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A FORBIDDEN MATING

JORDAN MARIE
JENIKA SNOW

A Forbidden Mating

By Jenika Snow and Jordan Marie

www.JordanMarieRomance.com

support@jordanmarieromance.com

www.JenikaSnow.com

Jenika_Snow@yahoo.com

Copyright © January 2019 by Jordan Marie and Jenika Snow

Cover Designer: Robin Harper

Editor: Kasi Alexander

Proofreader: Read by Rose

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction,

transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is
illegal.

Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is

punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and

incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or
establishments is solely coincidental.

Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage

piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

Created with Vellum

Contents

A Forbidden Mating

Blurb

Prologue

1. Jasinda

2. Colt

3. Jasinda

4. Colt

5. Jasinda

6. Colt

7. Jasinda

8. Colt

9. Jasinda

10. Colt

Epilogue

Second Epilogue

Sneek Peek

Read More Jenika & Jordan

Contact the Authors

A Forbidden Mating
Unforgiven Country, 2

Blurb

I’m a shifter. We have our own rules, customs.

At least we’re supposed to.

When my father went against tradition and arranged a mating for

me—one he said would better

the pack, I did the only thing I could. I ran.

I want to choose who I love, who I mate.

But my fleeing has me stranded in Unforgiven … face to face with

my fated mate. A wolf who

refuses to let me go.

And I don’t want him to.

I don’t want to deny either of us what comes naturally … being

together in every conceivable

way.

But what happens when my father and betrothed mate find me? Will
it start an all-out war? Or can

they see I’m finally happy, finally where I’m supposed to be?

Prologue

COLT

He is the Alpha.
He’s found his mate.

I should obey his every word.

But I won’t.

I can’t.

Wyatt has every fucking thing in the world, and here I am with
nothing but shit in my hand.

I lean against the railing on the deck, staring at the acres of woods
behind my cabin. I’m holding

onto my coffee mug a little too tightly and I have to force myself to
loosen my grip, for fear of

shattering the ceramic.

I am tense, every bone in my body threatening to break, my wolf

wanting to shift.

Staying in my animal form sounds like a good retreat, a safe haven

from my torrential emotions.

I’m pissed. Really fucking angry if I am being honest. The shit with
Wyatt only intensifies those

emotions, bringing out the worst in me.

But our past isn’t an easy one.

I push away from the railing and head back inside. My gaze instantly
lands on the framed photo I

have sitting on the mantle. I don’t know why I keep the damn thing
out, maybe a memory of everything
I’ve lost.

I find myself walking up to that picture, taking hold of it and looking

down at the four people

smiling back at me.

It’s an image of Wyatt and me when we were children, our fathers

standing on either side of us,

their hands on our shoulders. We’re all smiling, brothers by bond,

family by choice. Our fathers were

best friends, his father the Alpha of the pack, mine next in line. We
were training to take over,

deciding to rule the pack together, as a team.

It was always the plan.

But everything changes with time, I suppose.

And right before Wyatt’s father passed, he elevated Wyatt to Alpha,

totally disregarding my

father’s rightful place in line. Then he passed away, and Wyatt

became Alpha. There was a pull of

power between him and my dad. It was one I never anticipated, but
one that happened nonetheless.

It put a strain between us, this wedge that stripped friends apart,
almost making us enemies. And

then, when my father passed things got worse. There was no talk of
us rolling together, the bitterness
that had festered in both of us too much to smooth over, too deep to
even repair.

And that is why I am thinking of leaving Unforgiven, just packing up

my shit and starting over

somewhere else. I am a lone wolf by nature anyway, so maybe this

is what fate has always had in

store for me.

Jasinda

The thought of starting over scares the shit out of me, but with
where I’m at in my life, it is

exactly what needs to be done.

The few boxes I have in the trunk of my car, the two suitcases in my
backseat, and a

wallet filled with not nearly enough money, is all I have.

So, on a whim, I closed my eyes and pointed to a map.

It brought me to Unforgiven Country, a mountain town. I’d

researched and found out it is mainly

shifters living in the middle of nowhere.

Good. That’s exactly what I need.

Being out in the middle of nowhere is exactly what a wolf shifting

runaway desires.

My cell vibrates and I know who it is without even looking at it.

My father.

The Alpha of our pack.

The person who promised me to another member of our pack, the

next Alpha in line.

And although any female would have loved to be mated to Stark, a

male with power and strength,

good looks and status, he is not for me. He is not my mate.

And that’s why I fled. That’s why I am running away from my family,
from my pack.

Colt

I’m too keyed up. Too much anger, too much frustration and, if I’m
honest, too much damn

loneliness boiling inside of me. I strip out of my clothes as I make

my way to my back door,

letting the change, the shift, overtake me. Tonight of all nights my
wolf needs to run free. I need

the calming effect of the moon, to feel the wind ruffle my fur and
center myself with nature. I barely

throw my shirt over my shoulder to join the rest of my clothes when

my paws hit the hard ground and I

take off running.

