging my head in shame. “While Rosalie and I
were… intimate.” I don’t want to go into detail, seeing his nose already wrinkling his nose up. “My
wolf ended up taking over and before I realized what was happening, I was marking Rosalie. The
mark binds us together, and it makes her fully mine. Her body will forever crave mine, and so will
she. The mark speeds up the process of feelings.”
His eyes go cold once again. “So you marked her to make her have feelings for you?”
I quickly shake my head, really hoping now that he doesn’t punch me in the face for being the idiot
that I am. “No. I don’t want her to be with me if she truly doesn’t want to. I’d never want that. I want
her to love me and want to be by my side because that is what she truly wants. I hope that she will
forgive me for being the idiot that I am and let me prove myself to her. Prove that I can be a good man
and love her like the queen that she is.”
James is studying me carefully, processing every word that I tell him. My heart is thumping
erratically in my chest, wondering if he is going to accept the truth of what I’m saying. I’ve laid it out
for him, spilling every truth that has welled inside of me. The guilt is tearing me up inside and I can’t
live with the idea that he might hate me too.
I wouldn’t blame him though.
James finally nods his head. “I see. I can’t say that I’m very happy with you right now, Lennox, but
I can forgive you. I just don’t know if she will.”
 I rise to my feet, nodding, “I know. I don’t expect her to. I’ll give her the space that she wants
right now and if she decides that she can be with me, then I will gladly welcome her with open arms.
I must be patient though.”
I tell James goodbye, feeling like I am about to start suffocating if I don’t get out of that room as
quickly as possible. Without looking back, I rush towards the woods at the back of his house, letting
the trees surround me before I shift. The bones in my body crack and rearrange themselves before I
land on the ground on all fours, racing over the fallen trees and mossy floors.
My wolf pauses, howling to the moon as we try to release some of our anger and self-loathing
over everything that is going on right now. I only hope and pray that Rosalie and the Moon Goddess
can forgive me for being such an idiot.
Another random document with
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 When he was no longer there my fears returned, and I found
myself again as unhappy as before. I seemed to see my mother
stretched before me in death. I saw once more the horrible men who
dragged me to the station. I hated them wildly, and I fell into
convulsive tremblings, which shook me from head to foot.
In this condition I reached Berlin. Luckily my friends were at the
station. Before my arrival they had even telegraphed to Paris to learn
the news. A reply had come to them that my poor mother was
hovering between life and death. I still had twenty-four hours of
waiting and anxiety.
When I arrived in Paris I perceived at once the beautiful white
beard, the pale and weary face of Dr. Chapman, whose tall form rose
above the crowd. He took me in his arms, and said:
“She is still alive. Come.”
In the carriage he gave me this advice:
“Enter the room and speak to your mother just as if you had
never gone away. Your presence will save her.”
And that is what happened. From the moment of my return she
began to improve. But this illness left her very weak. She had a first
attack of paralysis and her trouble gained imperceptibly upon her,
leaving each day less hope of her recovery.
She was destined, without ever being restored to health, to die in
Paris in February, 1908.
In Russia they started a long lawsuit against me for not having
kept my agreement, and before it was ended I lost, including other
offers, which I could not accept without my electrical apparatus and
my costumes that were held as security, fully 250,000 francs. During
my second season at the Folies-Bergère, when, through the
solicitude of M. Marchand, my dressing-room was always filled with
flowers by reason of the distinguished visitors who came to see me
and to whom the directors would offer champagne, an attachment
was put upon my receipts and we often had hardly enough to eat.
But for the manager’s wife, who at times sent us things to eat in a
basket, I should often have danced on an empty stomach, and have
sipped champagne in my dressing-room without having had anything
to eat at home.
My work on the stage was so fatiguing that when I had finished
dancing the mechanicians would carry me to my appartement, which
was connected with the theatre. I continued this work for a whole
season without being sufficiently well fed to keep up my strength,
and being all the while in an appartement the sanitation of which was
defective. Therein, I am certain, lay one of the reasons for the
progress of my mother’s illness. My health, too, was affected to such
an extent that I am no longer able to endure fatigue as I once
endured it.
However, it all happened as a result of circumstances, and I have
no wish to blame anybody.
The manager of the theatre had given me this appartement and
had had it arranged specially for me in order that I might not be
obliged to go out into the street, heated with dancing.
