Carnal Creek Shifters Box Set Carnal

Creek Shifters 1 4 1st Edition Haley

Weir
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmeta.com/product/carnal-creek-shifters-box-set-carnal-creek-shifters-1-4
-1st-edition-haley-weir/
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Alone With the Beast Broken Creek Ranch Shifters 1 1st

Edition Tamrin Banks

https://ebookmeta.com/product/alone-with-the-beast-broken-creek-
ranch-shifters-1-1st-edition-tamrin-banks/

Cage Savage Creek Shifters 3 1st Edition Rachelle

Stevensen Stevensen Rachelle

https://ebookmeta.com/product/cage-savage-creek-shifters-3-1st-
edition-rachelle-stevensen-stevensen-rachelle/

Carnal Communication Mogg

https://ebookmeta.com/product/carnal-communication-mogg/

Iron Creek Brides 01 04 Box Set 1st Edition Karla

Gracey

https://ebookmeta.com/product/iron-creek-brides-01-04-box-
set-1st-edition-karla-gracey/
The Lion s Arranged Marriage Beaufort Creek Shifters 5
1st Edition Layla Silver

https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-lion-s-arranged-marriage-
beaufort-creek-shifters-5-1st-edition-layla-silver/

Cracked Foundation Carnal Expectations 1 1st Edition

Bex Dawn

https://ebookmeta.com/product/cracked-foundation-carnal-
expectations-1-1st-edition-bex-dawn/

Dragons of Mount Aterna: The Complete Box Set (Five

Peaks Shifters #1) 1st Edition Riley Storm

https://ebookmeta.com/product/dragons-of-mount-aterna-the-
complete-box-set-five-peaks-shifters-1-1st-edition-riley-storm/

Silver Creek High (Silver Creek High #1-3) 1st Edition

Belladona Cunning

https://ebookmeta.com/product/silver-creek-high-silver-creek-
high-1-3-1st-edition-belladona-cunning/

All Grown Up at Mountain Creek Ranch Mountain Creek

Ranch 4 1st Edition Lana Dash

https://ebookmeta.com/product/all-grown-up-at-mountain-creek-
ranch-mountain-creek-ranch-4-1st-edition-lana-dash/
© Copyright 2019 by Haley Weir - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any
part of this document in either electronic means or in printed
format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and
any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written
permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the

publisher.
Carnal Creek Shifters:
4 Book Box Set

By: Haley Weir

 Join the Haley Weir Book Club today to get exclusive
promotions, free giveaways, and Receive a FREE Copy of
Lucien’s Inquisiton: Fire Bound Protectors I

Sign Up Here: https://fictionobsessed.com/luciens-

inquisition-free-download/
 Table of Contents
Guarded By Vayne
Mated by Garrus
Rescued By Lathyr
Protected by Aidan
About the Author
Where to Read More From Haley Weir & Get Free Books
 Guarded By Vayne

CHAPTER ONE

Freeman General Hospital

New Orleans, Louisiana

Dr. Zela Harpy ignored the sympathetic glances from the other
diners in the cafeteria as she grabbed her tray and sat on her own in
the far corner. She wasn’t surprised that half of the hospital staff
was already aware that she had lost a patient that afternoon. But
she didn’t have time to pay attention to their pointless words of
comfort or a gentle touch on her arm.
And she certainly had no interest in Dr. Leo McNeil, who
couldn’t seem to take no for an answer.
“Zela, I heard what happened. I understand exactly what
you’re going through right now and if you ever need someone to talk
to, I’m here for you,” Leo vowed, his brow creasing as he took an
uninvited seat beside her, invading her personal space ever so
slightly. Zela felt herself lean away from him instinctively.
“Why would I need anything from you?” she asked
nonchalantly, blinking at him in confusion. Leo sighed but made no
effort to move away.
“Because these things take time to get over.”
“I had time to process it.”
 “A man in your care died less than an hour ago, how could you
have had time to process that already?”
It wasn’t as though she didn’t respect her patient or care that
he had passed away, but Zela didn’t see a reason in further
meditating on something she could no longer change. Life was
fleeting. As a doctor, she was painfully aware of that.
“I hope you are not insinuating that it was my treatment that
killed him and not the terminal illness that had put his file on my
desk in the first place.”
Leo sputtered and hastened to clarify. “No! Not at all. I was
just being empathetic of how you may be feeling. Sometimes you
come off as so…cold.” Zela was used to being called cold, frigid, and
black-hearted, but none of it was true. She cared. But her past had
hardened her.
Her time as a researcher for the Centers for Disease Control
had exposed her to many unpleasant things. Zela preferred to stay
focused and logical in all aspects of her life, but that didn’t mean she
was heartless. Everyone treated her as if they were waiting for her
to have some sort of emotional breakdown.
“I accepted this position because I knew I could handle these
sorts of things. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” she said
dismissively, but Leo continued to stare at her until she grew
uncomfortable. He asked her out on a date several times and each
time she rejected him. There seemed to be something in his brain
that blocked any form of rejection so that it could not penetrate his
psyche.
Leo reached over and grabbed her hand. “You don’t always
have to be so strong, Zela.”
 “Emotional integrity is not a matter of strength.” She snatched
her hand away, grabbed her tray, and stood up to leave. “Also,
please refer to me as Dr. Harpy as it is appropriate to the
professional nature of our relationship. Excuse me.” Zela huffed and
rolled her eyes as she carried her tray to the elevator and up to her
office.
She often ate her meals alone behind her desk due to working
long hours, but she had actually looked forward to the generally
pleasant atmosphere of the cafeteria. The food was bland and
meant for someone with a heart condition, but it filled the hole in
her belly.
She had spent the entirety of the previous evening working, so
she didn’t have time to eat or take much care of herself. However,
Zela made sure to run down to the locker rooms to take a quick
shower and change into some fresh clothes before her shift so no
one would suspect she worked through the night. She had not set
foot in her apartment in three days.
Zela finished up her lunch and reached over for a new case
file. She was celebrated in the field of internal medicine, which was
an impressive feat at her age. She was often asked to give seminars
on her specialized approach to diagnosing patients, which lead to
Freeman General Hospital offering Zela her current position two
years ago.
It was a rare opportunity to work extremely delicate and often
impossible cases, thanks to the unique nature of her work at the
CDC. Her newest patient was marked as ‘John Doe’ on the file
because the police officers and emergency room staff were unable
to identify him. In an era where technology reigned supreme, it was
very unusual for someone’s fingerprints to not pop up in the system.
She read over the file, wondering why the case had been
assigned to her. Aside from a few minor details, it seemed pretty cut
and dry to Zela. The man was stabbed several times by an
unidentified weapon, which was what landed him in the emergency
room.
But then, something very interesting caught her eye.
Not only were there anomalies in his standard blood work, but
the surgeon’s notes said that the man began to heal right before
their eyes on the operating table. Photos with timestamps verified
these claims. No more than twenty minutes after the initial incision
was made, the flesh had somehow stitched itself back together with
only a pale scar left behind. The scars were there in the photos, as
was the man himself. A rush of what felt like electricity shot through
Zela’s body.
With her glasses perched on the edge of her nose, she jumped
from her seat and rushed down the hall where her patients were
usually held while she worked their cases. The doors opened with an
airy swoosh and she looked to the bed where John Doe lay
unconscious.
“Hello, Prince Charming,” she uttered a little breathlessly.
The man on the bed was utterly gorgeous. He possessed the
kind of beauty that inspired song lyrics and poetic prose. Short,
buzzed hair made him look like he spent time in the military.
Zela shook herself mentally. She never responded to another
person’s physical appearance so strongly. Even with his good looks,
she could not account for her visceral reaction when she saw those
photos. Being in his presence now had a practically intoxicating
effect.
Reminding herself that he was her patient, Zela moved to his
bedside. She swallowed thickly as she pulled back the covers to
inspect the areas where he had been operated on, but all she found
was the pink, slightly raised flesh of healing wounds. Zela bit her lip
in concentration as she ran over the possibilities that could allow a
person to completely heal after hours in surgery.
Despite a few reports of genetic research in cell regeneration,
there wasn’t much definitive medical evidence that such things as
rapid healing were even possible, especially in this short of a time
frame.
Zela replaced the covers. While it was improbable that John
Doe was some sort of super soldier or genetic mutant, it was not
impossible. In her former research, she often encountered unusual
and often extraordinary variables that other doctors would have
overlooked. She was excited to begin testing in order to uncover
what was going on inside of her handsome John Doe. Zela zipped
from his room to the lab and back again several times over the
course of a few hours.
She reran the basic tests, as well as a few of her own
uncommon practices when something struck her as odd. If the
mysterious man was able to heal so quickly, why was he still
unconscious? Zela checked the file to see if any of the
neurosurgeons on call had run the necessary diagnostic tests.
It was possible that what John Doe was experiencing was
outside of her field of expertise, but Dr. Crews noted that he had
performed every neurological test available at the hospital. Zela
turned to leave, nearly running into a man who was identical to her
patient, only he had much longer hair and he seemed to...glow
faintly.
“Are you Dr. Harpy?” he asked, a thick and somewhat archaic
accent swirling around his words. It was hypnotic and lyrical, but
Zela was able to recognize a few aspects that sounded Norwegian,
or perhaps Icelandic.
“Yes, I’m Dr. Harpy. I assume you’re here to identify this man.”
She gestured to the hospital bed where her patient was resting.
“He is my brother, Valor.”
“Does Mr. Valor have any medical history that I can use to
diagnose his condition?” Zela asked. The newcomer stepped into the
room and looked at her with a crooked grin, though pointedly not
answering her question. When he stood beside the man he identified
as Valor, it was quite obvious that they were identical twins.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“The name is Vayne Grimm, sweetheart.”
Zela rolled her eyes for the second time today. Despite that,
there was something about Vayne’s eyes that intrigued her.
Whenever the light shifted, they appeared to be pale purple, almost
amethyst in color. The eyes and accent paired nicely with his
strikingly handsome features, but the condescending nickname was
anything but attractive. “Would you mind if I ran a few tests on your
blood to compare them to your brother’s results? There seem to be
some very abnormal readings, and most of his tests are coming back
inconclusive.”
He hesitated.
 “It would help me figure out why he isn’t waking up,” Zela
explained. “And why he’s healing at such a significant rate.”
Something flashed in his eyes that made her tilt her head in interest.
She pressed on. “Want to share with the class, Mr. Grimm?”
Vayne scowled at her. “What?”
“Is there something on your mind that you think will be
essential to your brother’s recovery?”
“No. The healing is normal,” he replied simply.
“I assure you that it isn’t. There are no documented cases of
someone healing this quickly. So, unless the two of you are aliens
from the planet Krypton, I’m going to need some clarification.”
“I meant that it is normal for us. Genetically.”
Fascinating. “The healing is hereditary?”
“You can do your tests, but no more questions,” Vayne
snapped suddenly. The change in his behavior was so jarring that
Zela actually flinched.
“Whatever you choose to share is held in the utmost
confidence, Mr. Grimm. I wouldn’t risk my license to practice
medicine for something as silly as divulging patient information. But
without your help, I can’t treat your brother.” With that, Zela stepped
from the room and closed the door behind her.
She would allow them some time alone before taking the blood
samples and anything else she needed to uncover the truth. Other
doctors whispered as she passed by in the hallway and she
understood why when she caught her reflection in the glass.
Her curly hair was falling out of what was typically a pristine
bun that sat at the base of her neck. Dark circles rested beneath her
almond-shaped hazel eyes, and her usually glowing sun-kissed
complexion looked a bit sickly from a lack of sleep. Maybe she could
take a quick nap on the couch in her office? But before she could
make it more than halfway down the hall, Vayne Grimm appeared
beside her.
She hadn’t even seen or heard him approach and she held
back the scream of surprise that bubbled in her throat. He was fast…
really fast. Zela moved away from him and tucked a rogue curl
behind her ear. “Yes?”
“I want to help my brother. What do you need to know?”
“We should start with his medical history. Who is your
brother’s primary care physician?” Zela asked. Vayne looked down at
her as though she had spoken Latin. In fact, she suspected he would
have understood her better if she actually had. There was an aura
about him that made Vayne Grimm seem much older than he
appeared.
“Have you or your brother ever seen a doctor?”
“Our people have healers.”
“Healers? Like religious healers or witch doctors?” she
questioned. In her line of work, she had seen more harm come from
certain “alternative medicines” than any good.

