My Husband, My Stalker 1st Edition

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MY HUSBAND, MY STALKER
JESSA KANE
 CONTENTS

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
 PROLOGUE

Evan

I ’m cleaning my Glock after tonight’s hit when I see her face on

the news.
A full minute passes before I remember to breathe.
Without registering my own movements, I find myself on my
knees.
Inches from the screen of the motel room television.
Who…is she?
Her face is exquisite, but God, she’s tired. Her strength is fragile,
though very much alive in her big, golden eyes. Beneath her
beautiful face are the words “Kidnapping Victim Speaks at
Sentencing” and my blood is already beginning to boil as I turn up
the volume.
“Miss Dubois, what was it like to come face to face today with
the man who kidnapped you?”
The question jars the young woman, but she hides it well,
tucking a loose strand of chocolate-brown hair back into her
ponytail. “It wasn’t…pleasant. But hopefully, someday, seeing him
put away will be part of my closure.”
 Her voice sends my blood rushing south, my cock stiffening
painfully behind the zipper of my jeans. Soft, husky, resilient, pure,
honest. I’ve never been so drawn to a sound in my life. But here I
am, pressing my forehead to the screen, my breath fogging up the
glass. My hands grope for the sides of the set, all but pulling it off
the cheap dresser in a need to be as close to her as possible. Who is
this girl? Who tried to hurt her?
I will end their life. I’m a professional, after all. It’s what I do.
And I will do it for her. One glance and already I would do
anything for her.
Miss Dubois tries to pass through the throng of reporters, but
they pipe up in a grating chorus, daring to block her path. “Miss
Dubois! Jolie!”
Jolie.
That’s her name.
Jolie Dubois.
I don’t bother writing it down, because it’s already engraved on
my brain.
There are claws in my chest, rearranging organs and making me
new. Making me into whatever she needs me to be. I will worship
her. I will find this sweet girl and protect her from any harm. She is
mine to guard, to keep, to marry. To fuck.
I’ve never had much interest in females. They are merely objects
that need to be avoided so I can kill the men I am contracted to
execute. They are occasional, faceless tools of comfort. This one is
my angel. She was sent for me. My singing blood is telling me so.
On the screen, she draws her bottom lip through her teeth and I
come very close to ejaculating in my pants. The pressure behind my
fly becomes too intense and I have to unzip, have to stroke myself,
standing on shaky legs and showing it to her. Letting her see the last
cock she’ll ever have between her legs.
“Jolie,” I choke, dragging the head of my erection over her face.
“What will you do now?” a reporter shouts at my girl. Mine. “How
will you move on after such a terrible trauma?”
That question draws Jolie up short, her golden eyes crowding
with worry. Thoughtfulness. And God, I am a miscreant. To be able
to rifle a hand up and down my dick while she deals with such
intrusive questions. While she speaks about this terrible thing that
happened to her. But I will atone as soon as the sun rises tomorrow.
I will make it up to her. Perhaps the anticipation of giving her real
closure, making her happy, is part of the reason I’m so hot. So sick
with the need to come.
Finally, she answers the question. “What I hope for is…a quiet,
normal life. Blessedly normal. And if I’m lucky, some laughter.” She
ducks her head and pushes through the crowd. “Thank you. Excuse
me.”
Quiet. Normal.
Can a hit man give her these things?
No.
No, but someone else can.
I will simply have to become someone else.
The news station moves on to another story and I turn,
stumbling to the bed and falling face down, fucking my fist like an
animal, imagining her big, beautiful eyes flashing up at me.
Imagining her sopping wet pussy clenching around my shaft, that
sweet voice calling my name.
She’s woken something inside me. An instinct to mate. To claim.
And I snarl into the scratchy comforter now, my hips jerking forward
and back violently, vowing to find her.
Vowing to stalk her, until I know exactly what will please her.
Vowing to make her my wife.
When I come, it’s a boom of thunder that changes me
irrevocably. Into her man. Into her perfect husband. My spend soaks
the bedclothes and bubbles over the tight grip of my fist, wringing
me out, making me roar, until I’m slumped over, visions of Jolie
rotating in my head.
I’m coming for you, angel eyes.
I’ll be there soon.
 1

Jolie

One month later

I ’m going to go to the block party.

No more hiding in this house.
The neighbors were kind enough to invite me via a note in
my mailbox, even though I’ve locked myself away from the world
since the trial. A full month of people leaving brownies on my
doorstep and checking the locks every hour. But now…
I glance down at the newspaper, the headline still there. I didn’t
dream it.
“Kidnapper Murdered in Prison.”
Not just murdered, though. Carved up and hung from his ankles
in the recreation yard.
My fear that Joseph Hynes is going to jump out of the shadows
has been irrational since they put him behind bars. But now, my fear
is even more unfounded. My therapist has been urging me to take
small steps to reinsert myself back into society. A block party is a
bigger step than I was hoping for. The supermarket might be a
better option. But the headline in the newspaper seems like a sign.
That it’s time.
After several calming breaths, I pick up my phone and hit the
controls to brighten up the entire house. Lights flip on and banish
the shadows, illuminating the back hallway leading to my bedroom
and I pad in that direction now. My heart pounds wildly in my chest,
even though logic tells me no one is hiding around the corner. No
one is going to jump out and grab me, drag me to the basement, tie
me up.
I shower and do my hair, makeup, for the first time in a month.
My favorite cream-colored slipdress hangs from my frame, due to
the weight I’ve lost from being too anxiety-ridden to eat. So I add a
belt and a cardigan, buttoning the sweater all the way to my neck to
make myself feel more secure.
There’s no telling how long I stand with my hand on the front
doorknob, breathing, counting to one hundred and back, attempting
to garner the courage to walk outside, but I finally do it, armed with
the knowledge—in black and white—that Joseph Hynes is no longer
a threat. He is gone. He can’t hurt me. It’s broad daylight and I can
hear the neighbors outside, can hear the music playing. This is safe.
I open the door…
And I see him immediately.
A man I don’t recognize, but must be one of the neighbors.
There is a group of men congregating around a barbeque and he
stands slightly apart from them, a bottle of beer held at his side
between two knuckles.
He’s handsome. In a sharp way. Like he has to concentrate on
holding himself still. Dark-haired. Tall, wide-shouldered, muscular, his
broad chest contained inside of a simple, blue button-down. Strong.
His eyes are focused as they fix on me, widening slightly.
I’m caught off guard when my mouth goes dry.
When my pulse skitters with…interest?
I’m twenty-two. In the past, I dated, but it never got serious. I
was always too focused on interior design school, learning
everything I could about beautifying homes, to worry about the
drama the opposite sex always seems to bring. Traveling, going
dancing, reading, swimming in the ocean. Those were the things I
used to enjoy. Boys were kind of an afterthought. Not that this man
could even remotely be referred to as a boy.
He’s a man. A man whose thick thighs test the seams of his
jeans.
A normal man, though? A quiet one?
Why am I wondering about him? I’m not open to a relationship.
I’ve barely made it to the end of my front path yet. I have a lot of
recovering to do before I can even think about dating. My God,
that’s probably years in the future.
Besides, I’m sure he isn’t clamoring to ask out the traumatized
virgin hermit next door.
I give him a polite smile and lower my eyes, going in search of
Nancy, the one who left me the note. I saw her deliver it through my
peephole. She’s a petite blonde in her forties who favors brightly
colored leggings and always wears a visor.
When two minutes has passed and I haven’t spotted her, my
palms begin to sweat.
Is it my imagination or is everyone whispering about me?
They must know who I am. I was all over the news for months.
I was probably invited as the entertainment. For everyone to
gawk at.
Another minute passes and I’m just standing there like an idiot. I
have to get back inside. That’s where it’s safe. Where I don’t have to
worry about anyone but myself, my own space, and the locks on the
doors.
I turn, walking in a fast clip down the sidewalk toward my house,
but before I can veer down my front path, the handsome man I
noticed before breaks from the barbequing group of men. He doesn’t
block my path like I expect him to do. Instead, he takes a hesitant
step in my direction, hands in his pockets, a lopsided smile making
him even more attractive.
“Leaving already?” he asks, in a husky baritone that makes me
shiver hotly.
 I haven’t spoken to anyone in person in a month. Before that, it
was mostly lawyers, cops and doctors. So my voice sounds unnatural
to my ears when I respond. “Yes. I can’t find the lady who invited
me. I don’t see her.” For some reason, maybe because his eyes are
so patient, I blurt, “There are a lot of strangers here.”
He considers the packed block, nodding, as if that was a
completely normal thing to say. “I see your point.” He lifts his beer.
“That’s what the alcohol is for.”
A laugh sneaks out of me. “Actually…I don’t drink anymore.”
A beat passes and I assume I’ve disappointed him. Then he turns
the bottle so I can see the label. “Non-alcoholic,” he says, kind of
sheepishly. “I didn’t want you to think I was…”
“Flawed?”
His eyes are the most intense shade of blue and it deepens now.
“Isn’t everyone, though?”
It’s the strangest thing. Those three words feel like they’re being
whispered to me across a pillow. We’re standing in a sea of people
and yet…this encounter is so intimate. Like no one else exists. The
other voices are just buzzes of sound. His eyes are a lifeboat in a
huge, turbulent ocean and I can’t seem to look away. “Yes. Some
more than others.”
Did he move closer or am I hallucinating?
“I don’t want to be forward or anything, but…” He looks over his
shoulder. “I happen to know where I can get you a tasteless non-
alcoholic beer, too.”
My heart starts to pound. So loud he must hear it. I’m not ready
for this kind of thing. At all. Sure, he’s kind. But having a drink with
a man? A man I’m attracted to? Where can it lead when I’m not
even capable of walking into a room unless the lights are blazing
and I’ve pep talked myself for ten minutes? “I don’t know,” I
whisper. “Um…no, I can’t.”
“Of course not,” he says, visibly exasperated with himself. “I
haven’t even told you my name. That’s supposed to come before
asking the beautiful girl for a drink, right?” I’m still reeling from him
calling me beautiful when he holds out his hand. “I’m Christopher.
New to the neighborhood. I live next door to you.”
 “You do?”
He hums in the affirmative.
New to the neighborhood. Does that mean he doesn’t know who
I am?
If he doesn’t now, he will eventually. People talk. But I can’t help
but think it would be nice to sit and have a conversation with
someone who doesn’t know I was kidnapped and terrorized in the
basement of an old house.
Shaking off my nerves, I slip my hand into his without thinking,
shocking myself. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jolie.”
There’s a flicker of something in his eyes and an answering
crackle breaks across my palm. Electricity. It turns my nerve endings
into buzzing little sources of sensation. “Jolie,” he says gruffly, his
attention dipping to my mouth. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Do you live…alone?” I ask.
“No.” I try to take my hand back out of his grip, but he holds on.
“I have a temperamental Husky named Winston.”
“Oh.” Wow. I think I almost got jealous there, assuming he had a
wife or girlfriend. How embarrassing. I’ve only known this man for a
matter of minutes. What business do I have being jealous? It makes
me feel silly. For making assumptions. For being so freaked out over
having one measly drink in broad daylight with a neighbor. You have
to start living again, Jolie. “I guess one drink sounds nice.”
He smiles, lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. “Thank
you.”
 2