Since then I have never returned to Russia, for every time that a
journey to that country was mentioned my poor mother trembled with
fright, and there was never any question of my undertaking it.
This adventure at least caused me to believe in one thing—
inspiration. For if the priest in the railway compartment was not
inspired, then what was he?
 VIII
SARAH BERNHARDT—THE DREAM AND THE
REALITY

I WAS scarcely sixteen years old. I was then playing ingenue roles
on the road, when on the theatrical horizon there appeared the
announcement that the greatest tragedienne of modern times,
Sarah Bernhardt, the most distinguished of French actresses, was
about to come to America! What an event! We awaited it with
feverish curiosity, for the divine Sarah was not a human being like
the rest of us. She was a spirit endowed with genius.
The circumstance which made my heart throb and caused me to
shed tears copiously was that I was uncertain of being able to see
this wonderful fairy of the stage. I knew beforehand that there would
be no seat for one so insignificant as I was. The newspapers were
printing column upon column about her, and I read everything that I
could get hold of. The papers said that the seats were all bought up,
and that not a hundredth part of those who wanted to see her would
achieve their ambition. The box office was besieged by speculators.
All that, alas! meant that there was scarcely any hope for me. I do
not know whether Sarah had visited America before, for I had all
along been on the road with little travelling companies in the Western
States. So far as I was concerned this was positively her first visit.
At last the famous day arrived. A steamer, with delegations and
an orchestra aboard, went down the bay to meet her. All that
impressed me greatly. I saw in it genuine homage rendered to
genius. She had come at last. She was here. If I could only see her,
even from a distance—from a great distance!
But where and how? I did not know, and I kept on reading the
papers, fairly intoxicating myself with the articles describing her. It
seemed magic, unreality, a fairy tale.
 Finally she gave her first performance. The public and critics
appeared to rave over her,—absolutely to rave.
The actors and actresses of New York circulated a petition,
begging her to give a matinee in order that they might honour her
and observe her glorious art.
Wonder of wonders, she accepted! My mind was quickly made
up.
Very recently come to New York, my mother and I were strangers
in the big city. But fortunately I had plenty of courage without
knowing it. When I learned that Sarah was going to play for the
benefit of her fellow-artists, I said to my mother: “Well, now, I am
going to see her.”
“There are so many famous artists in New York,” my mother
replied, “how do you suppose that you can get seats?”
I had not thought of that, so I jumped up, saying:
“Then I had better hurry up.”
“How will you go about it?” asked my mother.
I paused a moment to think the matter over.
“I don’t know,” I replied, “but in some way or other I must see her.
I am going to her theatrical manager.”
“But he won’t receive you.”
Of that I had not thought, either. But I would not hear of any
obstacles. Besides, out West I had never been treated that way. I
was not yet fully aware that people in the West were simpler and
more approachable than in New York.
The objection, therefore, did not appear to me a formidable one,
and I started out with my mother, who always went with me and who
obeyed me in everything without my having the faintest idea but that
I was the obedient one.
Here we were, then, on our way; and, after half an hour’s
walking, we reached the theatre. The manager had not yet arrived.
We sat down to wait for him. A lot of people came in. Some of them
stayed for a while. Others went away at once.
They were all excited, busy and looked worried. What were they
after? Were they going to get all the tickets? The crowd kept
increasing to such an extent that I saw my poor tickets grow smaller
and smaller in perspective and then disappear altogether. And I had
counted so much on them!
Would the manager never come?
At last a great commotion was heard. A group of gentlemen
rushed by like the wind and, without stopping to see what was going
on, disappeared behind a door on which was written “No admission.”
None of us knew what to do after that. Everybody stared at
everybody else. Most of those who were cooling their heels in the
ante-chamber were men. My exhausted nerves would not let me
linger any longer, and I said in a whisper to my mother:
“I am going to knock on the door.”
She turned pale, but I had no choice in the matter. This was the
only way to come to something, even if I ran the risk of heart failure
from an organ that was beating so loudly that I thought it was on the
point of bursting.
My head was in a whirl and I saw nothing for a moment.
Nevertheless I approached the door and gave a gentle knock.
I felt as if I had committed a crime, this little rap resounded so
loudly in my ears. A command to enter that sounded lugubrious was
the response, and I opened the door.
Mechanically I came forward and found myself in the middle of a
group of gentlemen without knowing which of them to address.
Overcome with embarrassment I stood erect in the centre of the
room while everybody looked me over. Then I summoned all my
courage and I said, to the whole circle:
“Gentlemen, I should like to see the manager of this theatre, if
you please.”