CHAPTER TWO

The human female asked too many questions. There were

ancient laws in place to keep his kind safe from humans, but now he
was forced to communicate with them to save his brother. Normally,
Vayne would have no problem sweet-talking a beautiful female, but
this one held intelligence in her eyes that told him that his usual
tactics might not be appreciated. Not to mention he couldn’t exactly
come right out and say that he was from an ancient bloodline of
rulers cursed by the Gods.
“Our healers studied in your schools, but we also have our
own ways of doing things,” he answered finally. “And while I respect
your need to ask questions, I ask that you respect that I must
withhold many of the answers you seek. For my family’s protection
—”
“Are you guys involved with the mob?” she interjected.
“Because that would explain the stab wounds.”
“Stab wounds?” Most of their enemies didn’t use weapons.
She rustled through a file before turning it to show him
pictures of his brother’s bloodied body. He would recognize those
wounds anywhere; they were caused by the Bane Bloods’ daggers.
Valor must have tracked their activity into the city. If Dom and his
pack were hunting in human areas, their Alpha, Aidan Biorn, would
need to be informed as soon as possible. But Vayne couldn’t return
to the den without alerting the others about what had happened to
Valor, or that he needed help from a human to awaken his brother.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the
connection he shared with his twin. Since they were cubs, they
shared a unique link that allowed them to feel each other’s
emotions, physical pain, and even communicate telepathically. It was
one of the only things they shared, besides a face. Valor was the
responsible brother, the one that fought hard to make sure that their
pack was ready should war come calling. Vayne was charming,
playful, and quite romantic. He enjoyed long walks on the beach, the
greatest hits of the eighties, and nights of luxurious feasting.
 Although he took his responsibilities as an Epsilon Sentinel
very seriously, he was often getting into too much trouble to be of
any real help. Aidan and the rest of the pack males made countless
attempts to instill some sort of accountability in Vayne. But in the
end, their efforts were futile. He enjoyed living on the edge and he
had no intentions of changing that.
The connection with Valor was no more than a prickling
sensation against his nerves, just residual magic, which was a sign
that his brother had sustained more damage than he thought. Vayne
opened his eerie eyes and was sucker punched by the attraction he
felt for the human female all of a sudden.
The artificial hospital light illuminated Dr. Harpy’s features
beautifully. His magic rippled as colors began to shift in his vision.
Pain lanced through his brain and he nearly toppled to the floor.
Vayne ripped the front of his shirt open to see if his heart truly had
been trying to beat its way out of his chest.
Dr. Harpy ushered him into her office and pushed his shoulder
until he fell back onto a couch. Sweat broke out in a thin sheen over
his skin and he had to fight back his beast. The damn thing was
writhing beneath his flesh, itching to get out. “No!” he shouted when
Dr. Harpy came near. He sucked down mouthfuls of air, trying to
regain control. “I’m fine…just don’t come near me.”
But the stubborn female didn’t listen. She knelt beside the
couch and ran her hand over his burning skin. Her touch was like fire
and ice all at once, or Múspell brimstone wrapped in the pure light of
Valhalla. It felt like his senses were being branded, causing his beast
to growl with pleasure. When she tore her hand away from him,
Vayne knew.
 He knew without a doubt in his heart that she was the one.
Long ago, the Father of All, Odin, cursed the lineage of Tyrfing
Biorn, Jarl of Fjaora. They were cursed to wear the face of a beast
upon every full moon in order to fight against the dark wolves
commanded by Fenrir, son of Loki. Each male was either consumed
by the blood-rage of his beast or they died in battle before their
thirtieth birthday.
But all hope was not lost, for Eir, Goddess of Mercy, bestowed
a blessing of profound magical gifts upon the sons of Biorn. It gave
them immortality and enough strength to learn how to control their
blood-rage. The second gift came from Freya, Goddess of Love, who
blessed them with a mate who would one day break the curse and
free them of their burden.
In all of their years of warring with other packs, clans, and
beasts of mythology, Vayne and his kin had never come across a
maiden who could tame the monsters within. Until now.
Vayne’s muscled chest heaved up and down as he stared at
her. He had to be certain. Though his senses were now amplified
beyond reason and he could finally see more colors in his spectrum,
there should be a mark somewhere on her body. Not thinking about
how his actions would be received, Vayne tossed Dr. Harpy onto the
floor and eclipsed her with his shadow.
“What are you doing?!”
He watched a shiver course through her body and it made him
want to throw his head back and howl. But he checked the usual
areas where a mating mark would appear. Her ankles, wrists, ribs,
and lower back were bare. Vayne began to lose hope until he saw
the pale mark of a crescent moon on her hip.
 His lips twisted into a wolfish grin until her hand smacked him
hard across the face. Vayne jumped to his feet in anger. “Why did
you do that?” he barked.
“You assaulted me!”
“I meant you no harm, sweetheart. And from my perspective,
you seemed a little more than thrilled to have me on top of you,”
Vayne teased. Dr. Harpy huffed and stood up to adjust her clothing.
A shame, he thought. The slivers of her body that he saw were quite
delicious. Her skin was the color of warm toffee, and his mouth was
practically watering for a taste of her.
“Get out.”
“You don’t strike me as the type of female who would allow a
man to die if you could stop it. And seeing as I am my brother’s only
hope of surviving…you need me.”
Dr. Harpy raised her chin. “Arrogance is a front for stupidity,
Mr. Grimm. I would advise you to reflect on your behavior.”
“Cute,” Vayne snorted. “I like my females a little feisty. Not to
mention, I find intelligence to be quite the aphrodisiac…”
He gave her his best smile along with a flirty peek of his pink
tongue as it darted out to wet his sensual lips. A quick wink, a toss
of his long hair, and he thought he had her in the bag.
But he was wrong. Dr. Harpy just scowled at his well-practiced
performance. “What were you looking for on me, anyway?” she
asked.
Vayne had to shake off the realization that a woman could be
completely immune to his flirting. He felt...naked, and not in a good
way. “I…ugh, I was looking for this,” he stuttered, completely off his
game, and pointed to the mark beneath his left ear that matched
the birthmark on her hip.
Dr. Harpy stood on her tippy toes, as she was more than a foot
shorter than him, moved his hair aside, and looked to where he was
pointing. Her brow furrowed and she bit her bottom lip, but she
remained quiet. Vayne had to keep himself in check. She was much
too close, and the hunger he felt growing inside of him was
terrifying. He had to feed, and soon. Two days without nourishment
was pushing it.
“If I bring you one of the weapons that did this…would that
help?”
She appeared to snap out of some sort of trance and nodded
her head. Zela backed away from him and reached for the door
handle. Finding her voice once more, she said, “I don’t know what
just happened, but if you ever touch me like that again…I’ll press
charges.”
Vayne couldn’t help but growl, “the next time I touch you like
that, sweetheart, you’ll be naked and begging me not to stop.”