I let the beast take over, let him howl as my human side retreats.
I’m conscious of what’s going on,
but definitely letting my inner animal dominate. He runs for miles;
when we began the moon was just

starting to rise. Now it’s high in the middle of the sky, shining its
light down upon us. My wolf is breathing hard and makes his way to
a small stream and drinks. The wind picks that moment to kick

up and I can feel it drifting through my fur.

As a wolf, my senses are more alert, more precise and each breath
of wind feels like a caress. I

can scent the evening dew, the crush of leaves, the freshness of air
with just a hint of coming rain. It

all runs through me and soothes my anger, my wild energy. Still,

even with the anger gone there is an

emptiness, a sadness that I can’t quite let go of. I’m beginning to

fear it’s become a part of me, a piece

that has woven so deep inside that it will forever color who I am,
how I react. It’ll poison me with

time.

A wolf is not meant to live on anger, to survive being a shell. It will

eventually turn them feral.

I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard whispers of it my entire life.
Supposedly, a wolf in our pack named

Dakota turned feral after losing his son. I don’t remember it. It
happened at a time I was gone from

Unforgiven to see some of the world before settling down and

preparing myself to help my father and
Wyatt’s… to help Wyatt.

I slam the door on my past memories. I don’t need those, it defeats

the purpose of me letting my

wolf run.

Another gust of wind rises up and with it a scent that slides into me
like warm liquid. It melds in

me, seems to infuse with my veins, my very cells, blending with my

blood and running through my

heart, causing it to beat harder, to beat… fiercer. My wolf whines, as

an all-over body shudder moves

through me. It feels like the earth tilts on its axis and it settles inside
of me.

One word rings clear, vibrating in my brain. My wolf howls in victory.

Mate.

Mine.

My wolf leaps through the brush, pounding through the forest at

breakneck speed intent only on

getting to her. I can smell her sweet scent, a mixture of wild

honeysuckle and jasmine. It’s odd how

defined those scents are, overriding everything else. I begin to try

and wrangle my wolf. I don’t want

him to scare her with the intensity of need that is hitting both me
and my animal.
And, as much as I love my wolf being a part of me, the first time I
meet my mate I prefer to be in

human form.

I want to feel her with my hands, kiss her lips with mine, memorize
her body and get her used to

my touch. There will be time for my wolf to bond with her later.

It feels like it takes me forever to get control of my animal side.

We’re almost at the edge of the

forest when I finally do. As I break through the tree line, bones
begin breaking and realigning, features

begin changing and my eyesight begins to adjust. I look down and

slowly see my paws change into

hands. To the outsider it would look painful, but it’s not. It feels
natural.

The problem is that now I’m standing at the edge of the clearing out
by the old county road

twenty-one and I’m naked. There’s a car pulled to the side of the
road. Standing beside it is a woman

dressed in faded jeans and a white T-shirt. She’s got hair the color of
midnight, the locks long and

falling in soft waves that cascade all the way down her back. Her
face is soft and pale, reminding me

of the moonlight I love. Her eyes are big, bright and with my vision,
even with the small distance

between us, I can tell are green.

I can hear her heart beating a frantic rhythm, and I can smell her
fear. I don’t want that. It’s to be

expected. We might be mates, but there’s an air of innocence in her

scent. I look around frantically for

something to cover myself with.

There’s nothing.

I can’t meet her like this. My wolf whines in argument, but I shut
him down. The woman is

looking in my direction.

She’s not human and my wolf can sense her inner animal at the
surface, ready to fight, to protect.

She can sense me, but she’s scared—way too scared to meet me like
this. Right now, I want to

push her down against her car and fuck her raw as I bite into her
soft skin and mark her as mine. I

can’t do that. Her scent is thick with innocence. She’s untouched.

Virginal and scared.

I let my mind open, reaching out to touch hers. If we had that

connection, I would mate with her

now. I wouldn’t give her a choice, couldn’t control myself. Her

thoughts are rapid and definitely

laced with fear. She’s afraid of me. My wolf hurts, not wanting that
any more than I do. She may be a
shifter, but somehow, she’s been kept away from our baser instincts.
That fact is a puzzle to me, one I

cannot wait to piece together.

She has but one thought that rings out over and over.

Cornerstone Motel.

She’s headed there, I can feel it. Satisfied that I know where she’ll
be, I drag one last breath deep

in my chest, taking in her scent, memorizing it. I’ll track her, find her
easily, and when I do, I’ll never

let her go.

Jasinda

They found me.

There is no other explanation to what I felt out there in the middle

of nowhere, my car

broken down, the feeling I was being watched strong.

Then again, I knew they would.

I left, escaped my duties, turned my back on my pack, my father,

and the man I am betrothed to.

But I can’t go back. I refuse.