 When I stopped speaking my teeth began to chatter so loudly
that I bit my tongue.
A gentleman who looked more important than the others came
forward and said:
“What do you want of him, little girl?”
Good heavens, must I speak again before all these people? To
my own astonishment, I heard, as if it were somebody else’s, my
own voice saying in a firm tone:
“Well, it is this way, sir. I am an artist, and I should like to come
with my mother to the matinee that Sarah Bernhardt is going to give
us.”
“Who are you, and where are you playing?”
At this point the tone lost its assurance, while the voice replied:
“You probably don’t know my name, sir. It isn’t well known here.
It’s Loie Fuller. I have come from the West, to try and find an
engagement. I’m not playing anywhere just now, but I think that—it is
of no importance anyway—and that perhaps you will let me just the
same—see her—if I beg it of you.”
“Where is your mother?”
“There, outside,” and I pointed to the door.
“The pale lady, with the sweet expression?”
“Yes, sir. She is pale because she is afraid.”
“And you, are you afraid, too?”
The firm voice reappeared.
“No, sir.”
He looked at me, a slightly ironical smile played on his lips, and
he said:
“Then you think that you are an artist?”
His remark cut me to the quick, but I felt that I must endure
everything. I experienced, nevertheless, a great temptation to cry.
 My assurance reasserted itself.
“I have never thought that,” I replied. “But I should like to become
an artist, some day, if I am able.”
“And that is why you are anxious to see the great French
tragedienne play?”
“Yes, I suppose so. But I was thinking only of my longing to see
her, and it was on that account that I came here.”
“Very well, I am going to give you seats for yourself and your
mother.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.”
The manager drew a card from his pocket, wrote something on it
and handed it to me. It was a permit for us to see Sarah Bernhardt
play!
I looked at the card and looked at the manager. He smiled and I
smiled. He extended his hand. I extended both of mine. While he
held my hands he said to me:
“You have my card. Come and see me. Perhaps I can find you an
engagement, little girl.”
There was a new pleasure, and not a vain pleasure, for this
man’s promise was one that was destined to be fulfilled.
“Thank you, thank you very much, sir.”
I went out blinded with tears of happiness, which I could no
longer restrain, and, rejoining my mother, I left the theatre.
“What’s the matter, my dear Loie? What did they say to make you
cry so? What is it?”
“Mamma, mamma, I have a ticket to see her—to see her!”
“Oh, I am so pleased, my dear.”
“And I have a seat for you, too!”
The great day came. We were seated, my mother and I, in the
orchestra stalls. About us there were American artists. In the boxes
were the managers of all the New York theatres and their wives. The
house was filled to overflowing. The three bangs announced the
rising of the curtain. Silence ensued and the play began, I did not
understand a word and no one around me, I fancy, did, either. But
everybody awaited the culminating moment. She appeared, and
there was an almost painful silence in the great overcrowded hall.
Every one held his breath. She came forward lightly, appearing
barely to brush the earth. Then she stopped in the middle of the
stage, and surveyed this audience of actors.
Suddenly pandemonium was let loose. Madness fell upon the
house, and for a quarter of an hour she stood thus, prevented from
playing by the din of the theatre, as if she were the audience. She
looked round, interested, inspired and moved. This tumultuous
crowd was playing with magnificent sincerity a part of indescribable
enthusiasm.
Finally silence was restored. Sarah Bernhardt came forward and
began to read her lines. I believe I understood her soul, her life, her
greatness. She shared her personality with me!
The stage settings were lost on me. I saw and heard only her.
There was frantic applause, encore after encore following each
scene. Then the curtain fell on the final scene, only to be followed by
a great uproar. Then the audience went out slowly, as if regretting to
leave the surroundings.
While I went away a golden voice—the golden voice—seemed
still to resound in my ears, uttering words which I could not
understand: “Je t’aime! je t’aime!” They were like the notes of a
crystal bell resounding in my consciousness.
Who would have thought at that time that the poor little Western
girl would one day come to Paris, would appear there on a stage, in
her turn before an audience trembling with enthusiasm, and that
Sarah Bernhardt would be in the house for the purpose of
applauding this little Western girl, just as the little Western girl had
applauded her to-day?
 I was dancing at the Folies-Bergère. At a matinee some one
came to say that Sarah Bernhardt was in a box with her little
daughter. Did I dream? My idol was there. And to see me! Could this
be possible?