***

Zela had to admit that the toothpaste commercial worthy smile

and ripped shirt left her a bit flustered, but not entirely without brain
cells. She was, after all, a professional. And now she was rather
curious about the birthmark she shared with Vayne Grimm. Zela
tucked that information away for later and moved to update Valor’s
patient file.
 Most of the areas were filled in with the word unknown or
inconclusive, which only fueled her determination to get to the
bottom of this. Whatever was happening to Valor seemed to affect
his brother as well, on both an emotional and physical level. The
level of connection they possessed went beyond even the most
extreme documented cases of twin telepathy. It all sounded insane,
but Vayne’s episode from a few minutes ago was alarming.
His eyes were luminous orbs, and she could have sworn she
saw something moving beneath his skin as if it was reaching for her
touch. His heart rate had seemed almost inhumanly fast, and his
skin was burning. Anyone with a temperature that high should have
needed immediate emergency treatment. If he hadn’t recovered so
quickly, Zela would have assumed he was having a stroke. Though a
little shocked, he seemed lucid enough to speak coherently, even
warning her to stay away.
But why should she stay away? She was a doctor.
Zela took note of all of Vayne’s symptoms as she worked on
Valor’s file. If the rapid healing was hereditary, then there may be
something else hidden inside of their DNA that could be causing
Valor’s condition. A knock sounded on her office door before it
pushed open. Leo. “Is everything alright?”
She shrugged indifferently, still typing away at her computer.
“One of the nurses said a man was having some sort of stroke
and that you brought him to your office. She heard a commotion
and called me to check on you,” he explained. Just the sound of his
voice made her want to tranquilize herself. On the surface, Leo
seemed to have good intentions. But there was something beneath
that façade that she couldn’t quite pin down.
 “I’m fine.”
“You always say that, and it’s rarely true.”
Zela was getting impatient with his constant poking. “He came
to the hospital to identify my new patient, who happens to be his
twin brother.”
“And he had a stroke?”
“It wasn’t a stroke.”
Leo moved to sit on the edge of her desk. “Then what was it?”
“Look, if this case requires consultation from the psychology
department, I’ll be happy to give you a call. But until then, I would
really just like to focus on my work.”
Zela silently prayed that, for once, Leo would take the hint. But
he didn’t. Instead, he went to grab the two of them coffee and
insisted that he stay to make sure she didn’t pass out from sleep
deprivation. She was too tired to care or argue, so she let him sit in
the chair across from her desk.
The feeling of his eyes constantly watching her was
unpleasant, but she tried her best to ignore the twisting in her gut
each time she looked up and saw him smiling. Zela repressed a
shudder, wondering why Leo creeped her out but she had been
almost submissive when Vayne tossed her to the floor and crawled
over her like a predator. Her hand dropped below the desk and
traced the pattern of her birthmark absentmindedly as she reviewed
her notes.
Despite her professional obligation to keep the hospital
informed of her cases, Zela made the most rebellious decision of her
career. She switched Valor Grimm’s file to private so that no one
could turn him into a science experiment. As a doctor, she had taken
a vow to protect her patients.
And she would do so, even if it meant hiding them.
“We’re expected at the company party this Saturday, and I
would really enjoy it if you would come with me.”
Her response to Leo was automatic. “I have plans, I’m sorry.”

CHAPTER THREE

It was in the early afternoon and he was indoors, but there

was a pair of Gucci sunglasses covering up his sensitive eyes as
Vayne sauntered through the lobby of the hospital. While his smile
was cocky and his stride was confident, he collapsed against the
elevator wall the very second the door closed him inside.
Trembling hands lifted the end of his shirt. Three oozing claw
marks cut through his stomach and Vayne gritted his teeth against
the pain. The Bane Bloods were dirty fighters. Four had cornered
him and turned into their wolf forms in broad daylight.
Luckily, he had been smart enough to cast an illusion over the
alley along with a repellent spell to keep humans from stumbling
upon their little disagreement. As an Epsilon, most of his magic was
defensive, but he had just enough combat strength to be dangerous
when peace wasn’t an option. Those spells had drained most of his
strength, which meant he might not have enough power to heal
himself. Vayne clenched his jaw and whispered in the language of
the old Gods, feeling lightheaded even as his wounds began to close
enough to stop bleeding. The elevator dinged and he stumbled out
of the tight confines.
 “Dr. Harpy!” he shouted as he leaned up against the wall,
trying to remain upright until he found her. She was his mate. He
could trust her to protect him if he were to pass out…right?
Honestly, Vayne had no idea. It wasn’t as if these things came with
an instruction manual.
“Mr. Grimm?” She appeared from down the hall like a nymph
rising from the mists, all beauty, and temptation. He gave her a
lopsided grin and tossed one of the Bane Bloods’ daggers at her
feet. Dr. Harpy gasped when he fell to the floor. She rolled him over
and checked for wounds in all of the blood. “Brought you a present,
sweetheart.”
Darkness swam in his vision. He was immortal, so the wounds
wouldn’t kill him, but the shadows that collected behind his eyes
caused him to panic. Vayne hated the darkness. He needed to see
the stars or see a candle flickering so that he knew the beast had
not won.
His hands gripped her wrists tightly and had to remind himself
that she was human. When his touch gentled, he reached up with
one bloodied hand to touch her face.

***

When Vayne came to, he was laying in a hospital bed beside

his brother. Monitors beeped somewhere through the fog in his brain
and he tasted a flavor on his tongue that could only be described as
“hospital.” His head hurt like he was hungover, which was normal
whenever his magic was depleted.
“The blade you brought me was made from silver.”
 Vayne turned at the sound of her voice. It was like waves
crashing against the soft sands of a beach. Even his beast seemed
soothed by her presence, which was unusual. Though the wolves of
the Silverblood pack fought for peace, they were cursed to never
feel peace...only restless hunger and rage.
“It’s old…like, ancient. Something a Viking would have used,
but there was a large amount of canine-like teeth marks all over the
handle,” Dr. Harpy explained as she opened the file in her hands and
pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I was able to test the
particles found on the blade to your brother’s results and I believe
he may have an extreme intolerance to silver.”
“I don’t follow.”
“The human body needs very specific amounts of iron to work
properly, such as carrying oxygen to the cells in your body, helping
to fight infections, and many other things…it’s essential and most
people are very sick when they don’t have enough.”
Vayne didn’t like where this was going.
“I tested your blood as well while you were asleep since you
gave your consent yesterday,” she continued. “You have more iron
than people are able to have in their blood. Your bodies pump
almost triple the amount of blood and oxygen than what is normal.
It’s like your entire anatomy is unique. But the silver from the blade
somehow deposited onto the iron and began to reduce its effects
significantly. As a result, it’s possible that his body went into shock
from some sort of severe iron deficiency anemia.”
“Like one extreme to the other?”
“Exactly. His body is trying to produce enough iron to fight off
what it believes is an infection, but it’s like the silver is stunting the
process. His internal organs could start to shut down without proper
care, or if we can’t get the silver minerals from his blood.”
Vayne could barely keep up. After centuries of fighting against
Bane Bloods without weapons, the pack somehow discovered that
silver was extremely toxic to the Biorn lineage. So much for being
immortal, he thought dryly.
“How is it treated?” he asked.
“These are just my theories as to why all of this could be
happening. But I think if you were to agree to a blood transfusion,
we may be able to flush his system.”
Saving Valor could expose them further, but he didn’t care.
That recklessness inside of Vayne knew no limits when it came to
Valor. Though he was close with all of his brothers, none of them
shared the same connection that he had with his twin. If Dr. Harpy
could cure this ailment, he would proudly petition his Alpha for the
right to mate her properly.
Vayne pulled the strange needles and tubes from his arms and
crowded her space until she was backed against the wall. His
hospital gown was not the most fashionable attire, but he wore it
like a king’s robe. He watched the muscles in her throat work as she
swallowed nervously.
Every beat of her fragile heart was like a siren’s call, luring him
closer, urging him to claim her as his own. He wanted to mark her, to
possess her. Dr. Harpy’s pheromones were like the scent of spring
rain on a warm day.
But the hand she pressed against his chest was not filled with
desire; it pushed him back until air could once again pass between
their bodies.
 “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’ll do what I can to save your brother, but then I never want
to see you again,” Dr. Harpy said before storming out of the room.
Most females would have melted from his touch, but not her. His
mate was quite the challenge. Vayne searched the room for his
clothing and found them neatly folded on a small table near the
windows. He peeled off the hospital gown and checked to see if his
wounds had healed properly.
Satisfied with the results, he pulled on his leather jacket and
dark jeans. The shirt Vayne wore into the hospital had been
discarded due to the amount of blood staining the fabric. Once he
was dressed, he wandered through the halls.
Vayne peeked into all of the offices trying to find Dr. Harpy.
When he decided to give up looking for his mate on his own, he
strolled over to the nurse’s station. “I need to see Dr. Harpy,” he
informed the woman behind the desk. She could barely tear her
gaze away from his bare chest. Any other time Vayne would have
flexed for her a little and showed off his muscular physique. His kind
was the pinnacle of male perfection.
“L-let me see if I can find her,” the woman stammered. She
flipped through a stack of papers that appeared to be several
schedules. Vayne glanced down for a moment and caught sight of
his mate’s name.
“Zela,” he said aloud, practically purring her name. It tasted
sweet on his tongue and fit her quite perfectly. “Where is she?”
“Dr. Harpy is on lunch. Would you like to leave her a
message?”
 Vayne shook his head, causing his long hair to spill over his
shoulders. The woman seemed almost entranced by his presence. A
devilish smile curved upon his sensual lips. “No need. Just point me
in the direction of her office.”
“Are you a friend or relative?” she asked.
He leaned over the desk and moved close enough to hear the
rhythm of the woman’s heart as he read her nametag. Vayne licked
his lips, enjoying the sight of her eyes flickering between his mouth
and his sculpted body. “Thank you, Jenny. I appreciate you trying to
protect her, but Zela is more than aware of who I am. She’ll be
expecting me.”
“It’s against hospital policy to give out certain information-”
“I’m her fiancé,” Vayne said quickly, never allowing his smile to
waver. After a few seconds of hesitation, Jenny pointed to a door
just a few feet down the hall. He winked at her and sauntered
toward Zela’s office. Her scent was all over the door, but something
was wrong. A male was in her office.
Vayne tested the lock and found that it was latched from the
inside. He tuned out the other sounds of the hospital and focused on
the noises coming from the other side of the door. His beast bubbled
to the surface, furious at the thought of another male so close to his
mate. With a twist of his wrist, the lock broke and he shoved inside
the office. A human male stood shocked behind Zela’s desk.
“Who the hell are you?” Vayne growled.
“My name is Dr. McNeil. I work in the psychology department
and I am assisting Dr. Harpy in one of her cases. How did you get
in? I thought I locked the door.”
“You did. I broke it.”
 “That’s hospital property. I’ll have to report you for damaging
it.”
Vayne was across the room in an instant. This male was
overpowering Zela’s scent. He grabbed the mortal’s shirt and lifted
him off of his feet. The strength of his kind never failed to silence
males of a lesser species. Dr. McNeil was no different. “Why are you
in here alone?”
“This is a misunderstanding. She invited me.”
“Don’t lie. I can smell the deception seeping through your
pores,” he snapped. “Whatever she was to you no longer exists. You
do not speak to her, you do not look at her, and you do not think
about her. Have I made myself clear?”
Dr. McNeil nodded vigorously and Vayne sneered, “I’ll be
watching.”
He set the male down on his feet and burst out laughing when
Dr. McNeil scurried from the room. The beast wanted to throw off his
scent, to mark her space so that all other males would be repelled,
but he chose to listen to his human side. No matter how many years
had passed, there was a part of Vayne that remained a man. Though
the beast tried to claw its way out, he was still in control for the
most part.
Vayne snooped around Zela’s office for a while. He was
surprised when there were no pictures of family, vacations, or pets.
The only thing picture of Zela showed her shaking hands with the
president. Framed awards, degrees, newspaper articles, and
certificates filled most of the wall. He was proud to have an
intelligent mate.
 Zela opened the door and gave him an icy cold look that
rivaled Valor’s whenever Vayne was being particularly annoying. She
quirked a brow at the broken door handle and the papers spread
across her desk. Vayne shrugged sheepishly. “Caught someone
named Dr. McNeil searching for something.”
“Leo was in my office?” Zela asked. Vayne looked beyond his
anger at the sound of another males name on her beautiful lips.
Instead, he zeroed in on the scent of her anxiety. Why did she fear
Dr. McNeil?
“He was. But I spoke with him about boundaries.”
Zela eyed him suspiciously, but eventually, she took a deep
breath. Vayne was assaulted by the decadent aroma that wafted
through the air with each of her movements. Their bond was
growing stronger.
She toyed with his senses and unknowingly tempted him to
break his pack’s most sacred rule. They were only permitted to
communicate with humans during times of desperation, and the
leaders of the Silverbloods were forbidden to mate with mortals.
Vayne had never considered these rules, for his pack came to the
conclusion long ago that they would never find their mates.
But there she was. Zela stood before him in all of her glory,
shining like a beacon of light in the darkness. Vayne knew that he
would risk anything to have her.