Jolie

C hristopher leads me to an empty picnic table on the outskirts

of the crowd, leaving briefly to get me the same non-
alcoholic beer he’s drinking. When he sits down across from
me, it feels a lot like a date and a flutter of panic takes wing in my
throat, but his affable smile puts me at ease. “You’re in luck, Jolie,”
he drawls, tapping the neck of his bottle to mine.
“Why is that?”
“Because in my short time living on this block I’ve picked up a lot
of neighborhood gossip. And I’m about to fill you in.”
“Oh my gosh.” I press my palms to my cheeks, surprising by the
pressing need to giggle. “I shouldn’t be so excited. Gossiping is
mean.”
“Only if we get caught,” he says, winking at me.
I gasp with mock outrage. “You’re bad. You must do something
evil for a living.” I narrow my eyes. “Lawyer?”
He leans forward on his elbows, grinning broadly. “Nope.”
“A magician?”
A laugh barks out of him. “Magicians are evil?”
 “It’s common knowledge. They operate in the dark arts. Sawing
women in half all willy-nilly.” I shrug, take a sip of my beer. “And just
being generally cringey.”
“I can’t argue with that. You get one more guess.”
“Hmmm.” This is flirting. I’m actually flirting. And I can’t believe
it. Except there is something about Christopher that makes it so
easy. Makes me feel completely safe. At ease. There’s attraction,
yes. But there’s no pressure. No anxiety. It also helps that he’s
seated me in the exact right spot where I can see my front door. Did
he do that on purpose? “Russian spy?”
He laughs into a sip of his drink. “Sorry to disappoint you. I’m
just a normal, boring, run-of-the-mill insurance salesman.”
“Normal isn’t a bad thing,” I say honestly. “In fact, I think normal
is the best thing.”
“Do you?”
I nod slowly.
We simply look at each other, the day passing in flurry of color
around us, but our bodies remaining perfectly unmoving. “So…” I
whisper. “About this gossip.”
“Right,” he growls, though it quickly turns to a cough. He must
have had something stuck in his throat. “Let’s start with the man
operating the barbeque. He’s obsessed with his lawn. I once caught
him in the middle of the night on his belly, trimming it with scissors.”
My mouth falls open. “No, you didn’t.”
“I did. And it’s all because the man who lives across the street is
his high school football rival. You didn’t realize we were living in a
sitcom, did you?”
“I had no idea. Competing lawn care fanatics. Now that’s a show
I would watch.”
“Me too.” He glances back over his shoulder and I take a moment
to appreciate his physique. For a man who sells insurance, he is
obscenely fit. Like cut triceps and flexing shoulders and hands that
look like they do a lot more than tap at a keyboard. He must do
CrossFit after working hours. Otherwise he’s very naturally gifted.
This is healthy, right?
Noticing men and their attributes?
 I’m already excited to talk to my therapist about it.
“Okay, next up is the older woman holding court by the snack
table. You see her? Fire engine red hair. Hard to miss.”
This time, I can’t stop my giggle. “I see her.”
My laugh seems to distract him, but he swallows and keeps
going. “She dyes her poodle’s hair pink and posts pictures of it in
costumes on the town’s online bulletin board.”
“Oh, please say she dressed it like an old timey sheriff.”
“A sheriff, a mermaid, a milkman, a flapper…”
I almost choke on a sip of my drink. “No insurance salesman?
What a terrible oversight.”
“Right?” He shakes his head sadly. “We get no love.”
“Are you…” Don’t ask. Even if there’s an odd sense of connection
here, you could be imagining it after such an upheaval and
departure from regular society. And it’s too fast. Too soon. “Are
you…looking for love?”
A light of awareness comes on in his blue eyes. Until his finger
traces the small of my wrist, I don’t realize his hand is close enough
to touch me. “I’m looking at you, Jolie.”
It’s suddenly hard to breathe.
That rough fingertip of his travels into my palm, moving in a
circle and there’s an answering wetness between my legs. From
such a simple touch.
My nipples ache in my bra.
I’ve never been this drawn to someone. Not in my entire life.
Never knew it was possible. But I find myself allowing Christopher to
weave our fingers together, holding my hand across the table. Like
we’re a couple. Like we didn’t just meet minutes earlier.
And I’m shocked at how right it feels.
Maybe the newspaper headline was a sign.
At the reminder of my trauma, the sounds of a hysterical male
voice filter into my thoughts, along with the sounds of me begging,
sobbing, wood splintering.
I suck in a breath and take my hand back, standing abruptly and
knocking a hip into the table. Christopher shoots to his feet as well,
shoving long fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m…please. That
was too much.”
“No, it’s me. It’s…” I look around, my cheeks turning numb when
I realize the sun has almost completely gone down. How long was I
sitting at this table, looking into this man’s eyes? Did I leave the
house later than I thought? It’s possible. I spent a long time trying
to psyche myself up to go outdoors. And now. And now…I’ll be
walking into my house after dark.
My worst fear.
“Jolie,” Christopher says in a calm, resonant voice. “What is it?”
I turn in a circle, alarmed to find that most of the neighbors are
heading back inside, the music has stopped and the barbeque is no
longer smoking. “I just, um…” I wipe my perspiring palms down my
dress. “I don’t like coming home after dark.”
“Why?”
“You really don’t know?”
His brows pull together. Slowly, he shakes his head.
I lower my voice. “I was taken from my home. Kidnapped. After
work one night. He’d been hiding in my bedroom for days. The…the
man was an older co-worker of mine. He’d formed some kind of…
infatuation with me and imagined this whole relationship between
us. There was nothing, um…sexual. It was almost like he was
courting me.” I stop for a breath. “I played along until he let his
guard down. Until I could call the police. It…it was in the news.”
I wish I didn’t have to talk about this out loud. Not to this
normal, good-looking man who has every right to avoid a girl with
baggage like mine. Not when he made it possible for me to feel light
for a while. To be the kind of girl who flirts and has drinks with cute,
easy-going insurance salesmen.
Christopher has been very still while I related the story. Now, he
says, simply, “I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t glance away uncomfortably or try and relate my
experience to another horrifying story. He just says the right thing
and leaves it at that. Right where I need it for now.
“Thank you,” I murmur, stepping away from the table. “And
thanks for the drink. But I think I’ll head home now.”
 Putting his hands in his pockets, he nods gravely. “Good night.”
But when I reach my front door, I can’t seem to get a foot over
the threshold.
The lights are blazing inside. I’ve turned them on with my phone.
There’s no reason not to walk through the door, but I can’t. I can’t—
“I could go in with you.” Christopher’s voice carries from the
sidewalk behind me. “I could check the rooms and make sure it’s
safe. Then I’ll leave.”
I nod without turning around and he appears to my right, tall and
strong and reassuring. My immediate neighbor. A man everyone saw
me with. Surely letting him inside briefly is safe.
I want him to come inside, too, I realize.
There is something about him that puts me at ease. It’s the
manner in which he speaks to me, as if he’s well aware of the
invisible boundaries.
Without another word, Christopher steps inside and I follow him.
We move room to room. He checks even the ridiculous places, like
inside my kitchen cabinets. Behind the vacuum. Everywhere. He
goes down to the basement and does a thorough sweep, his manner
efficient. Powerful, even. So able and masculine, I once again
become aware of my damp underwear and the coil in my loins. My
sensitive skin.
Logically, I know I can take care of myself.
But I…like this man being protective. I like his care. His
attentiveness to detail.
The way he doesn’t judge.
“There’s no one here,” he says, looking me in the eye, letting his
assurance sink in. “Everything is locked. You’re safe.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Any time. I mean that. Any time.”
He hesitates, his chest expanding, then starts to leave. Makes it
all the way to the door.
“Wait.”
His back muscles tense, his hand pausing on the doorknob.
“Yes?”
 This is crazy. I can’t really be considering asking this near-
stranger to stay the night. We just met. I’m not mentally healthy
enough to do casual or serious. But I’m already walking toward him
as if in a trance, already sliding my palms up the range of muscles
on his back, absorbing his shudder. How can this feel so inevitable?
Almost…foretold? “Stay.”
He braces a palm on the door, and once again, I marvel at the
size and capability of his hands. The way one of his knuckles is
crooked and scarred. But I’m distracted from my thoughts when he
says, “Stay and have coffee? Or stay and take you to bed, Jolie?”
“I don’t know,” I say to his back. “I just know it makes me feel
safer to have you here.”
“There’s irony for you,” he mutters.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
His fingers curl into a fist on the door. “Nothing.”
Long moments pass and all I can hear is the sound of his
breathing, my racing pulse.
“I’ve never spent the night with a man before. Am I doing this all
wrong?”
“God, no, honey.” He drops his hand from the door and turns,
expression sincere and strained all at once. “You are fucking
perfect.”
The look in his blue eyes knocks me back a step. He’s…aroused.
Very much so. The crotch of his jeans protrudes at an angle, his jaw
slackening while he looks me over, head to toe, a low sound coming
from his throat. He’s so huge. The muscles of his forearms are in
tight ropes, his pupils expanding to encompass the blue. Starved.
For me.
When my back meets the wall, I realize I’ve been putting
distance between us.
“I’m already scaring you,” Christopher says raggedly.
Is he?
I’m wet. Growing so damp, so rapidly, my thighs are trembling.