I came on to the stage and looked over the audience, which was
filling the hall above and below. Standing quietly, in my great white
robe, I waited for the end of the applause.
I danced and, although she could not know it, I danced for her. I
forgot everything else. I lived again through the famous day in New
York, and I seemed to see her once more, marvellous as she was at
the matinee. And now here was a matinee to which she had come
for the purpose of seeing me—my idol, to see me.
Photo Lafitte
THE DANCE OF THE LILY
 I finished.
She rose in her box, she leaned forward toward me to applaud—
and to applaud again. The curtain rose several times. My brain was
in a whirl. Was this real? Was it? Was it she?
It was my turn to become the audience and, as I saw only her,
her audience. And that is how she played to my profound, my perfect
gratification, the part of the whole house.

One day a friend took me to Sarah Bernhardt’s house. It was a

real visit, but it seemed to me nevertheless like a dream. I was
scarcely able to speak or to breathe. I could hardly presume to look
at her. I was in the presence of my divinity.
Later she invited me to have lunch with her, as a result of my
begging her to be photographed by one of the best photographers of
San Francisco, who had crossed the ocean expressly to take Sarah
Bernhardt in her wonderful studio. She had consented. I had taken
my compatriot to her, and she had posed for him very graciously. He
was so pleased with his good luck, so grateful, the dear fellow!
Sarah had asked me to come and lunch with her on the day
when he was to show her the proofs.
Exactly at noon I made my entrance. Very shortly after she
appeared in the great studio, took me in her arms and imprinted a
kiss on each of my cheeks. All that was so simple, so natural and yet
so extraordinary.
We had luncheon, Sarah at the end of the table, with her back to
the window, seated in a magnificent chair, as it were in some carved
throne, whose back overtopped her head like a halo of gold. Sarah
was my divinity once more. I was seated on her right. There were
several other invited guests whose names I have forgotten, my mind
was so full of her. Her voice rang in my ears. I understood not a word
of what she was saying, but every syllable made me thrill.
 All at once the photographer was announced. Sarah bade him
enter. He was a nice elderly gentleman of about sixty, with pretty
white curly hair. He looked well pleased with himself. He approached
Sarah, and placed in her outstretched hands a packet of proofs of
the photographs he had taken. She looked at them slowly, one by
one. Then, her golden voice broke forth in shrill notes that gave me a
sinking feeling. I did not know what she was saying, but I saw her
tear the photographs into a thousand and one shreds and hurl them
at the feet of my fellow-countryman. He knew no French. Pale and
disturbed, he asked me to translate what Sarah said. But she gave
me no time to reply. She cried, this time in English: “Horrible!
Horrible!”
“What does she say?” he asked, making a trumpet of his hand
about one ear.
Thank Heaven, he was deaf! I signalled to him to bend down
toward me so that I might whisper in his ear.
“She says these portraits are unworthy of your work. She has
seen some of your really wonderful photographs. You will have to
come again and make another attempt.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” he replied with a joyful smile on his lips. “She
is quite right. The photographs are not good. But the weather was to
blame. It wasn’t bright enough, and these are interiors. We shall
have to make efforts several times in order to succeed. Do you want
to make another appointment?”
I promised, but without hope, and solely because out of kindness
I had to promise.
He grasped my divinity’s hand and mine, and went away.
Sarah was destined on that day to cause me a happy surprise.
She consented, when I asked it of her, to sit again, and I was sorry
that the old man was not there, she was so grieved on account of the
pain for which she was responsible. She really was grieved, and that
made me love her all the more. Her temper, too keen, too glowing,
had just resulted in a ruinous flare-up. And now here was this same
fiery disposition manifesting itself sweet and kind.
 One day in London I went to a banquet of fifteen hundred covers
given in honour of Sarah Bernhardt. I attended as one of those who
were personally acquainted with her, and who were to be seated at
her table in the centre of the great hall. She arrived nearly an hour
late. She said how sorry she was to have kept us waiting, and
blamed her coachman for the delay.
At the end of the banquet the president made a long speech.
Sarah, in reply, spoke some harmonious sentences in English. From
a distance I once more surveyed my divinity. I heard her say, in my
mother tongue, that she was happy, and I still loved her.