CHAPTER FOUR

Zela jiggled the keys in the lock. The stubborn thing refused to
budge, even after six attempts to unlock the door to her apartment.
Several bundles of mail were stacked beside her front door. She
balanced her briefcase, a bag of groceries, and her purse all while
trying to gain entrance to her home.
Finally, the door swung open and she able to hobble inside to
set down her things. Zela rushed back to grab the mail before
shutting herself in for the night. The first thing she did was open a
window to let in some fresh air. Stale, musty New Orleans heat had
been trapped inside of her modest lodgings for nearly a week.
Now that Valor Grimm was on the brink of recovery, she felt
comfortable leaving the office for a few days. With a few more
treatments and blood transfusions, she hoped he would be up and
running laps in no time. The healing abilities of the Grimm brothers
would revolutionize medicine, but she wasn’t that sort of doctor
anymore.
Zela valued more things that turning humans into lab rats to
be poked and prodded for the sake of medical advancement. She
took off her coat to hang it on the hook beside the door and slipped
her sneakers off as well. Her thoughts never strayed far from Vayne
Grimm or the threat he issued to Leo. As much as she appreciated
him coming to her defense, she hoped it would not cause drama or
issues with the hospital staff.
Humming a little tune, Zela showered quickly and vowed to eat
a decent meal. She opened the refrigerator only to be greeted by
more condiments than actual nourishment. When she closed the
refrigerator door, a shadow moved in her peripheral vision. Zela
shrieked and jumped back when Vayne stepped into the light.
He approached her with his hands raised as though she was a
cornered animal, but the smile on his face was not soothing in the
least. “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you.”
“Why are you in my house?” she demanded.
“Valor still needs your help,” he said, gesturing over to her
couch where Valor was lying. “I cannot trust the other doctors with
his care.”
“He would have been fine! I trust my coworkers. It’s you that I
don’t trust. You pop up whenever you like and then you tell people
that we’re engaged! Are you some sort of stalker?” Zela pulled her
bathrobe tighter, noticing how hungry his gaze was. It wasn’t his
stare that made her uncomfortable, but the way her body reacted to
it.
“You know that we are not like the other patients. And if the
warriors who attacked Valor track his whereabouts to the hospital,
no one there is safe.”
“Warriors?” Zela questioned with a note of skepticism.
“I cannot explain these things to you just yet. But I will when
the threat of my enemies is not so near.”
She looked past Vayne and noticed that Valor’s eyes were
open. He gave her a weak smile and little wave. Zela hoped he had
more common sense than his brother as she walked over to check
his vital signs. His heartbeat was faster than normal, but what was
normal about the Grimm brothers?
“How are you feeling?”
“A bit disappointed that the first thing I saw when I opened
my eyes was his ugly mug. People say we’re twins, but I’d reckon
that I’m the pretty one,” Valor jested.
Zela rolled her eyes. She stood up to get him a glass of water
and pointedly ignored the glare burning into the back of her head
from Vayne. There was something dark about his behavior,
something she could not quite put her finger on. It was
almost...possessive.
She handed Valor the glass of water and looked between the
brothers. “If I’m going to continue treating him in secret, I’m going
to need some answers.”
Vayne released an exasperated sigh. Valor gave her a
sympathetic look as if he was apologizing for his brother’s behavior.
“Not only am I the better looking of the two, but I’m also the one
with manners and a profound sense of responsibility.”
There was a growl that came from over her shoulder, one that
did not sound human at all. Zela turned to look at Vayne and for a
brief moment, she thought his eyes were glowing. It disappeared
after an instant, so it was likely her imagination. Sleep deprivation
was bound to cause some issues eventually.
“Then one of you start talking or I’ll be shipping you off to
someone who has time to play these silly little games,” Zela huffed.
“I can’t keep doing this blindly. You have to give me something to
work with that will speed up your recovery.”
“Whatever you did at the hospital awakened me. Can you not
continue to do that treatment?” Valor asked. “Or are the results not
permanent?”
“The silver is out of your blood, but you still need time to
bounce back. Not to mention, you’re going to need something to
prevent this from happening again.”
Vayne nodded his head as Valor appeared to consider her
words carefully. The long-haired brother came to sit beside her,
much too close for her comfort, but not close enough if the flutter in
her chest was any indication. He smelled good, like freshly fallen
snow and pine. It was a scent that was almost inebriating, and it
seemed to get stronger with every beat of her heart.
The air thickened with heat. Something animalistic passed
between Zela and Vayne. She lifted her gaze to his and felt as if she
was falling into the depths of his soul. Valor cleared his throat,
snapping her out the fog that had cluttered her mind. Vayne
chuckled lightly, the sound sending vibrations through her. “I will
take care of you while you care for Valor. I’ll buy you food.”
When Vayne stood up to figure out what to order for dinner,
she was somewhat disappointed by the absence of his body heat
against her side.

***

Vayne did not know whether to jump out the window in self-
preservation or to curl up in her lap and beg her to pet him with her
slender fingers. Just being near her was stealing his control. He
wondered just how true the legends of his people were. Could fated
mates truly break the curse of his kind?
It as hard for him to entertain the notion that someone that
petite and suspicious in nature could tame his monster. He walked
around her apartment searching for structural weaknesses.
Defensive spells would need to be put in place the instant his energy
was at full capacity. He couldn’t risk leaving her unguarded for even
a second.
Calm yourself, brother.
 Vayne heard the hissing whispers of his brother’s voice in his
mind. Valor was obviously strong enough to speak to him
telepathically once again, which was a sign that Zela could make
miracles happen–or at least in his mind she could. It felt like a
missing piece of a puzzle was finally being restored.
He didn’t know what he would have done if Valor had not
made it through the darkness. Vayne let the fury inside roll through
him. His other brothers and pack males were more violent that he
was, but Vayne was not helpless by any means. He often sparred
with his twin and the other fighters. He would even beat them
occasionally.
It is good to hear your voice, Vayne thought in response.
The sickness that ails me fades. Soon we can return to the
pack.
It pained him to think of leaving Zela. When he returned to the
living room, he looked into his brother’s amethyst eyes and shook
his head once.
Then you risk exile, Vayne. Aidan will not allow you to take this
human.
Instead of arguing, he slammed down the mental barriers,
blocking any further telepathic communication with Valor. He could
still feel his brother prodding at the walls trying to push through, but
he was not strong enough yet. Vayne naughtily stuck out his tongue,
earning him a groan from both Zela and Valor.
But with her, he would prefer she groaned in pleasure rather
than irritation. His brother was an entirely different matter. “I will
order pizza,” Vayne said. He didn’t know much about modern human
food, but it was important that he learn if he wanted to bring her
back to the den. He had heard multiple humans mention a love for
pizza, so he made the call and paced back and forth in front of the
door until he scented a strange male.
A young man stood in the entryway of the apartment. He had
an acne-riddle complexion and was wearing a red shirt with a
company logo on it. Even so, the boy had the nerve to look over
Vayne’s shoulder to where Zela sat on the couch in her bathrobe.
He shifted to the side to block the weakling’s view of his mate
and bared his teeth in a snarl. Fear danced in the boy’s gaze and it
made Vayne smile.
“Where is the rest of the feast?” he asked.
“Y-you only ordered one pizza.”
Vayne looked down at the thin cardboard box. That wouldn’t
be enough to feed a wolf pup, let alone someone with his insatiable
appetite.
“How many do you have in your delivery vehicle?”
“Six.”
“Bring them,” Vayne said while reaching into his pocket to pull
out a folded up wad of cash. He waved it in front of the boy’s face
knowing that humans were infamous for their greed. Vayne set
down the pizza and shuffled through the money to hand over two
one-hundred-dollar bills. Zela stood to properly take in the scene,
and a smile spread across her face despite her best efforts to
conceal it.
His senses were tuned into every flurry of her eyelashes when
she blinked and every rustle of fabric her robe made. After the boy
handed him the rest of the pizzas he was meant to deliver, Vayne
tossed a little more the cash at him and slammed the door.
 It felt natural to join her at the table. Sharing a meal with
one’s mate was very sacred to his kind. Valor stubbornly denied
needing help to the table and damn near fell over a few times.
Vayne filed the memories of his brother’s embarrassment away for
blackmail later–like any good sibling would.
He made it his personal responsibility to make sure his
brothers remembered that they were once mortals and not beasts of
legend. Zela’s eyes flew open at the actual sight of seven pizzas in
his arms. Had she thought he was joking about a feast? Vayne
cocked his head curiously at her reaction but shrugged it off. Though
they were not complete barbarians, they often ate like them.