My skin is crying out to experience those large hands. Have them
rake my flesh. I’m drawn to him like nothing else. And yes, the
attraction is so immense it startles me, but I think I’ll collapse if he
leaves.
Christopher shakes his head, reaches for the doorknob again,
signaling his exit. “This is moving too fast. It’s my fault. I—”
Quickly, I unbutton my cardigan, from my neck to my waist,
shedding it.
The belt is undone next, dropped heavily with a metal sound to
the tile below.
When there’s nothing left but my dress, I curl my fingers in the
hem and wait only a moment before stripping it over my head. And
then I’m standing in front of this magnetic man, my neighbor, in a
matching bra and panties set. White with a red rose pattern. All of
the lights are on. There’s nothing and nowhere to hide. It’s also the
reason I see every emotion cross his face. Awe, hunger, surrender,
lust. Lust like a battering ram.
He takes one step and flattens me against the wall of my
entryway, his mouth coming down on mine with a groan. His fingers
slide into my hair and cradle my nape, our hips meeting, thighs
pressing. He kisses me with lips only, pulling at my top one, bottom
one, slanting his mouth on top of mine until I mewl, arch my back,
and he finally slips his tongue inside, stroking it against mine, his
breath catching. I’ve felt nothing but fear for so long that I race
toward my own need, flinging myself into it like a cliff diver into a
blue lagoon. It feels so good to be alive, to have this man’s touch,
and I’m suddenly greedy, desperate for more.
I scale his sturdy body, slinging my legs around his hips, the kiss
taking hold. Going deeper. With more urgency. He slides a hand
down the back of my panties and kneads my butt, pressing my
upper half to the wall, his lips racing down to my neck, my throat.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he rasps in between kisses,
those eyes intense, exploring. “I’ve needed you. I’ve needed you.”
“I’ve needed you, too.” My fingers work to unbutton his shirt.
“Take me to bed.”
No sooner are those four words out of my mouth than I’m ripped
off the wall, carried down the back hallway at a fast clip. He false
starts toward the guest room, but I point to the right door and he
changes directions, entering my bedroom. All the lights are on.
Every single one. And I’m grateful for that when I finally get
Christopher’s shirt open and it parts to reveal tattooed muscle.
Weathered brawn. Slab upon slab of inked steel.
“You must sell a lot of insurance,” I breathe.
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “I had a wild youth.” He lays
me down on the bed, shrugging off the shirt and tossing it away,
flicking open the button of his jeans. Those blue eyes blaze over me,
drinking in every inch. “I’m still a little wild, Jolie.” He hooks his
fingers in my panties and shucks them down my legs, a shudder
wracking him. “But all of the wild inside me is for you now,” he says
thickly, tracing the seam of my womanhood with his thumb. “Do you
understand?”
I’m having a hard time concentrating on anything when he’s
touching me with such possession, but I capture his meaning. He’s
going to make love to me with abandon—exactly what I want. What
I need. I don’t want to think of my past or my trauma. I want to see
and think about and feel only Christopher.
His thumb parts my folds and grazes my clit. “Do you
understand, Jolie?”
“I understand,” I gasp.
“Good girl.”
Something about those two words set off fireworks in a secret,
unknown part of me, sharpening my lust like the tip of a pencil.
Good girl. They’re still echoing in my head when Christopher drops
to his stomach and kisses my sex. Reverently. Breathing in and out
against it, his hands coasting up and down my bare thighs.
“Knew you’d have a sweet, juicy, little pussy,” he rumbles,
nudging me with his nose, groaning brokenly. “Savor this,” he says,
his words muffled against my flesh. Is he talking to my womanhood?
“Savor your last seconds of freedom. Because I’m never going to
give you a moment’s peace again.”
As if my body already knows what he’s capable of, my fingers
twist in the sheets, preparing—and he starts to eat me. With long,
crude licks. Thank God I invested in a good home waxing kit,
because it would be a travesty to miss a single stroke.
 Oh lord, I’ve never done this. Never even come close. But
instinctively I know there isn’t a man alive who could perform this
task half as well. He’s obscene and cherishing. Nasty and worshipful.
Those blue eyes bore into mine, lust clouding them, the wet of his
tongue flashing in the light, dragging up through my sex and teasing
my hotbed of nerves.
“Oh Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” I whimper, tearing at the bedclothes.
I can’t breathe. The release that’s rolling in is a beautiful monster
and it turns me into a creature I barely recognize. One who pulls a
man’s hair and bucks against his mouth. One who rips off her own
bra so she can clamp greedy fingers around her aching nipples. The
monster snaps its teeth, digging into my lust and I go off, my body
trembling wildly, pleasure spearing me deep, deep in the center of
my body, making me rear up off the mattress.
“Christopher!”
My scream is still echoing in my bedroom when he lifts his head,
moves up my body in a slow, purposeful crawl, his eyes black, chest
heaving. “I could live off the perfect taste of you,” he says hoarsely,
unzipping his jeans. “But we need to take advantage while you’re
wet.”
I don’t understand. “What—”
He takes out his shaft and I suck in a breath, my legs closing
instinctively.
Or I try to close them, but he blocks my progress with his hips,
stroking that enormous appendage in a clenched fist. “No. Please
don’t be scared of it.” He plants his free hand beside my head,
leaning down to kiss me thoroughly, until I’m breathless, head
spinning. “Once you’re used to this cock, it’s going to give you
nothing but pleasure. You’re going to shake every time I walk into
this fucking bedroom just knowing I’m about to put it in that tight-
ass cunt.”
His words are rude. Disrespectful. They should outrage me.
Why am I nodding?
Why do I feel like this man has cast a spell over me?
I can’t tear my eyes away from the intensity of his stare, can’t do
anything but open my thighs and welcome his domination. His
nostrils flare with triumph at my compliance, his mouth capturing
mine in a slow, wet kiss, his huge shaft pressing into me, not taking
no for an answer from the resistance of my body. I cry out into his
mouth, but he only advances further, deeper, growling into our kiss.
“Tight baby girl,” he grits out, punching his hips forward slowly.
“Aren’t you a snug little virgin? So fucking sweet around my dick.
Shhhh. I promise it’s not going to hurt forever.”
I’m sobbing, but it’s more from emotion than pain.
I can feel myself being possessed by this man.
I don’t have an inch to breathe or worry or even think. There is
just Christopher blocking out the world around me, filling the cracks
in my soul and demanding more. More.
There are ripples of hurt in the vicinity of my womb, but they dull
the more he kisses me, our lips growing hungrier, his hips beginning
to flex, to push forward and back.
“Does it feel better now, Jolie?”
“Yes.”
Visibly relieved, his left hand drags down the center of my body,
between my breasts and stomach, circling around to take hold of my
bottom. Clutching it roughly as he rocks deep. So deep that both of
us moan, my heels burying in the flesh of his ass. “You feel it, don’t
you? That we’re one now. It was meant to be like this.”
I can’t deny it.
It’s the coming together of two beings. A collision.
“Yes,” I gasp, my nails raking their way down his back
involuntarily. “We’re one.”
His eyes flash, revealing the wildness he spoke of before.
And my own untapped wildness answers.
Something inside me is in charge now. Is it my heart? My soul?
My lust? I don’t know, but we’re suddenly grappling with each other,
Christopher’s mouth burying in my neck, sucking bruises onto me,
my hands gripping his thick buttocks and yanking him deeper, the
bed slamming against the wall with the force of his thrusts. I’m
being fucked. Filthy and raw. And he was right. That’s all I can think.
He was right about that massive part between his legs giving me
pleasure, because I quickly become its servant, whining and
straining to take more.
He gives it.
He shoves my legs open and ruts into me with smacking pumps
of his hips.
“Mine.” He looks me in the eye. “Mine.”
“Yours.”
His mouth sears me with a kiss. “I will be everything you need.
This is where it begins, angel eyes. Listen to me. It begins here. If
you ever feel lost, come right back here to the beginning and find
me. I’ll always be right here.”
My orgasm is cresting and carrying his words away, but they
make me glow on the inside all the same. His trunk of flesh saws
wetly over my clit, again, again, the muscles in his broad shoulders
flexing, tattoos rippling in the light. He winces in pain, his features
screwing up tight. A man trying to hold on to his control—and that
visible proof that I undo him causes the eruption of lust in my belly.
It cascades down and snares my loins in a breathtaking seizure.
“Good girl.” He pants above me. “Come for your Daddy.”
I scream.
That word makes me scream.
Pleasure like I’ve never known wracks me. I bow up off the bed,
but he pins me back down, bucking his flesh into my constricting
heat, bellowing my name into my neck. “Jolie.” He grips the
slamming headboard, powerful arm flexing. “Giving you my come.
Ahhhh, honey. Got so much for you.”
True to his word, I’m filled to my limit with piping-hot spend, the
excess rolling in beads down my buttocks and thighs, Christopher
groaning loudly above me, his deep voice joined by the sound of
slapping flesh. When he finally falls on top of me, his huge body
depleted, not a single second passes before his arms wrap around
me and I’m pulled into the warm cocoon of his embrace, his mouth
moving in my hair, whispering my name in awe.
It’s the first night in a long time I don’t sleep with the lights on.
There’s no need.
I’m safe.
 3