One day in Paris, very recently, Sarah Bernhardt’s business

manager was announced. I received him, all the while wondering
why my divinity’s manager had come to see me. He explained that
Madame Sarah Bernhardt wanted to know if I could give her certain
hints on the subject of the lighting of her new play, “La Belle au Bois
Dormant.” I was ill enough to be in bed, but I arose to receive him. I
promised him that I would go to see Sarah the next day. The
arrangement was inaccurately reported and she understood that I
was coming the same day. When she learned that she could count
on me only for the next day, she declared that I had fallen ill very
suddenly.
This thing wounded me to the quick, for I still loved Sarah. Next
day I went to her house and she saw that I was suffering, for I could
not utter a word. She took me in her arms and called me her
treasure. That was enough. Everything that I had was at her service,
and I would have done anything or given anything to help her. I did
remain at rehearsal to familiarise myself with what she needed in the
way of illumination.
In her turn she came to my theatre after the performance to see
some lighting arrangements that I had installed especially for her
play, and with the sole object of pleasing her. She brought some
people with her. For her sake I received them all cordially. Among
them was her electrician. Each time that I took the trouble to show
something to Sarah the electrician would be overheard saying:
“But I can do that. That is easy to copy. Oh, I can do that, too.
That’s nothing at all.”
As always during my performances the spectators were in
darkness, and one of my friends; who had seated herself near Sarah
to hear the admiring things she would say; was staggered by what
she did hear. And in going away Sarah thanked me as she would
thank anybody, overwhelming me with pretty speeches.
On the morning of the next day the managing director of the
theatre at which I was dancing announced in the newspapers—
without having consulted me—that Sarah Bernhardt had come to
see Loie Fuller’s lighting effects with reference to the new play by
Mm. Richepin et Cain, “La Belle au Bois Dormant.”
I sent some one to Sarah to ask which lighting apparatus she
would like.
And this was her reply.
“My electricians would go on a strike if they thought I was about
to associate any one with them. They say they can do whatever I
need to have done. Besides, it is only a matter of a gauze curtain
and a revolving lamp. A thousand thanks to Loie.”
Am I alone to blame for my disillusionment? I had pictured
something incomprehensible because Sarah Bernhardt is an
inspired artist.
But she is also a woman, and it took me twenty years to find it
out. She is a woman, a fact I shall now never be able to forget, but
she remains my divinity just the same.
 IX
ALEXANDRE DUMAS

O NE evening at the Folies-Bergère two cards were brought to

me. On one of them was engraved the name of the Minister of
Finance of the island of Haiti; on the other, that of M. Eugène
Poulle, also of Haiti.
What business could these two gentlemen have with me? The
minister probably wanted me to come and dance at his house.
The gentlemen entered, and I recognised in one of them my
Jamaica exile.
But that calls for an explanation.
In 1890 I was engaged by an actor named William Morris for a
tour of the West Indies. I was to be star of the company, of which he
was the leading man.
One cold winter morning we sailed out of New York harbour, and
hardly were we at sea before we fell victims to a fearful storm. For
two days and two nights the captain remained on the bridge, and it
looked as if we were destined to sink. My mother and I had never
undertaken an ocean voyage before. We were terribly sick and, shut
up in our cabin, we supposed that at sea things always went this
way. All that we regretted was that we had ever made the trip.
Certainly no one would ever induce us to do so again.
When we arrived in southern waters and the waves were still, we
appreciated what an extraordinary gale it was that had so shaken us
up. Some days later we landed at Kingston, Jamaica.
My mother, Mr. Morris and I took rooms at the same hotel, the
Clarendon.
We seemed to be the only guests there. We took our meals in a
great hall on the first floor, upon which all the rooms opened.
 Yet we were not the only guests, for suddenly a gentleman
appeared on the scene.
At first we paid no particular attention to him, but gradually we
observed that he seemed to be very much depressed. As it was
excessively warm he was always dressed only in his pyjamas. This
is a detail that I happen to remember, for Mr. Morris also wore
nothing else. The heat was insufferable, but I have always liked heat
by reason of the chronic tendency to colds that I have had since my
birth.
One day I asked my mother and Mr. Morris to invite the
newcomer to our table. I discovered with regret that conversation
between us would be impossible because he spoke only French and
we only English. By means, however, of pantomime and much good
will on both sides, we managed to make him understand our
intention.
Our polite intercourse consisted in nods and smiles and bows
and in making our hands and arms go this way and that way. As
soon, however, as we had become acquainted our relations were at
once established on a very comfortable basis.