***

Vayne and Valor inhaled their food. Zela watched in horror,

wondering if either of them would choke to death as they shoveled
slice after slice into their mouths.
“You guys must have been starving, huh?” she commented. All
she got in response were two bobbing heads as they nodded in
agreement.
It was like they ate silently so that talking wouldn’t distract
them from devouring what was on their plate. It was almost
endearing, especially when Vayne would reach across the table to
grab at Valor’s food and the other twin would slap his wrist in
protest. Zela snickered to herself at the look of betrayal on Vayne’s
face.
He then made the most pathetic expression at his plate when
he realized he had already eaten his portion of the food and that his
brother wasn’t sharing. Zela took pity on him and slid over the rest
of hers. She was full anyway.
The look in his eyes was tender and…lustful. Zela gulped and
reached for her glass of wine to calm her nerves. No one had ever
looked at her with such adoration. Vayne grasped her free hand and
brought it to his lips. He planted a soft kiss to the back in a gesture
that was long out of style. “Thank you.”
There was an edge to his voice that said her offer meant more
than she realized. Zela looked to Valor for answers. “For a female to
feed a male in our culture is a very significant thing. It is a sign that
she cares for him and it is an act of intimacy only practiced by those
who are together by fate,” he clarified.
“I still can’t quite put my finger on what your culture is exactly.
Or who you are... or where you’re from. It’s hard to treat someone
who refuses to tell me anything.”
The brothers shared a look of panic and then something
passed between them. It was like they were communicating without
actually opening their mouths to speak. She watched as their faces
flashed between varieties of facial expressions.
Vayne gave his brother a look of defiance before he spoke.
“We come from an extensive royal lineage. Our father was
Tyrfing Biorn, Jarl of Fjaora. He died so that our bloodline may carry
on. Aidan, our eldest brother, once held his position as Jarl until he
rose to the title of Konungr. He is now the King of our people.”
“Vayne!” Valor shouted, interrupting momentarily.
“Lathyr is the second eldest and he took the title of Jarl after
Aidan’s rise. Garrus was the Earl of a different kingdom because we
did not know he was our brother at the time. Vayne and I were
Höfðingjar, chieftains chosen by the clan.”
“This is crazy! Just tell me the truth already.” Zela was tired of
the lies and the evasive answers. She fought to process the ludicrous
information he was trying to convince her of. Yarls? Kings? These
twins were insane, clearly.
“We are Vikings, love. Or, at least, that was who we were
before the curse.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Zela tried her best not to laugh as she imagined every cheesy
horror film from the past two decades. She didn’t want to mock two
people who were clearly not mentally stable, so she swallowed the
giggles that threatened to burst from within and picked at what was
left of the food. Vayne looked at her expectantly as if he was waiting
for her to catch on to something. His eyes held the look of a hopeful
puppy.
Then realization struck like a bolt of lightning.
“What? You can’t possibly think that I’m your mate!” Zela saw
the sincerity in his gaze and turned to Valor, who stared down at the
table. “You’re serious?” she asked in disbelief.
“You may not believe in any of this, but you cannot deny that
there is a connection between us, Zela.”
“Don’t say my name like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like I mean something to you. We’ve known each other for
barely a week, there’s no way this is happening. How do I know this
is even real?” she inquired.
“What makes you think it is not real?”
“Maybe because I just watched you eat at least 12 slices of
pizza, and now you’re not only telling me you are a Viking, but that I
am your ‘fated mate’?” she replied, making air quotes with her
fingers as she finished her sentence..”
“You said it yourself. Our bodies are not like other humans.”
“But that doesn’t mean you’re not human. It’s just an anomaly,
one that can be explained through science and rational thinking,”
Zela stated. Vayne looked disappointed by her reaction. What did he
expect her to do? Simply fall into his arms at the first mention of a
possible connection? That wouldn’t be happening. The only thing
she knew for certain was that they were unique and that someone
was out to kill them.
“How do you explain surviving an attack as brutal as what my
brother experienced? You saw all of those stab wounds. How could a
human live through that?” Vayne quizzed. “How do you explain the
silver, the healing, and the fact that we do not show up in your
computers?”
Zela fidgeted with her napkin. “I may not have the answers,
but someone else must.”
“You won’t find them with the humans.”
“No. I’m just tired and hallucinating. I’ve gone days without
rest and I’ve barely eaten until now. Make yourselves at home for
the night. I’m going to bed.”
Zela stood to leave. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. It was if
all the air was sucked from the room. Vayne and Valor both stiffened
and jumped from their seats. She moved to Valor’s side when he
nearly toppled to the floor.
“Bane Bloods,” he informed her through clenched teeth. His
face was pale and a thin sheen of sweat broke out on his skin. She
tried to pull him into the bedroom, but she stopped when Vayne
shattered the tumultuous silence with a roar. That sound was not
human. Zela hoped this nightmare would end and she would wake
up drooling on her keyboard.
Vayne dropped his jacket and shredded his shirt. Ribbons of
clothing floated to the floor as his eyes began to glow. So, she
hadn’t imagined it before? He rolled the muscles on his shoulders
and seemed to grow taller and taller. Standing at nearly seven feet
in height, Vayne’s body began to bulge outward.
Zela heard bones popping as they reformed. A shout of pain
morphed into a deep growl that caused the hair on her arms to
stand erect. Sleek, black fur covered his body, but there was still
something very human about him.
He looked like a statue of Anubis she had once seen at a
museum. Zela didn’t know whether to scream and run or help Valor.
But the doctor inside won the battle. She could not leave him
defenseless.
Zela rushed to the kitchen to look for anything silver, hoping
these Bane Bloods had the same intolerance. No such luck on the
silver, so she grabbed a regular knife and propped Valor up against
the counter, out of danger. He shook his head and tried to keep her
from going anywhere. “Don’t. You cannot fight them.”
She had been told all of her life she couldn’t do certain things
and proved them wrong every time. In his weakened state, Valor
didn’t have the strength to hold her back. Zela stood over Valor,
ready to defend him in necessary. But everything was quiet, aside
from her panicked breathing.
Vayne sniffed the air. Seconds later the door to her apartment
blew off its hinges. She screamed and jumped out of the way. Zela
barely avoided being impaled by the debris as splinters of wood flew
through the air. A large man stood in the entrance of her home.
He had black, soulless eyes and every inch of his exposed skin
was covered in some form of ancient runes. His very presence
caused a current of energy to engulf the small space of her
apartment. Zela knew instinctively that he wasn’t human. An
otherworldly aura surrounded the stranger.
Vayne stalked forward, but the man held up a single finger to
halt his advances.
“Easy now, man-beast. Right now is not the time.”
The dense, lilting accent of the newcomer sounded even older
than the one she associated with Vayne and Valor. His tongue
seemed to roll on his ‘r’ and his ‘s’ sounds shifted in a way she had
never heard before. Zela was both fascinated and fearful of the man.
Valor gripped Zela’s arm to keep her steady and tried to pull
her behind the counter. The stranger caught her movement and he
looked at her with so much hatred she thought it would cause her to
burst into flames. He took a daring step toward her and Vayne
leaped across the room.
They clashed against the wall and Zela winced. Once Vayne
had pinned him, the man whistled and three enormous white wolves
entered, ready to fight. These creatures were more like animals than
conscious beings. A feral glimmer rested in their red eyes. Zela’s
raised her knife.