Evan

One Month Later

I underestimated how much of a struggle this would be.

Pretending the way I feel about Jolie is normal.
I’m getting ready for “work,” standing at the kitchen counter
in a tie I once used to strangle a man to death, sipping coffee and
trying like hell to remain still. To look like a regular husband. This is
my morning process while she’s in the shower and getting dressed,
humming so prettily to herself. I stand here and struggle against the
blinding urge to storm into our bedroom, pin her down and fuck her
again. Again. Again. Even though I already had her twice this
morning. Once on her hands and knees in bed. Once on the edge of
the bathroom sink.
My cock is strangled in my slacks, begging to be let out.
But I have to control my lust for her. I have to keep it at bay as
much as possible, so she can believe me to be her normal husband.
That’s what she asked for. That’s what she needs.
And it’s working for her, this normalcy.
In addition to her own strength, our routine, the support of
having someone at home who loves her…it’s part of what’s healing
her.
So I will stay the course.
The day after we spent our first night together, I slowly started
moving in. Leaving boots in her mudroom, my toothbrush in the
cabinet. A shirt in her laundry.
I fucked her blind every night. Addicted us both.
God, we are so very addicted.
The privilege of calling her my wife only deepens the constant
ache. I was able to wait all of two weeks before asking Jolie to be
my wife, presenting her with a diamond surrounded in yellow topaz
stones that remind me of her eyes. My sanity hinged on her saying
yes and she did. She did, tearfully, throwing herself into my arms,
and I could barely believe my luck.
It happened.
I found my angel and made her mine.
No, I have to keep her. Safe. Happy. Untouched by anyone but
me.
Forever.
My hands grip the edge of the counter when I hear the distinct
slither of her panties being dragged up her thighs, hiding away the
pussy I crave sixty minutes out of every hour. If I concentrate hard
enough, I swear I can hear her heartbeat from the other room. My
pulse beats in the same tempo, same speed.
Jolie sails into the kitchen, her face bright and flushed and
gorgeous.
She’s wearing yoga pants and a snug T-shirt that molds to her
gorgeous tits.
I almost break off the edge of the counter.
“Good morning.” She bites her lip and ducks her head. “Again.”
“Good morning.” I order myself to back up and refrain from
kissing her. It’s painful, but neither one of us will ever make it out
the door. “I made your cheese toast,” I say, triple-checking my
handiwork, then handing her the plate.
My wife gives a little intake of breath. “Thank you.”
If she knew what I was, if she knew I was lying, would she love
me?
Would she try to leave?
These fears echo inside me constantly. They probably will forever.
They might drive me madder than I already am.
Jolie leans back against the counter and takes a bite of her
favorite breakfast. Multigrain toast with a slice of cheddar on top.
“Mmmm.” She swallows, smiling at me while I watch her throat,
mesmerized. “It always tastes better when you make it.”
“You didn’t realize you’d married a culinary master, did you?” I
say, straight-faced. “Toast. Cereal. Putting ice cream in bowls.
There’s nothing I can’t do.”
Her giggle sends my heart into a fit of skipped beats. “I like
cooking, so you’re safe. Besides, you kill the spiders. That’s what
really counts.”
I kill a lot more than that, honey.
For instance, the man who kidnapped you.
It’s good to have contacts on the inside.
I wasn’t always a killer. I grew up relatively normal in the
suburbs, although I didn’t have a lot of friends. Relating to people
never came naturally. My interest in books about the military history
and war led me to join the army out of high school and there…there
is where I was taught how to kill. How to compartmentalize and
execute without emotion. When my tours overseas were over and I
was at loose ends, I fell back on what I knew. Easy as that.
Now she is all I want to know. All I want to study.
I continue to do jobs, but my mind is always here now. On her.
“Are you ready for today?” I ask Jolie.
She swallows with a little more effort, her good mood dimming.
“I don’t know. Maybe I could put it off until tomorrow?”
The quiver of nerves in her voice causes an anguished twist in
my chest. What I wouldn’t give to take away her painful memories.
Crush them like bugs. I can’t do that, though. So I can only do
everything in my power to show Jolie how strong she is. It would be
easy to protect her myself for the rest of her life—and that is my
instinct. Wrap her up in my arms, hide her away, keep her in the
shadows where she’s comfortable. But she’s capable of more. She
needs more from herself to be happy. Making her happy is my job,
but over the course of our first month together, I’ve learned we have
to share the job, whether it’s hard for me or not. “There are only
women in the self-defense class. It’s taught by a woman, too. It’s a
well-lit studio.”
Jolie nods. Says nothing.
“You can do it, angel eyes. I know you can.” I reach over and
brush a hand down her ponytail. “I’ll be with you in spirit. And I’m
one phone call away.”
Well. I’ll be parked down the block.
But she doesn’t need to know that.
“I guess if it goes terribly, my therapy session afterward will help
smooth things out.” She comes off the counter and turns, looking at
the clock on the stove. Her eyes widen. “Chris! You’re going to be
late for work.”
I wince. “Shit.” I tug on the knot of my tie. “It’s a good thing I
outsell everyone or they’d never put up with me.”
“You’re worth the wait.” She sets down the remainder of her
toast and holds out her arms for a hug. “See you tonight.”
I panic.
If I put my arms around Jolie, I’m going to back her against the
counter. Rip those thin, ass-hugging pants down her legs. Pound my
cock into her until she’s screaming…and she’ll never make it to self
defense class. Or her therapy session afterward. But the fact that
I’m an insurance salesman will become even more unrealistic if I
don’t adhere to the schedule.
I can’t leave her hanging, though.
She’s already beginning to look at me oddly for hesitating.
I bite down on my tongue as hard as I can and pull her close,
settling my cheek on top of her head. Immediately, the beast inside
me howls, my cock protesting being trapped inside my pants. Her
lilac scent drifts upward and I drop my nose to the crook of her
neck, inhaling roughly, my hands tunneling into her hair, fucking up
her ponytail. I can’t hold the obsession at bay when we’re touching.
My control withers.
My hips pin her to the counter. I dip my knees and grind up
against her pussy, forcing a whimper out of her, her nipples turning
to little torpedoes inside her shirt.
Stop. I need to stop.
I’m her husband, the one who does what’s best for her—and the
best thing is to keep up the pretense of being a normal man. Not an
obsessed stalker. Not a hit man. Just plain old Christopher. The best
thing for her is to learn how to defend herself. Not because there will
ever be a need, but because it’ll give her back the confidence she
lost.
Her weekly therapy session is also a must.
It’s how I find out what’s happening inside of her head and
compensate.
You have to back away.
I press my bared teeth to her ear. “No matter what happens
today, remember your husband is going to fuck you so filthy tonight,
your legs will be shaking for a week.”
Jolie moans, her fingers grappling with my belt, but I step away
before she can get it loose, risking a kiss to her perfect mouth to
ease the sting of leaving.
“I love you,” I say, looking her hard in the eye.
“I love you, too,” she whispers.
With the willpower of forty men, I turn and walk out the door.
Then I drive my car to the end of the block and wait for her to
leave, so I can follow her.