He went with us to the theatre every time we played, that was
three times a week, and we took our meals together. During the
three months in which we were in Jamaica, I never took the trouble
to find out his name. As a general principle I am always less
concerned with my friends’ names than with my friends themselves.
After Jamaica we returned to New York and I hardly ever thought
of Kingston again.
Two years later, when I was dancing at the Folies-Bergère, an
elegant gentleman, accompanied by a friend, asked for an interview.
He turned out to be our Jamaica companion and his friend the
Minister of Finance of Haiti.
In the meantime he had learned English and was able to tell me
that the period at which we had seen him at Kingston was only a few
months after the breaking out of a revolution in Haiti. Our friend’s
father, one of the leading bankers of the island, had been
assassinated, and he himself had been obliged to escape in a small
boat. He had been rescued at sea and brought to Kingston. All the
while he was in Jamaica he had been trying to communicate with his
friends, by way of New York, and he had not been able to learn
whether his mother, his brothers, and his sisters were dead or alive.
A short time after our departure he got into communication with
his family and discovered that affairs were beginning to improve. He
returned home and found everybody safe and sound, except, of
course, his unfortunate father.
After having told me this story, which explained his sadness at
the time of our first meeting, he asked me:
“How can I be of service to you? You seem to have everything
that success can bring, but there is one thing I can do, and one
which, I am sure, will give you great pleasure. I can present you to
my old friend, Alexandre Dumas,” he added, with a pretty smile.
“Really,” I said, overcome with joy. “Are you really willing to
introduce me to the author of La Dame aux Camélias?”
“Yes, indeed,” he replied.
That was worth a dozen visits to Jamaica, and I thanked him
effusively.
A few days later he came to take me to Marly, where the great
writer lived.
During the journey in the railway carriage M. Poulle taught me a
French phrase, which I was to say when Dumas extended his hand:
“Je suis très contente de serrer votre main” (“I am delighted to grasp
your hand”). And of course, when the psychological moment arrived,
I phrased the words all askew. Instead of taking one of his hands I
grasped both and emphatically and with stress on each word, I said:
“Je suis très contente de votre main serrée” (“I am delighted with
your close-fisted hand”). I did not understand his reply, but my friend
later on told me that Dumas had replied: “My hand is not close-fisted,
but I know what you mean, child. My friend Poulle has related to me
his experiences in Jamaica, and I open my heart and my hand in
your service.”
 The gesture he made is the only thing which I remember, for all
the rest was Greek to me.
From this time on a great friendship, a great sympathy, subsisted
between us, although we were unable to understand each other.
Among the important men whom I have met few have exercised
upon me a charm such as that of Dumas. At first a little cold, almost
stiff in manner, he became, on further acquaintance, exquisitely
affable, and of a gallantry suggestive of the fine manners of the old
days. At first his words continued obscure to me, but gradually, as I
became familiar with the French language, I fell under the irresistible
charm of his conversation, with its beautifully logical and rounded
phrases, enamelled as it was with sparkling flashes of wit. Dumas
had practically two voices, two styles of speech; one which he
employed in ordinary circumstances, as in asking certain questions,
or in giving orders; the other the one in which he discussed a subject
that greatly interested him.
Very tall, with a somewhat dreamy look, he would survey you for
a long time, whilst deep in his eyes there gleamed a light of profound
and intelligent good will.
His hands, well modelled and large, were very handsome, and he
had an almost feminine love of being well groomed.
At breakfast one morning some one asked me if I was very fond
of M. Dumas, and I replied in French, which I still understood only
imperfectly: “I am very fond of her.”
Dumas, convulsed with laughter, said something that I did not
get, but which was translated for me thus:
“He says that he has been taken for a whole lot of things, but
never before for a woman.”
Dumas smiled again and kissed my hand, a circumstance that I
have always remembered.
Another time we were at Marly-le-Roi and the Count Primoli took
a number of photographs of us and of the garden, in which only a
single yellow rose was left.
 Dumas picked this flower and gave it to me.
“My dear sir,” I said, “it is the last one in the garden. You ought
not to give it to me.”
M. Poulle, who served as translator, rendered this reply:
“Oh, very well. Since it is so valuable, what are you going to give
me in exchange?”
I replied that a woman could give only one thing for so pretty a
thought as that suggested by the rose.
“And that is?” he asked.
I drew his face toward mine and kissed him.