***
Vayne could smell her fear. Seeing a female he cared about
reminded him of Kira...and that reminder brought with it a wave of
guilt and pain. But he pushed that out of his mind, for now, focusing
on the fact that if he knew she was scared, so would his enemies.
Dom Zul rarely took human form, but there he stood. He tracked the
movements of the other Bane Bloods. Three wolves searched for
weaknesses in his manifestation, but they would find none.
The Bane Bloods may see his kind as impure abominations or
man-beasts made from magic, but the Silverblood males were
formidable. The three wolves that entered the fight were not the
grunts he fought in the alley, but they were soldiers. Vayne’s was
torn between the man and the beast.
The part of him that was still human wanted to protect his
female, but the other part of him was hell-bent on tearing out Dom
Zul’s heart and delivering it to his Alpha. His gaze shifted to where
Zela stood bravely with the useless weapon in her hand. He wanted
to savor her courage, to harness it.
“Give me your brother or your mate dies.”
Vayne roared loud enough to cause car alarms to go off down
the street. The force of it seemed to shake the building.
“You cannot fight all of us, man-beast. One of them will kill her
before you can do anything to protect her, and you know it.”
Although he was more vulnerable in his human form, Vayne
wrestled the beast internally until he was in control once again. He
was hunched over completely naked and breathing heavily when his
rage fell to a simmer. Vayne was just strong enough to cast a shield
over Zela before the wolves attacked him.
Valor attempted to join the fight, but Dom Zul appeared and
grabbed him from behind. Zela called out, but it was too late. The
Alpha of the Bane Bloods cast a portal and carried his brother’s
struggling body through. Zela fought against the shields but Vayne
could not risk the life of his mate. Not even for Valor.
To put her in danger would be a defiance of his nature. If Dom
Zul wanted to kill them, he would have done so already. His only
hope was that his brother was a useful hostage for the Bane Bloods,
rather than a proverbial lamb for slaughter.
The others followed their leader through the portal. Suddenly,
there was nothing but silence. Vayne could feel his body trying to
heal the fresh wounds that marred his flesh, but he did not have the
strength to move. His waning energy caused the barrier around Zela
to ripple and then disintegrate.
Zela darted over, dropped to her knees, and began examining
him. “Why didn’t you let me help?” she asked. “I could have
done...something.”
“Thank you for wanting to help, but I could not risk your life.”
“It is my life to risk,” she protested. “Whether my life ended to
save your brother or not, that was my choice to make. Not yours,
Vayne.”
He stiffened.
“What’s the matter?”
“That was the first time you’ve called me by name,” he
announced, his voice filled with wonder. The sensation that rushed
through his body at the sound of his name on her lips was
invigorating. Her tender touch against his back was like a miracle
from the Gods.
“You aren’t healing as you should be. What do I do?”
“I need rest and food. But only time will tell.”
She looked around at the destruction of her home and shook
her head. “We can’t stay here. What if they come back?”
“You’re right. But I will need help because you cannot carry
me, love.” Vayne pointed to his clothing that lay in a heap on the
floor. “There is a phone that I use to contact my other brothers. Call
no one but Garrus.”
She crawled across the floor, careful to avoid the blood or
other fluids that speckled the hardwood, and rustled around in his
pockets. It didn’t take long for her to find the cellphone and dial.
An angry voice filtered through the phone. “Where the hell
have you been, Pup? Half the pack is out here tracking your sorry
hide! What were you and Valor thinking?”
Vayne grimaced as his sensitive ears heard his brother’s voice
clear as day. Zela’s face scrunched up in a way that he found
adorable. “If you will stop shouting long enough for me to explain
where your brother is, you might just get an answer to all of your
questions.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Dr. Zela Harpy. Your brother Valor came into the
emergency room at Freeman General Hospital for multiple gun
wounds, stabbings, and lacerations. He fell under my care when the
hospital staff noticed some peculiarities about his healing. Luckily
the second half of the dynamic-duo showed up-”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Cradle. In general, that part of the carriage which houses
the recoil and counter-recoil mechanisms.
Elevating Mechanism. The device used to elevate the
gun through a vertical arc in order to give the gun an
elevation corresponding to the desired range at which
the piece is to be fired.
Fire Control Equipment. Those instruments used to
compute firing data, observe and correct the fire, such
as B. C. Telescopes, Aiming Circles, Range Finders,
etc.
Firing Mechanism. A device located in the breechblock
for exploding the primer and thus causing the ignition
of the powder charge.
Fuze. That part of the round which is fastened to the point
or to the base of the projectile and causes the latter to
be detonated or exploded near the time or the place
desired.
Fuze Setter. A device used to set time fuzes in such a
manner that shrapnel or shell will burst at or near the
desired height in air.
Gun. A metallic tube from which projectiles are hurled by
gases generated from the ignited powder. In general,
all fire arms; but in Field Artillery terms, comparatively
long-barreled weapons using relatively high muzzle
velocity in contra-distinction to the howitzers and
mortars.
Howitzer. A weapon which differs from a gun in that for
the same caliber it uses a shorter tube, lower muzzle
velocity and generally a more curved trajectory. From
two to seven varying strengths of propelling charges
may be used in the howitzer. This gives it selective
angles of fall, and allows the howitzer to reach targets
that are hidden from the flat trajectories of guns.
Initial Velocity. The speed with which the projectile first
moves.
Limber. A two-wheeled carriage which is sometimes used
to carry an ammunition chest and always used to
support the weight of the trail of the piece or caisson.
It adds the other two wheels to make a four-wheeled
vehicle.
Materiel. A term used in the Field Artillery in contra-
distinction to Personnel.
Mortar. A weapon using for the same caliber, a barrel
much shorter than the corresponding howitzer. Used
at short ranges with extreme steep angles of fall to
reach highly defiladed targets.
Muzzle. The front end of the bore.
Muzzle Velocity. Speed or velocity of the projectile
measured as it leaves the muzzle.
Ogive. The rounded shoulder of the projectile.
Ordnance. Arms, ammunition, and their accessories.
Piece. A fire arm, small or large.
Primer. Device used to insure ignition of the propelling
charge.
Projectile. The effect-producing part of the round. The
bullet-like form which is thrown toward the target.
Quadrant, gunners. A device for measuring angles of
elevation.
Recoil Mechanism. That part of the piece which checks
the recoil—or kick—that always occurs when a piece
is fired. It generally includes the counter-recoil
mechanism which restores the tube “into battery” after
it has fired.
Rifle. A gun. A weapon with a comparatively long barrel
and high muzzle velocity. Rifles under 6 inches
seldom use over two different charges. Term used in
contrast to Howitzer or Mortar.
Rifling. The lands and grooves in the bore of the piece
which imparts to the projectile during its passage
through the bore, the rotary motion that increases
accuracy and range.
Round. Consists of the primer, cartridge case or powder
bags, projectile and fuze. For light Field Artillery the
round weighs about 18 lbs and the projectile about
15.
Shell. A projectile which secures its effect by the force of
its detonation, the bursting of its walls, and the
fragmentation and velocity of the fragments. Also
used as a gas carrier.
Shrapnel. A projectile which secures its effect by the
expulsion in the air of lead balls with shot-gun like
effect.
Trail. That part of the piece which extends from the axle to
the rear and transmits the force of recoil to the ground
through the trail spade. Usually supports the elevating
and traversing mechanisms.
Traversing Mechanism. A device used to give the piece
direction by moving it through a horizontal arc.
 CHAPTER II
HISTORY AND DEVELOPMENT OF MATERIEL.