W hen I found the self-defense classes for Jolie, I didn’t suggest

them to her until the studio had been thoroughly vetted. I went at
night and checked the locks. Looked through the private files of
every employee, searched them online to make sure they weren’t
hiding deranged boyfriends or shady pasts.
It’s squeaky clean. As close to being worthy of her as anything
can be.
I also installed a camera and microphone in the corner of the
room, so I could monitor every single second. This is what I do. I
stalk my perfect angel of a wife.
There is no insurance to sell. My money is made at night, by the
gun, while she’s fast asleep, exhausted from making love.
When Jolie first became mine, she didn’t leave the house very
often. Only for therapy. Slowly, she started going to the store,
clothes shopping, to the beach for walks. And so I began doing
those things, too. She just couldn’t see me.
If I tried to explain this burning need to watch Jolie every second
of the day, it would come out sounding unhinged. Maybe that’s what
it is. I’m not the kind of man who could just go off to work and leave
his wife’s safety to chance. I know more than anyone how
dangerous this world can be—I am one of the dangers. She was
kidnapped once. It won’t happen again.
Other men do not approach her without consequence.
It has happened once or twice and I have handled the situation.
And it is bound to happen again because she is not only fucking
beautiful, there is a light inside of her that glows so bright, people
can’t help wanting to get near the warmth.
It’s why I refuse to miss a single second of her day. I hold my
breath every time she smiles, I groan when she discreetly fixes her
bra, I hang on every word that comes out of her mouth during
therapy. My dick is hard all day long as I miss her, need her, think of
her.
Now, I sit in my car down the street from her self-defense
classes, watching on my phone as she is called to the front of the
room. Her hands are wrapped in the end of her sweatshirt sleeves,
her posture unsure. But she comes forward and gets into the
defensive stance as instructed. For most of the class, she has been
standing back and watching, but now she performs the moves they
were taught—striking the instructor—and she kills it.
Another random document with
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was much brighter some centuries ago than it is now. Al-Sufi, an
Arab writer of the tenth century a.d., calls it a star of first magnitude.
To complete our survey of the constellations south of the equator
we must add the tip of the Eagle’s wing, the legs of the Unicorn, and
part of Ophiuchus with the Serpent he is strangling as he treads the
Scorpion under foot (a gallant hero, to contend with both these
enemies at once).
It is worth noting that just as the three stars of Orion’s belt mark
the celestial equator in one part of the sky, so the three bright stars
of the Eagle mark it in the opposite part (Altair, with β and γ on either
side); but they are just north of it, and Orion’s belt is just south. As it
is often interesting to know where the ecliptic lies, we may point out
that the following southern stars lie near it: Spica, α Librae, Antares,
α and β Capricorni (and in the north the Pleiades, Aldebaran,
Regulus). It is also convenient to remember the positions of a few
constellations as a guide to right ascension. Thus, Achernar is in the
Ist hour, Canopus and Sirius are in the VIth, the Cross and Corvus in
the XIIth, and the Bow of Sagittarius is in the XVIIIth.[4]
There are more bright stars in the southern hemisphere than in
the north, for a count of all those above fourth magnitude shows that
there are 228 south of the equator against only 164 north. But
whereas the stars in the north are fairly evenly distributed, there is a
more strongly marked tendency in the south to congregate on the
Milky Way, so that, while the tract through Argo and the Cross to
Scorpio and Sagittarius is extraordinarily rich, the part between Orion
and Fomalhaut is comparatively dark and bare, and the regions
round the south pole and north of Argo are also very barren of bright
stars. Some regions, however, which look dull to the eye abound in
marvels for the telescope and camera.
The brilliance and the complex structure of the Milky Way is
undoubtedly what most strikes the northerner travelling south. In
England we have a glimpse of it in Cygnus and Aquila, where this
rich and bright part begins; but there is nothing to equal the
brightness or the mingling of dark and light which we see in Argo and
near the Cross, in Scorpio and in Sagittarius. When this part is about
to rise, there is often a glow on the horizon as if it were dawn.
 III
THE TEN BRIGHTEST STARS OF THE
SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE

The brighter of the two Pointers to the Cross, Alpha Centauri,

ranks very high among first-magnitude stars, though it is excelled in
brightness by Sirius and Canopus; but its greatest claim to our
interest is that among all the host of stars it is our nearest neighbour.
Yet, should we decide to pay a visit and travel with the speed of light
(11 million miles a minute), it would be four years and three months
before we could reach our destination—so great are the spaces
which separate our sun with his family of planets from the nearest of
his brother suns.
Alpha Centauri is also interesting as a double star. The two
components are nearly equal in brightness, and are seen as a
brilliant yellow pair in quite a small telescope. It was one of the first
doubles known, being discovered as such in 1689; and Herschel
calls it a “superb double star, beyond all comparison the most
striking object of the kind in the heavens.” The two stars he
describes as “both of a high ruddy or orange colour, though that of
the smaller is of a somewhat more sombre and brownish cast.”
All stars are suns, but they vary so much in brightness and size
and quality of light that it is as difficult to match two stars in the sky
as two trees in a wood. Yet one of this pair is an almost exact
counterpart of our sun. The pair is approaching us, and at the same
time revolving one about the other in a period of about eighty years.
The other Pointer, Beta Centauri, is a star very different from our
sun. It belongs to a type called “Orion stars” because so many are
found in that constellation. Instead of shining with a yellow light, they
are blue or bluish-white, and their glowing atmospheres contain
quantities of helium, the gas which was only recently discovered on
earth though it had been known for many years in the sun. Oxygen
and nitrogen and some yet unknown elements are also present.
Alpha Crucis, the brightest star of the Cross, is also a blue Orion
star, and the telescope shows it to be triple. There are two bright twin
stars, and a fainter one which would be just visible to the naked eye
if alone, but being overpowered by the brilliance of the bright pair
can only be seen in a large telescope. Quite a small telescope will
separate the twins.
Achernar, the Last-of-the-River, is also an Orion star, 75 light-
years distant from us—i.e. light takes 75 years to come from it to us.
The sun if removed to a third of this distance would be barely visible
to the naked eye.
Rigel, Orion’s foot, is the brightest star of this class. Its intrinsic
brilliancy and its size must be enormous, for its distance is certainly
more than 360 light-years, and may be greatly more. And the
distance is increasing at the rate of 39 miles a second. Rigel is also
a double star, but its companion is very faint. In an 8-inch telescope
the bright star looks white or pale lemon-yellow, contrasting
beautifully with the little companion which is blue.
Spica, the Ear of Corn in the hand of the Virgin, is immeasurably
distant from us, and its companion is invisible even in the most
powerful telescopes. It was discovered by means of the
spectroscope, for, when the light of the star is drawn out into a long
rainbow-coloured ribbon crossed by dark lines, it is found that there
are two ribbons, one bright, the other very faint, and that the lines of
these two spectra draw apart and then come together again once in
every four days, showing that there are two stars close together and
revolving round one another in this short time. The joint mass of the
pair is two and a half times that of the sun.
Spica is one of the first stars whose invisible companion was
discovered in this way, and it is also connected with another
discovery, made nearly twenty centuries earlier by Hipparchus in the
island of Rhodes. He was patiently plotting the positions of all the
visible stars, when he found a slight discrepancy between the places
given to Spica by himself and another Greek astronomer, who had
observed about a hundred and fifty years earlier. Examining into this
led him to discover that all stars change their apparent positions very
slowly, completing a cycle of change in nearly 26,000 years, so that
240 centuries more must elapse before any astronomer sees Spica
in exactly the same place as where Hipparchus saw her. It remained
for modern astronomers to discover that the apparent change is due
to a slow nodding motion of the Earth’s axis.
Brightest of all stars in the whole sky is Sirius, the Dog-Star. It
was worshipped by the ancient Egyptians, and the day on which it
rose just before the sun was counted as the first day of their year.
The Arabs, when they learned the astronomy of more ancient
nations, were forbidden to adopt their star-worship, hence the saying
in the Koran, often quoted by Arab writers: “The Highest saith, He is
lord of Sirius.”
Sirius is moving rapidly through space, not uniformly but with an
oscillating movement, and Bessel in 1844 “founded the astronomy of
the invisible” by showing that these irregularities might be caused by
a dark disturbing companion. Eight years later, Mr. Alvan Clark,
wishing to test a large lens just made by his firm, turned it on Sirius,
and lo! there was the satellite in the position required to explain the
vagaries of Sirius. It is not therefore wholly dark, but it shines with so
feeble a light that, if it were brought as near to us as our own sun, it
would appear only one-hundredth as bright as he is, even though it
is a somewhat more massive body. Sirius itself is only about two and
a half times as massive as our sun, but immensely more brilliant. It is
the typical star of the “Sirian” class, to which belong many of the
brightest stars in the heavens, white stars in whose spectra broad
hydrogen lines form the most striking feature, indicating a very
extensive atmosphere of glowing hydrogen. Bright Sirius and his dim
companion revolve round their common centre of gravity in fifty
years.
Fomalhaut, the mouth of the Fish, belongs to the Sirian type of
stars, and is also very brilliant, giving out fourteen and a half times
as much light as our sun. Its distance is 25 light-years.
 Canopus, the rudder of the Ship Argo, must be a giant sun, for its
distance is altogether beyond reach of measurement and it is
steadily receding from us, yet it shines as the brightest star in the sky
except Sirius.
In Southern India it is called Agastya, after a Brahmin rishi who
led an early Aryan colony to the south, and before whom the
Vindhya Mountains prostrated themselves as he passed.
Greek astronomers noticed that this star rose only just above the
horizon of Rhodes, but 7½ degrees above it at Alexandria, from
which Poseidonius calculated that the circumference of the whole
earth, i.e. 360°, must be 240,000 stadia. This is equal to nearly
23,500 miles, a value surprisingly near the correct figure, considering
how difficult it must have been to measure the distance over the sea
between Rhodes and Alexandria.
Antares, the brightest star in the Scorpion, was so named by the
Greeks because it rivals the red planet Mars (Greek Ares) in colour.
It is red because a dense atmosphere shuts out most of its blue rays.
Like most red stars it is very distant, and its light takes 155 years to
reach us. Nevertheless it shines 2000 times as brightly as our sun
would do at the same distance, hence it must be of an enormous
size. This immense red star is accompanied by a little green satellite,
and there is also a very close companion which can never be seen,
but is known to exist through the shifting of lines in the spectrum, like
that of Spica.
What an amazing variety among these ten stars! Though the eye
can only decide that all are much brighter than the average, and that
they differ somewhat in colour among themselves, science tells us
that they vary enormously in many ways. Half belong to the class of
blue Orion stars, others to the white Sirian, yellow solar, red Antarian
classes; more than half are known to be double or multiple, and
among these we find twins, while others have faint companions
differing from themselves in colour. In one case the pair is widely
separated, and revolves in a period of half a century, while another
pair is so close that the circuit is performed in four days. Again, while
one star is the same size as the sun, others are much greater, and
their distances from us vary all the way from four light-years to
spaces we are powerless to plumb.
 IV
STARS OF DIFFERENT AGES