In taking up the study of materiel, the Field Artillery student should

know something of the history and development of ordnance and the
reasons for the various changes which have taken place from time to
time.
The sole use of a gun is to throw a projectile. The earliest
projectile was a stone thrown by the hand and arm of man—either in
an attack upon an enemy or upon a beast that was being hunted for
food. Both of these uses of thrown projectiles persist to this day, and,
during all time, from prehistoric days until the present, every man
who has had a missile to throw has steadily sought for a longer
range and a heavier projectile.
In ancient times the man who could throw the heaviest stone the
longest distance was the most powerfully armed. During the Biblical
battle between David and Goliath, the arm of David was
strengthened and lengthened by a leather sling of a very simple
construction. Much practice had given the youthful shepherd
muscular strength and direction, and his stronger arm and straighter
aim gave him power to overcome his more heavily armed adversary.
Projectile-throwing machines were developed after the fashion of a
crossbow mounted upon a small wooden carriage which usually was
a hollowed trough open on top and upon which a stone was laid. The
thong of the crossbow was drawn by a powerful screw operated by
man power, and the crossbow arrangement when released would
throw a stone weighing many pounds quite a distance over the walls
of a besieged city or from such wall into the camps or ranks of the
besiegers. This again was an attempt by mechanical means to
develop and strengthen and lengthen the stroke of the arm and the
weight of the projectile. The Bible states that King Usia (809-757 B.
C.) placed types of artillery on the walls of Jerusalem. The Romans
used it in the Punic Wars. The Alexandrian technicians established
scientific rules for the construction of early weapons. Athenaeus
reports catapults having a range of 656 meters and that the gigantic
siege tower at Rhodes successfully resisted stone projectiles
weighing 176 pounds.
References to explosives are to be found in works as old as
Moses. Archimedes is said by Plutarch to have “cast huge stones
from his machines with a great noise;” Caligua is said by Dion
Cassius to have had machines which “imitated thunder and lightning
and emitted stones;” and Marcus Graecus in the eighth century gives
a receipt of one pound of sulphur, two of willow charcoal and six of
saltpetre, for the discharge of what we should call a rocket.
The use of Greek fire was understood as early as the sixth
century, but powder was earliest used in China, perhaps a thousand
years before Christ, and was introduced to European notice by the
Saracens.
From the discovery of gunpowder by the English monk Bacon in
1248, sixty-five years elapsed before a Franciscan monk produced
the first gun in Germany, about 1313. The first guns were of a small
breech-loading type, supported in front by crossed sticks and
anchored by a spike at the breech. Later these guns were fastened
to cradles, the latter being mounted on sleighs, and finally, in 1376,
the Venetians produced the first wheel mounts, which had become
common by 1453, when the Turks took Constantinople.
The ancient carriages were remarkable because of the fact that in
general design they embodied the same principals which are
included in the field carriages of to-day. One example from the
fifteenth century shows a breech-loading gun mounted in a cradle
supported by trunnions on the forward extension of the trail over the
axle. The cradle was elevated by a pin-and-arc arrangement,
supported on the trail. The axle supported by wheels passes through
the trail to the rear of and below the cradle trunnion support and in
front of the point of attachment of the elevating arc.
 Field guns fell into disuse about 1525 with the introduction of
musketry, and remained so until 1631, when Gustavus Adolphus
gave artillery its true position on the battlefield.
Swedish artillery reigned supreme in the early part of the
seventeenth century. Gustavus introduced marked changes by
making the guns and the carriages lighter and handier, and by
adapting their movements to those of the other arms and to the
requirements of the battlefield. In this, as in all his military efforts, his
motto was mobility and rapidity of fire.
In 1624 Gustavus had all his old types of guns recast into newer
models and the following year he himself contrived a gun which
three men and one horse could maneuvre to good effect. It was an
iron three and four pounder with a cartridge weighing less than a
pound and consisting of a charge held in a thin wooden case wired
to a ball. This was the first artillery cartridge, the original fixed
ammunition. The gun was afterwards used in other European armies
and known as the “piece Suedoise.” Not only had it the advantage of
lesser weight but its cartridge was always ready to fire and it could
be fired eight times to the six times of the infantry musket of that day.
In the wars against the Poles, Gustavus employed with profit the
so-called leather cannon, a fact which shows how lacking the times
were in artillery power. These guns were invented in the early 1620s
by a Colonel Wurmbrandt, and consisted of a thin copper tube
reinforced by iron bands and rings, then bound with rope set in
cement, the whole covered with sole leather. The tube was made to
screw in and out because it grew heated by from eight to twelve
charges and had to be cooled. The gun carriage was made of two
planks of oak. The gun without the carriage weighed about ninety
pounds and was fired with a light charge. They were used during
1628-29 and then gave way for four pounder cast-iron guns which
remained in common usage in Europe until artillery was reorganized
by Frederick.
Gustavus’ batteries excited universal admiration. Grape and
canister were generally employed in the field guns and round shot
only in the siege guns. Artillery was used massed or in groups and
also with regiments of foot soldiers. Gustavus was probably the first
to demonstrate the real capabilities of artillery.
Mortars throwing bombs were first used at the siege of Lamotte in
1634. Hand grenades, shells, fire-balls, etc., came into more general
use as the German chemists made their new discoveries. Artillery
practice grew to be something of a science; experts took it up and
the troops were better instructed. Regimental artillery, that is, artillery
with the infantry, was attended by grenadiers detailed for the work.
There were special companies for serving the reserve guns.
The period following the Thirty Years’ War—the middle of the
seventeenth century—gave no great improvement to the art of war
but there were many marked advances in the matter of details of
construction. During the era of Gustavus it was Sweden that led in
making war more modern; during the era of Louis XIV it was France.
Artillery ceased to be a guild of cannoneers as it long had been
and became an inherent part of the army. More intelligence was
devoted to it and more money spent on this arm of the service; it
grew in strength and importance, and was markedly improved. But
while the artillery service ceased to be a mere trade, it did not put on
the dignity of a separate arm, nor was the artillery of any great utility
in the field until well along in the eighteenth century. Guns, however,
in imitation of the Swedes, were lightened, particularly so in France;
powder was gradually compounded on better recipes; gun-metal was
improved; paper and linen cartridges were introduced; gun carriages
were provided with an aiming wedge; and many new styles of guns
and mortars, and ammunition for them were invented.
Science lent its aid to practical men, and not only exhausted
chemical ingenuity in preparing powder and metal, but mathematical
formulas were made for the artilleryman, and value of ricochet firing
was discovered. Louis XIV founded several artillery schools, and
initiated the construction of many arsenals. Fontainebleau, the
French artillery school which trained many Americans during the
World War had its beginning in this period. Finally, the artillery was
organized on a battery and a regimental basis, and careful rules
were made for the tactics of the guns. These were served by
dismounted men and generally hauled by contract horses.
Although sensibly improved, the artillery was far from being
skillfully managed and was slow firing; it usually stood in small
bodies all along the line of battle. It was heavy and hard to handle
and haul, principally because the same guns were used for both
siege and field work, and was far from being, even relatively to the
other arms, the weapon which it is to-day.
In 1765 General Gribeauval of France introduced artillery
improvements, especially in the carriages, and formed a distinct
artillery service for the field which was lighter than the old service
and was drawn by teams which were harnessed double as they are
to-day.
Howitzers were introduced in France in 1749. The weapons were
given an early sort of perfection by the Dutch. The term “howitzer”
comes from the German “haubitz.” In 1808 the first shrapnel
appeared at Vimera. It was invented by an English colonel by the
name of Shrapnel. At the time it was known as case shot. The type
employed by Napoleon, had a fuze that could be used at two
different ranges. The French still have this type in their armament.
Field artillery now began to appear in the form which it was to
retain with but a few changes, until the era of the modern field
carriage. The cradle disappeared, muzzle-loading guns cast with
trunnions taking its place, and a stepped wedge resting on the trail
superseded the pin and arc. With the exception of the gun, most
parts of these carriages were of wood and were to remain so until
1870, when metal carriages came into general use. Muzzle loading
guns had supplanted breech-loaders because of the poor obturation
and the many accidents resulting from use of the latter type.
Although numerous experiments were made, breech-loading guns
did not come into vogue again until 1850, when the experiments of
Major Cavalli (1845), the Walnendorff gun (1846) and the Armstrong
gun (1854), produced satisfactory types.
Up to 1860 practically all guns were smooth bore. Even during the
Civil War the smooth bore was generally used, although the rifled
gun began to make an appearance and was used in small numbers
by both sides at the battle of Gettysburg. Some breech loaders
began to appear at the same time. Improvement in the ballistic
properties of the gun necessitated a corresponding improvement in
the sighting facilities. In 1880 rifled breech loading and built-up steel
cannon came into general use. Rifled guns shoot accurately and as
a result, improved methods in direct laying were devised.
The period between from 1880 to the present, has brought about
changes in gun construction which, possibly, have been equaled in
importance to artillery only by the present change which is taking
place in the means of artillery transportation and self-propelling
mounts. In this period in rapid succession came the modern
breechblock and with it the rapid firing gun. This brought about the
change to the present system of breaking the force of recoil of the
gun and restoring it to its firing position without disturbing the
position of the carriage. This added to the possibilities of rapid and
more accurate fire. Then came the invention and use in the field
artillery of smokeless powder. Previous to this time the great amount
of smoke produced by the black powder when the piece was fired
retarded the rapidity of fire because it enveloped the materiel in a
thick cloud of smoke which obscured the target and made it
impossible to fire again until the smoke had blown away. It made
concealed positions for the artillery almost impossible. The advent of
smokeless powder made firing more rapid and made possible the
selection of concealed positions. This in turn made indirect fire
feasible and necessitated the development of better sights. Indirect
fire increased the rapidity of fire and gave to the commanders of
firing units a greater control over their fire. With the use of recoil
mechanisms and shields for the guns, the cannoneers were
permitted to serve the piece continuously—a condition which was
impossible with the recoiling carriage. The shields made it almost
impossible to put the gun out of action unless some vital part of the
mechanism was destroyed.
The first of the modern carriages which were produced in the early
nineties should be classified as semi-rapid carriages, as the recoil
brakes were so abrupt that the carriage was not stable and jumped
considerably, gaining for the type the sobriquet of “grass-hopper
guns.”
In 1897 the immortal French “75” was born, the pioneer of all
modern quick-firing field guns, which still maintains its superiority in
many respects over later designs.
In 1902 our own 3-inch field gun was produced and still finds favor
among many of our field artillery officers, even over the French “75.”
The Deport carriage brought to this country from Italy, in 1912,
introduced to us the split trail, high angle of fire, wide traversing type
of field gun carriage. This carriage was extensively tested by the
Ordnance Department; by the Field Artillery Board at Fort Riley,
Kansas; and by the School of Fire for Field Artillery, at Fort Sill,
Oklahoma. The Field Artillery Board unqualifiedly approved of the
Deport carriage and recommended that it be adopted. The School of
Fire for Field Artillery also approved of this type.
In 1916 the United States produced a 75-mm field gun which
featured a split trail with an elevation of 57 degrees which permits its
use as an anti-aircraft weapon and a variable length of recoil which
prevents the breech from hitting the ground at the extreme
elevations. It has a traverse of 800 mils in comparison to the 106 of
the French 75 and the 142 and 140 of the British 75 and American
three-inch field gun.
The outbreak of the late war saw all modern armies largely
equipped with guns resembling the French “75” in a long-run recoil
mechanism, weight of projectile and weight of carriage, etc. The fact
that the largest number of horses which could best be handled to
maneuver the light guns—about 6—could not pull over a long period
a gun or caisson with its limber if the weight was more than about
4500 pounds, resulted in the practical standardization of light guns in
all armies. So in 1914 we see that time and development had given
light gun perfection and mastery of artillery technique to the French
while the Germans, probably, possessed the most efficient artillery
program. The German types of weapons were more varied and
perhaps better suited to the varying artillery needs in rendering that
assistance to the infantry for which the artillery exists.
 In our service during the World War, French 75s and the 155-mm
Howitzer were used as divisional artillery. Two regiments of the light
guns and one regiment of 155-Howitzers were assigned to each
infantry division. As the war progressed guns and howitzers ranging
from the 4.7” rifle, up to, and including 14 and even 16-inch naval
guns on railroad mounts, were used as Corps and Army artillery.
Thus artillery development has gone steadily forward. Every
military power has striven with the aid of its best engineers,
designers and manufacturers to get a stronger gun, either with or
without a heavier projectile, but in every case striving for greater
power. As a special development and a not too important one, due to
its lack of effectiveness in comparison to its cost, we find the now
famous long range gun of the Germans, successfully delivered a
projectile approximately 9 inches in diameter into Paris punctually
every twenty minutes from a point about 75 miles distant. The
Germans used three of these guns in shelling Paris. Their life was
probably limited to about 75 rounds due to the excessive demands
made upon the materiel.
The American Field Artillery Service now has before it four types
of field gun carriages, namely our 3” model of 1902; the French 75
M-1897; the British 18 pounder, M-1905 converted to a 75-mm
(known as the model of 1917); and our 75-mm model, 1916. There is
being produced (1919-20) an improved model of 1916 75-mm
carriage on which the St. Chamond pneumatic recuperator, adopted
jointly by the American and French governments, will be substituted
for the spring recuperators; and the French 75-mm gun will be
substituted for our shorter calibered type. From these types one
must be selected. An intelligent selection involves a consideration of
what may be expected in the future in order that it may best fit in with
the new types yet to be evolved.
For horsed artillery—and horse artillery will be with us for some
years to come—the limiting features of draft and man power will still
pertain.
For tractor-drawn mobile artillery, the limiting feature is the tractive
power of the tractor with relation to the weight of the gun and
carriage, the unit being physically limited in weight by the supporting-
power of the pontoon bridge which is about 10,000 pounds per
vehicle.
For Caterpillar Artillery.—By that is meant guns mounted on
caterpillar tractors—the limiting features are power and weight,
coupled with the weight limitations of the pontoon bridge. To
circumvent the question of weight, the load may be divided by
mounting the motor by an electric generator on one caterpillar and
the gun with an electric motor, on the other, a transmission cable
connecting the two vehicles.
In conclusion it might be said that one of the greatest changes
which has ever taken place in the development of field artillery is
now underway in the form of motorization. Prior to 1917 horse
traction had been the sole means of transporting mobile field artillery.
The limit of the capabilities of horse traction placed a weight limit
upon gun construction and to some extent upon artillery tactics. The
increase in the ratio of field artillery to infantry, the corresponding
demand for artillery types of horses and the decrease in the
availability of the latter as the war continued, combined with the
great improvements which were constantly being wrought in
mechanical transportation as the war lengthened, opened the way
for artillery motorization.
The French began by placing their 75s on trucks for rapid changes
of position. All the armies saw the possible advantages to be gained
from the use of trucks with artillery but none planned—nor have any
since put into practice—the extensive use of trucks, caterpillar
tractors and motor transportation for personnel, which the United
States planned on her entrance into the war. It was planned to equip
about one-third of the A. E. F. artillery regiments with complete motor
equipment. This plan did not entirely materialize but after the
armistice the 3rd Field Artillery Brigade of the 3rd Division was
completely motorized and its practice marches in Germany were
most successful and full of promise for the future. To date the
motorization of all our mobile Field Artillery, with the exception of
about fifty per cent of the light field guns, has been authorized.
 Motor traction gives a better performance than animal. While the
latter, especially with the light field guns, possesses great mobility, it
is not a sustained nor a persistent mobility; it is more easily
exhausted and requires longer to recuperate. These are points of
vital importance from a military viewpoint.
In 1920 a self-propelling caterpillar mounted with a 75-mm gun,
model 1916, was tested with a view to ascertaining the ability of the
motor to function in water, i. e. fording streams, etc. The caterpillar
successfully moved through ice water which completely submerged
the carburetor.
Passenger cars for the transportation of personnel, four wheel
drive trucks with caterpillar tractors for the transportation of the
materiel, and the development of self-propelling mounts for the 75
and 155 rifles are the latest and the most important developments in
field artillery materiel.
 CHAPTER III
ELEMENTS OF GUN CONSTRUCTION AND
DESIGN

“A gun is a machine by which the force of expanding gas is utilized

for the purpose of propelling a projectile in a definite direction.” It is
essentially a metal tube closed at one end, of sufficient strength to
resist the pressure of the gases caused by the combustion of the
powder charge in the confined space at the closed end of the tube
behind the projectile. The rapid combustion of the powder, which
produces a high temperature, gives rise to a pressure uniformly
exerted in all directions within the confined space. The energy
exerted is used in forcing the projectile from the tube.