What is the meaning of these different types of stars—the blue,

the yellow, and the red? and can a star change its colour and type?
Yes, we believe that all the blue stars, if they follow the normal
course, will in countless ages become red, and though the life of the
whole human race may perhaps not be long enough to witness a
single instance, we feel confident that this process is going on. One
walk through a forest is enough to teach us that a tree grows from
seed to sapling, from maturity to decay, because we see trees
around us in all these stages. So with the stars. Here the process of
development is far more difficult to understand, and we are still
ignorant concerning the birth and death of stars; but it is clear that
we see a series of stages which pass gradually into one another, and
that the cause of a star’s growing old is a gradual loss of heat by
radiation. The blue Orion stars are the brightest and hottest of all
those about which we have spoken, and are generally thought to
have reached the climax of a star’s career. They are great globes of
thin gas, much less dense than water, but glowing hot through and
through. The outer layers naturally part with their heat first, and in
cooling they absorb more and more light from the radiant centre. As
the blue rays are always first and most powerfully affected, the blue
tint is soon lost, and the colour slowly changes through white, yellow,
and orange to deep-red. At the same time changes take place which
cause different gases to become most conspicuous in the star’s
spectrum at different stages.
But what are the early stages which precede the brilliance of an
Orion star? Arguments have been brought forward to show that
young stars also are comparatively cool, but even less dense than
Orion stars, that as they grow denser and smaller through gravity,
which causes all the particles of a star to condense towards its
centre, they must at first grow gradually hotter and brighter until a
certain point is reached, after which they will grow cooler and fainter
again until they become quite cold and dark; and so there is a double
progression, viz. from red towards blue, and back again to red, some
stars changing in one direction and some in the other.
On the other hand, the stage which immediately precedes the
Orion type somewhat resembles a peculiar class of nebulae, so the
upward progression of the Orion stars may have been from nebulae
through this stage.
Let us see what these stages are.
At one end of the series we find stars like Gamma in the Sails of
the Ship Argo. When its light is spread out by prisms into a coloured
band it is a wonderful sight, for not only are there dark lines and dark
flutings, but wide bright bands mingle with these and stand out
against the fainter background. We are fortunate to possess γ
Velorum in the southern hemisphere, for it is the only bright star of its
class. The type is known as Wolf-Rayet Stars, from the name of
their discoverer. Only a few are known, and because of their
faintness not very much has been discovered about them, but it is
remarkable that all of them lie near the middle line of the Milky Way.
The bright lines in their spectra and some other features of Wolf-
Rayet stars point (as we have said) to a connection with gaseous
nebulae, and it is possible that they developed from nebulae not very
long ago—as time is reckoned in astronomy. Though this past is
doubtful, the future of these stars is clearly indicated: they are
destined to become Orion stars, for in stars like τ Canis majoris we
see an intermediate stage between the two types.
Orion Stars sometimes have bright lines in their spectra also,
especially the very blue ones found near nebulae, but the most
striking and characteristic feature is the series of dark helium lines,
from which they are often called “helium stars.” The three in Orion’s
belt are typical of this class; several first-magnitude stars belong to it,
as we have seen, and it contains others which are very bright, such
as β and δ Crucis, β Scorpii, α Lupi, α Pavonis, α Gruis, α Sagittarii.
Spica is a distinctly blue Orion star; Rigel and γ Gruis have already
lost the blue tint and are approaching the next stage.
For the Orion class passes by gradual transition into the Sirian
Stars, which may be called “hydrogen stars,” from the wide hazy
lines of hydrogen which are the most conspicuous feature in their
spectrum. They are also very hot and bright, though less so than the
Orion stars. Besides Sirius, a large number of bright southern stars
belong to this class, among which we may mention Fomalhaut, γ
Centauri, β Carinae, δ Velorum, and β Pavonis. Among stars visible
to the naked eye this is by far the most numerous class, partly, no
doubt, because they are intrinsically bright and therefore visible at
distances where redder stars could not be seen. This cannot
however be the whole explanation, or the Orion stars would be still
more numerous instead of being comparatively rare.
The blue end of the spectrum begins to be darkened as a star
reaches the stage of sun-like or Solar Stars, and although the
hydrogen lines grow narrower and less intense, an immense number
of fine lines cross the bright band and absorb much of the light. α
Centauri, as we have seen, is a replica of the sun, and another star
which almost exactly resembles it, in spectrum if not in mass, is β
Hydri. ζ Gruis and one star of the naked-eye double in Grus, δ¹
Gruis, are also solar stars.
This class may be subdivided into three: the Sirian-solar, which is
typified by Canopus, and also by η Crucis and α Hydri; the solar,
closely resembling the sun; and the red-solar, which tend towards
the red stars. The temperatures apparently are lower and lower in
these three divisions in the order given, and all solar stars are cooler
than those of the preceding classes. Among these red-solar stars is
the beautiful ε Carinae, the foot of the False Cross,[5] which is a rich
reddish orange even to the naked eye, and more brilliantly coloured
in a binocular. Others are α Toucani, α Trianguli australi, ε Crucis
(the little fifth star of the Southern Cross), the two brightest stars of
Indus (α and β), almost all the bright stars of the Phoenix (α, β, δ, ε),
and ε Scorpii which is beautifully coloured. This class is also
extremely numerous among naked-eye stars, although they cannot
be so bright intrinsically as the whiter solar stars: the significance of
the fact is not easy to understand.
The deep-red stage is reached in suns like Antares, whose
spectrum shows not only lines like those in the sun but also a series
of broad bands or flutings which absorb much of its light, and in
photographs a great part of the violet end is wholly cut off. Were it
not such an enormous size, this would be a very dim star. Antarian
Stars are almost all very remote. They are often very faint, and
many of them are unstable in their light, as if fluctuating towards
extinction. β and δ² Gruis and γ Hydri are among them, and Mira, the
wonderful variable star. Compare the ruddy γ in the Cross with pale
δ to see the contrast between stars of this class and the Orion-type.
Because of the want of blue rays in the former it makes so little
impression on a photographic plate compared with α, β, and δ, which
are all Orion stars, that one can scarcely recognise the form of the
Cross in a photograph.
The brightest of these red stars are in the northern hemisphere,
viz. Betelgueux in the shoulder of Orion, and Aldebaran, the eye of
the Bull: both are slightly brighter than Antares.
Nearly all the stars we know have a place in this series, though
there are individual peculiarities, but there is one class which seems
to lie outside it. Stars of this class are red and have spectra crossed
by dark bands, but they are unlike the Antarian bands and resemble
instead those seen in the spectra of comets and of candle-flames.
They are due to carbon compounds, so these stars may be called
Carbon Stars. Most of them are extremely remote, and all are so
faint that among the very brightest is U Hydrae, just visible to the
naked eye a little east of Alphard. They are probably aged stars, but
no links between them and the other types have yet been discovered
to enable us to place them in the series.
Strange and interesting discoveries have been made by grouping
large numbers of stars into their classes and comparing the average
motions, distances, &c., of the groups. It is found that the redder
stars are on an average moving more rapidly and in a more random
fashion than blue and white stars. Thus, Wolf-Rayet and Orion stars
have a low average speed, and both are very much more numerous
in and near the Milky Way than elsewhere; Sirian stars are travelling
a good deal faster, show a marked tendency to congregate in two
streams, and move chiefly parallel with the plane of the Milky Way;
solar stars, including our own sun, move more rapidly still and show
less preference for the Galaxy and the two streams: Antarians have
the most rapid motions of all, but these appear to be haphazard, and
the stars are scattered all over the sky in every direction.
These facts are very unexpected and very difficult to explain. It
looks as if the Milky Way were the birthplace of the stars, and that as
they develop they gradually scatter through space; but how are we to
explain the fact that speed and direction of movement differ for
different types? There seems to be no reason why a cooler star
should move more quickly than a hotter one, and none of the
theories yet advanced can be considered final.
 V
SOME NEAR NEIGHBOURS

If it is remarked that Sirius is fifty millions of millions of miles

away from us, it is not at once obvious that he is one of our very near
neighbours; but this is equal to 8 light-years, not twice the distance
of α Centauri, our next-door neighbour among the stars. Some faint
stars in the south must also be counted as very close to us: such are
a little star in Cetus, τ Ceti, only 10 light-years away; ε Indi, 11½; and
two in the River Eridanus, ε and δ Eridani, 10½ and 18 respectively.
But the most interesting among these near neighbours of the
south is a little yellow star in Pictor, too faint to be seen without a
good binocular or a telescope, and bearing the very modern name of
CZ 5ʰ.243. This stands for Cordoba Zones 5.243 hours, and means
that it was catalogued at Cordoba Observatory in South America and
its position fixed in the fifth hour of Right Ascension. After this it was
observed by Mr. Innes at the Cape, and he was startled to find (like
Hipparchus comparing his work with that of Timocharis) that its
position no longer agreed with that found at Cordoba. “Can this be
motion?” he asked, and found that the star had indeed a larger
visible motion across the sky than any other, not even excepting the
famous “runaway star” in Ursa Major. Apparent motion, however,
depends upon distance as well as real speed, and when the distance
of CZ 5ʰ.243 had been calculated it was found that its real speed,
amazing as it is, yet falls slightly short of that of the northern star.
The rates are 163 and 174 miles per second.
A few other stars are known to move at speeds approaching 100
miles a second, and one was announced in December 1913 to have
a velocity of 200 miles a second, but runaway stars are rare. They
do not seem to show any preference for special parts of the sky or
special stellar types, and it is impossible to say what causes them to
rush with such headlong haste through space, or what is their goal.
The average rate for a star is about 13 miles a second, but, as we
have seen, it differs with different types, the average speed
increasing progressively from the blue to the red classes.
Another remarkable fact lately discovered is that the different
types of stars are not indiscriminately scattered through space. Our
own sun seems to be surrounded, to a distance of about 100 light-
years, by suns more or less like himself, while the greater number of
the red Antarian stars lie at a much greater distance from us. Most
distant of all, considered as a class, are the bluest of the Orion stars;
for though the distances of individuals vary greatly, the average
distance of these stars from us is more than 500 light-years. Yet they
are often very bright, so this is another proof of their great intrinsic
brilliancy.
 VI
DOUBLE AND MULTIPLE STARS

Among the brighter stars at least one in four is double, and I shall
only mention a few which for different reasons are of special interest.
The brightest double in the sky has already been mentioned, α
Centauri, and we have also described another southern pair scarcely
less brilliant, α Crucis, Sirius with his very dim companion, Rigel and
Antares with theirs of contrasting colours. Other fine southern
doubles are:
β Piscis australis, a white star with reddish companion, visible in
a 3-inch telescope.
δ Corvi, an unequal distant pair, pale yellow and bluish, easily
separated in a 4½-inch telescope.
σ Scorpii (near Antares), white and blue.
32 Eridani, yellow and blue-green—“magnifici, superbi,”
according to Secchi.
β Capricorni (close to the splendid naked-eye double α
Capricorni), orange-yellow and blue.
γ Crucis, orange-yellow, companion fifth magnitude, rather
distant.
γ Leporis, companion crimson. There is also a third faint star,
forming a triple group.
β Capricorni, like Antares, besides its visible companion, has a
close invisible one, only known by the shifting of lines in the
spectrum, and this is not an uncommon case. β Crucis consists
similarly of two bright stars and a spectroscopic companion, and so
also θ Eridani. κ Velorum and α Pavonis have spectroscopic
companions only, one revolving in a period of 116½ days, the other
of only 11¾ days, and the period of μ¹ Scorpii is counted in hours!—
34 hours 42 minutes. The brief periods of these spectroscopic
binaries[6] are in striking contrast with those of many visual binaries,
such as ζ Sagittarii with a period of 19 years and γ Centauri with 150
years; and this is what one would expect, since the stars must be
comparatively far apart and their orbits ample for them to be visible
separately. Sometimes the stars of a pair or of a group are known to
be moving together through space, though no movement of
revolution round a common centre has yet been detected, probably
because it is very slow.
It is an interesting fact that most of the spectroscopic binaries,
which are such close and rapid pairs, are found among the blue and
white stars, the numbers steadily decreasing as we pass through the
yellow to the red stars.
A significant fact about visual binaries is that companions which
differ much in colour invariably differ much in brightness also. This is
probably to be explained by supposing that one was from the
beginning much larger than the other, and that there is consequently
a difference in the rapidity with which each runs through its life-
changes. Where the two are alike in colour and spectrum, like the
two solar stars of α Centauri and the two Orion stars of α Crucis, it is
found that they are also nearly equal in mass, so they keep the same
pace and grow old together.
Among multiple stars there are some very remarkable instances
in Scorpio. β Scorpii is a pair of bright stars (easily separated with a
3-inch telescope) with a third fainter companion, and besides these,
one of the bright components is a spectroscopic pair, and the whole
company is travelling together through space. The joint mass of the
spectroscopic pair is twenty-one times as great as that of our sun,
and they revolve about one another in seven days; but a very
strange feature is that some lines in their joint spectrum, due to
calcium gas, behave differently from the rest, and it is thought that
these two revolving stars may be enveloped in a calcium cloud which
travels with them.
 ξ Scorpii is a telescopic double which has been watched
throughout a complete revolution of ninety-six years. It was
discovered by Sir William Herschel in 1782. Here also there is a third
star, much fainter and more distant than the brighter companion, and
all are travelling together through space.
ν Scorpii is one of the “double-doubles,” of which a good many
are known, where a star that looks single to the naked eye is seen
as a pair with a telescope, and each of these becomes a pair with
higher powers. It has been described as “perhaps the most beautiful
quadruple in the heavens.” Both pairs journey together through the
skies.
σ Orionis, the fourth-magnitude star just below Orion’s belt,
separates very easily into two unequal components. Herschel found
each of these to be triple, and called it a “double-treble.” Later it was
found to be “double-quadruple,” with more stars between the two
groups.
In the same way the beautiful naked-eye double star α Capricorni
is seen in good telescopes to consist of two groups of stars, one (α¹)
triple, the other (α²) quadruple.
If a group like this forms a connected system, the motions of the
several stars must be highly complicated.
 VII
THE ASTONISHING STAR,
ETA ARGŪS

Midway between the Southern Cross and the False Cross there
is a nebula visible to the naked eye, and in it once shone a bright
star. When Halley was observing in the southern hemisphere
towards the end of the seventeenth century, he catalogued it as of
fourth magnitude, but Lacaille and later astronomers marked it as
second. Sir John Herschel first saw it in 1834, when he was at the
Cape, and he says that it remained steady for three years, from 1834
to 1837. On the 16th of December 1837 he began his observations
as usual by noting the brightest stars in the heavens and arranging
them in order on a list, when to his astonishment he saw “a new
candidate for distinction among the very brightest stars of first
magnitude” in a part of the sky where he was quite sure no such
brilliant object had been seen before. He consulted a map and
satisfied himself that it was his “old friend Eta Argūs,” but nearly
three times as bright as usual. He made careful comparisons with
other bright stars then visible, and says that “Fomalhaut and Alpha
Gruis were at the time not quite so high, and Alpha Crucis much
lower, but all were fine and clear, and Eta Argūs would not bear to be
lowered to their standard.” It was a little brighter than Rigel, and the
only stars which outshone it were Sirius and Canopus.
Still it grew brighter, for twelve days later it greatly surpassed
Rigel and could only be compared with α Centauri. After this the light
began to fade, and by April 1838 it was not much brighter than
Aldebaran.
Herschel now returned to England, and therefore he did not see
the still more startling changes of this wonderful star, but he has
recorded what he heard from others. In March 1843 it became much
brighter than Rigel or α Centauri, but its light wavered, and he says:
“We have here an epoch of great interest, a temporary minimum,
with a kind of trepidation or fluttering of light, followed, however, by
another step in advance even yet more extraordinary.” This was in
the following month, April 1843, when Eta became almost equal to
Sirius, the brightest of all stars. It was the highest point reached by
this extraordinary star, and two years later Maclear at the Cape
wrote to the Astronomer-Royal in England: “When you see Sir John
Herschel again, tell him that Eta Argūs has been for some time
rather larger than Canopus, and seems again on the decline.”
Sir John’s concluding remarks seem to indicate something of
pained surprise that a star could behave in so erratic and
unaccountable a fashion: “A strange field of speculation is opened by
this phenomenon. Here we have a star fitfully variable to an
astonishing extent, and whose fluctuations extend over centuries....
What origin are we to ascribe to these sudden flashes and relapses?
What conclusions are we to draw as to the comfort or habitability of a
system depending for its supply of light and heat on so uncertain a
source?”
Eta Argūs continued to fade, and for many years it has not been
visible to the naked eye. When the present writer looked for it in April
1908 it was beyond the power of the binocular, although seventh-
magnitude stars in the neighbourhood were clearly distinguished and
identified. In a telescope it in no way stands out from the crowd of
small stars scattered over the nebula whose light it once almost
blotted out by its brilliance. Reports now and then arise that Eta is
brightening again, but it always turns out that some neighbour in the
throng, a little brighter than the faded star, has been mistaken for it.
A few other cases are known in which a bright star has appeared
where none had been seen before. It is said that it was the
appearance of such a “new star” in Scorpio in the year 136 b.c.
which led Hipparchus of Rhodes to draw up his famous star-
catalogue. In a.d. 1572 “Tycho’s star” blazed out in Cassiopeia, and
in 1604 “Kepler’s star” in Ophiuchus astonished everyone. The old
chronicle says: “It was exactly like one of the stars, except that in the
vividness of its lustre and the quickness of its sparkling it exceeded
anything Kepler had ever seen before. It was every moment
changing into some of the colours of the rainbow, as yellow, orange,
purple, and red, though it was generally white when it was at some
distance from the vapours of the horizon.” This “new star” must have
been even brighter than Eta Argūs,[7] for it outshone Jupiter, and
was only surpassed by Venus. It remained visible for about a year
and then vanished.
Since the skies have been more carefully watched by
astronomers all over the world, and especially since they have been
frequently photographed, quite a considerable number of new stars
have been recorded, and about half a dozen have become visible to
the naked eye. In the twenty-seven years between 1885 and 1912,
twenty were recorded, and half of these were discovered by Mrs.
Fleming of Harvard Observatory from the examination of
photographs.
Astronomers are still asking, like Herschel, what is the origin of
these mysterious objects? Are they literally new stars, or is it the last
flare-up of a dying system, or are we witnessing some catastrophe
which only overtakes a few suns among the universe of stars? A
collision between two dark stars, or between a star and a nebula, is
a supposition which naturally suggests itself, and some probability is
lent to this supposition by the fact that nearly every new star has
appeared in or near the Milky Way, where stars throng most thickly;
but there are difficulties in the way of accepting this hypothesis.
There is a strong likeness between all that have been examined
spectroscopically, and in the declining stage they become so
distinctly nebular in type that we seem justified in saying that new
stars change into small gaseous nebulae.
Does this mean that they are dying, or is it the first stage in the
life-history of a star, immediately preceding the not altogether
dissimilar Wolf-Rayet stage? We do not know enough yet about
nebulae to answer this question.