TUBES
Due to the effort of the large amount of superheated gas
generated, which tends to expand in all directions, tremendous
rending stresses are set up in the tube. Formerly these stresses
were met by a sheer mass of metal, but, as the size of the projectiles
increased and the necessary pressure to give them muzzle velocity
increased, the size of the guns increased beyond the practical limits
of mobility. This was at first offset by forgings of refined alloyed
steels, but even these failed to keep pace with the increasing
pressure desired. The new condition was met by the introduction of
the “built-up” and the “wire-wrapped” guns. The modern built-up gun
is made by assembling one or more superimposed cylinders around
a central tube. The superimposed cylinders, whose inside
dimensions are slightly smaller than the outside dimensions of those
on which they are to be assembled, are expanded by heat
sufficiently to allow them to be assembled over the tube. The
subsequent contraction on cooling causes each of them to exert a
uniform pressure on the cylinder immediately underneath. This
method of assembling is called “shrinkage.” This gives a
compression to the inner tube and a slight tension to the outer one.
The compression is so much additional strength to the tube because
it must first be overcome before the powder gases can exert a
tension on the inner tube fibers. The exact amount of the
compression and tension for all parts of a gun at rest or resisting an
explosion is a matter of mathematical calculation. The built-up
construction has been used in practically all our present day types of
field artillery.

THE WIRE-WRAPPED GUN.

Wire-wrapped guns consist of:
(a) An inner steel tube which forms a support on which the wire is
wrapped and in which the rifling grooves are cut.
(b) Layers of wire wrapped upon the tube to increase its resistance
by the application of an exterior pressure as well as to add to the
strength of the structure by their own resistance to extension under
fire.
(c) One or more layers consisting of a steel jacket and hoops
placed over the wire with or without shrinkage. The jacket generally
furnishes longitudinal strength to the guns, and the breech block is
screwed into the jacket, or into a breech bushing, which is screwed
into the jacket.
The principal advantages of this type of gun over the built-up is
economy of manufacture and greater facilities for inspection of
materiel in the layers over the tube. The wire wrapping has itself a
large reserve of strength due to the high elastic limits that may be
given it. Two methods are used to wrap the wire: (a) at constant
tension (b) at varying tension so that when the gun is fired with the
prescribed pressure, all layers of wire shall be subjected to the same
tangential stress. The latter method is theoretically better, but
because of the ease of manufacture, together with the large factor of
safety possible, the wire is usually wrapped at a constant pressure.

THE BUILT-UP GUN.

All army guns except small howitzers or mortars are of the built-up
or wire-wrapped type. Built up guns of less than 5” caliber, or
howitzers up to 8” caliber consist of an inner tube and a jacket
shrunk onto this tube. The jacket covers the breech end of the gun
and extends forward to the center of gravity. Built-up guns of larger
caliber have one more layer of hoops in addition to the jacket, one
layer of hoops usually extending to the muzzle.
The bore of the tube forms the powder chamber, the seat for the
projectile and the rifled bore. Rifling consists of a number of helical
grooves cut in the surface of the bore. The soft metal of the rotating
band of the projectile is forced into these grooves causing the
projectile to take up a rotary motion as it passes through the bore.
This is necessary in order to keep the projectile stable in its flight.

TWIST.
By twist of rifling is meant the inclination of one of the grooves to
the element of the bore at any point. Rifling is of two kinds: (a)
Uniform twist, or that in which the twist is constant throughout the
bore, (b) Increasing twist or that in which the twist increases from the
breech towards the muzzle.
The twist of rifling is usually expressed in the number of calibers
length of bore in which it makes one complete turn. The twist actually
required at the muzzle to maintain the stability of the projectile varies
with the kind of projectile and the muzzle velocity. If a uniform twist
be used, the driving force on the rotating band will be at a maximum
when the pressure in the guns is at a maximum—or near the origin
of rifling (seat of the projectile). The increasing twist serves to reduce
the maximum driving force on the band thus lessening the danger of
stripping the band. This is its principal advantage over the uniform
twist, though it also reduces slightly the maximum pressure in the
gun. The principal disadvantage of the increasing twist is the
continued change in form of the grooves pressed in the rotating
band, as the projectile passes through the bore. This results in
increased friction and a higher value for the passive resistance than
with a uniform twist. (Note: greater ranges obtained by cutting
grooves in projectile, principal used on the long range gun by the
Germans.) If the twist increases from zero at the breech uniformly to
the muzzle, the rate of change in the tangent to the groove is
constant. A twist in this form offers less resistance than the uniform
twist to the initial rotation of the projectile. To still further diminish this
resistance a twist that is at first less rapid than the uniformly
increasing twist and later more rapid has been generally adopted for
rifled guns.
Formerly in our service the twist was uniform; one turn in 25
calibres for guns and one turn in 20 calibres for howitzers. All the
latest model army guns, however, have an increasing twist of one
turn in 50 calibres at the breech to one turn in 25 calibres at a point
from 2 to 4 calibres from the muzzle. In howitzers and mortars the
twist is sometimes one turn in 40 calibres at the breech to one turn in
20 calibres at a point several calibres from the muzzle. Some
mortars are rifled with a uniform twist and some guns have a rifling
which begins with a zero twist. (The 1905 3” gun, 0 to 1 in 25.)

OUTER CYLINDERS.
Outside of the tube is the jacket. It extends to the rear of the tube
a sufficient distance to allow of seating the breech block. In this
manner the longitudinal stress due to the pressure of the powder
gases on the face of the breech block is transmitted to the jacket
thus relieving the metal of the tube from this stress. In all built-up
guns there is some method devised for locking the tube to the jacket
so as to prevent relative movement of these parts.
Considering the gun alone the greatest range is obtained at an
angle of about 43 degrees from that gun which fires the heaviest
projectile with the greatest velocity. The caliber being limited to from
2.95 inch to 3.3 inch, the projectile is limited in weight to from 12 to
18 pounds. The weight of the gun is limited to between 700 and
1000 pounds and in length to between 27 and 36 calibers. The
longer the gun, the greater the weight and velocity from the same
charge of powder. A pressure of 33,000 pounds per square inch with
a corresponding velocity of 1700 f. s. has been found to be as high a
pressure and velocity as are desirable for a reasonable length of life
for a field gun, the average life of which is 10,000 accurate rounds.
Under the French school of artillery, which dominates our service
at present, our bore is 75-mm, the weight of our shell 12 pounds, our
shrapnel 16 pounds, the velocity for the one about 1,750 f. s. and for
the other about 1,680 f. s.

BREECHBLOCKS.
The breechblock appears in four distinct types. Our own service
has for years used the swinging interrupted screw breechblock which
in the 1905 model is the equal of any of that type in existence. The
swinging block has serious disadvantages for high angle fire in that it
requires an excessive amount of room to operate and is difficult to
load at high elevations.
The Italians have introduced a new breechblock in one of their
recent guns, consisting of a half cylinder with superimposed
spherical face on its cylindrical surface rotating vertically about a
horizontal axis perpendicular to the axis of the bore. The gun is
loaded through a groove in the breechblock when the latter is in its
horizontal position. The block, which is semi-automatic, is very
satisfactory. It is adapted to high angle fire.
The French in their “75” have used the rotating eccentric screw
type, which is rapid in movement and lends itself fairly well to high
angle fire. It is completely enclosed and of rugged construction.
The Germans have used the sliding wedge type of block, moving
in a horizontal direction, which does not lend itself to high angle fire.
 The United States in its recent field carriage adopted the sliding
wedge type in a vertical plane on account of its manifest superiority
in fire at high angles. This block is rather difficult to manufacture and
the type has a tendency to stick. The automatic closing necessitates
a strong closing spring which fatigues the block operator, No. 1 in the
gun squad. It is interesting to note that in a prospective new design
for the 1916 gun carriage the American Ordnance Department
adopted the French breechblock; and the St. Chamond Company,
designing for the American Expeditionary Forces, adopted the
American drop block.
Requirements for a breech mechanism:
The following may be said to be the principal requirements for a
successful breech mechanism.
1. Safety. To be safe: (a) the gas must be restrained from escaping
to the rear; this sealing or obturation must be automatic, greater
pressure insuring better obturation. (b) The breech of the gun must
not be weakened by the fitting of the breech mechanism. (c) The
parts must have ample strength to prevent any portion from being
blown to the rear. (d) The danger of premature discharge must be
minimized. (e) The breechblock must be securely locked to prevent
opening on firing.
2. Ease and Rapidity of Working. Otherwise, rapid and continuous
fire cannot be maintained. Hence this would include facility in loading
and certainty of extraction for rapid fire guns.
3. Not Easily Put Out of Order. In other words it must be able to
meet service conditions and hard usage. Parts should have a
reserve strength.
4. Ease of Repair. Parts most exposed to wear should be so
designed as to permit being replaced. This will also include
accessibility to parts, so that breakage of a part will not disable the
mechanism for a long time.
5. Interchangeability. Not only should individual parts be made
interchangeable by accurate workmanship, but the whole
mechanism should be capable of being mounted on similar guns.
This is to meet service conditions.

GUN CARRIAGES.
A modern gun carriage is expected to stand steady on firing, so
that in the first place it requires no running up, and in the second
place it maintains the direction of the gun so that only a slight
correction in elevation and direction is required after each round. The
carriage is maintained in position by the spade, which sinks into the
ground, and by the friction of the wheels upon the ground. If the
force of the recoiling gun were communicated directly to the
anchored carriage the effect would be to make it jump violently,
which would not only disturb the lay, but would prevent the
cannoneers from maintaining their position. The hydraulic recoil
brake is therefore interposed between gun and carriage. If the guns
were rigidly attached to the carriage the latter would be forced back
a short distance at each round, and the whole of the recoil energy
would have to be absorbed in that short motion. Instead of this the
gun alone is allowed to recoil several feet and although the recoil
energy is in this case greater than it would be if gun and carriage
recoiled together yet it is so gradually communicated to the carriage
that instead of a violent jerk we have a steady, uniform pull, the only
effect of which is to slightly compress the earth behind the spade. In
a well designed carriage the amount of this pull is always less than
that required to lift the wheels off the ground by rotating the carriage
about the spade.
The only motion of the carriage which takes place is that due to
the elastic bending and rebound of its parts under the cross strains
set up on discharge. These strains are inevitable since the direction
of recoil cannot be always exactly in the line of the resistance of the
earth behind the spade. This movement of the axis is known as jump
and must be determined by experiment for the individual piece in its
particular mounting.
The principal parts of the typical gun carriage are the cradle, a
device for mounting the cradle—called in the different models rocker,