My life isn’t something my father can buy and sell, not something he
can give away. It is my
choice, my decision who I marry, who I love. When I fled, I knew
the repercussions, I knew that what

I was doing was a betrayal to my pack ... to my family.

My father, the other wolves, they would have never understood how
I felt, where I was coming

from. All they’ve ever seen is obligation, duty.

And maybe that’s why I feel like I just don’t belong there.

I close the motel door, lock it, and toss my bag onto the bed. I
immediately go to the window and

pull down the blinds, looking outside. I can put this off to my nerves
being shot, my paranoia taking

root. But my wolf has risen up, and when she does that, I know this
isn’t just me being worried.

I can’t stay here. I have to keep moving.

I hate this, having to leave my family, having to start over because

they just don’t understand,

don’t realize that I’m not a pawn.

And then there is Stark, the strongest wolf in our pack aside from
my father, the Alpha. He is a

good male, just not for me. My life would have been his, in every
sense of the word. Being betrothed

to a wolf means he calls the shots.

We wouldn’t have been truly mated. We wouldn’t have that fated

tether that would keep us
together.

And that what I want.

I won’t be a vessel, a female to produce his heirs. No, that’s not me,
that’s not my life.

I should’ve just kept going, driving to the next town because I felt a
presence here, following me,

but I am tired, so damn tired that I don’t think I could’ve driven

further anyway.

Not to mention my car overheated and I had to drop it off at a

garage, the estimated fixed date

tomorrow afternoon.

Even if I want to leave, I’m stuck, hiding in this motel because I

have no other means of

transportation.

I move away from the window and sit on the edge of the bed, my
body aching. I want to run free,

to shift, to get some of this nervous energy out, but it’s not safe for
me out there. So, I’ll hole up here,

rest and try to relax.

Easier said than done.

I let myself fall back on the mattress, my arms spread out, my body
sinking into the bed. I stare at

the popcorn-style ceiling, a few water stains in the corner. Light from
the setting sun washes the room
in different shades of color, and I find myself closing my eyes.

I’ll just rest for a little bit, just close my eyes for a moment. And I do
that, feeling myself drift off.

The sound of someone banging on the door wakes me with a start.

The room is dark, pitch black.

How long have I been sleeping for?

My vision adjusts instantly, my shifter senses acute and clear. I sit up

quickly, my wolf right at the

surface now, pacing, ready to shift and protect if need be. The hairs
on my arms stand on end, my

heart racing, my hands starting to shake.

I push myself off the bed and walk toward the door, the small
peephole allowing me to look

through. There’s a man standing on the other side, his back to me,
his short, dark hair a haphazard

mess on his head.

If he thinks I’m going to open the door, he is fucking insane. Most

likely he has been sent by my

father. But then again, my father is the type of male that would
come and bust the door down himself,

not have his henchman knock on it like he is housekeeping.

And then the man turns around and everything in my body tightens,
grows alert and alive. He can’t
see me, I know that, but he stares right at me through the door, the
sound of him growling low piercing

every single cell in my body, seeping right down into my very

marrow.

I take a step back, but not before I reach out and unlock the door. I
didn’t plan to do it. It happens

subconsciously, as if my wolf knows, is taking over. But before I can

lock it again, knowing that

opening this part of my life will only cost me more trouble, I find
myself moving backward.

My mate.

He’s right outside the door.

He’s here.

Those words play over in my head, like a broken record, repeating

until I’m drowning in them. As

everything happens in slow motion, I watch the handle to the motel

room turn, the door push open.

And then he’s standing on the other side, this big, muscular wolf
shifter staring right at me with half-

lidded eyes, the growl coming from him one of possession.

I’m shaking my head as I take a step back, but the bed stops my
retreat, has me sitting down

abruptly.
And as I tip my head back and look into his face, I know one thing
for certain.

Now that he’s found me, he won’t let me go.

Colt

Fuck.She’s even more beautiful than I first realized. She’s tiny,

probably only standing around

five-foot-five. Her green eyes are shining like emeralds and have a
liquid quality to them.

Her dark hair is long and falls in waves. I can’t resist reaching out to
touch it.

She is perfection.

“Your name,” I growl, the sound thick from the beast within me. I’m
barely controlling the change.

I can’t even form a complete sentence, proving I’m definitely more

beast than man right now.

“Jasinda,” she responds and her voice pours over me, soothing me
and my beast in ways I’ve

never known before. I can smell how nervous she is, the shock of
finding her mate resonating within

her.

“I’m Colt.”

“This can’t be happening,” she murmurs, her head shaking no,

strands of her hair moving against
my fingers.

I frown in confusion, tilting my head to watch the myriad emotions

on her face. I inhale deeply and

even as her scent of jasmine and honeysuckle wash over me, I can
smell her innocence and something

much stronger.

Desperation.

“You can’t deny the mating bond.”

My voice is softer now that I’m calming. Still threaded with my

animal, but also seductive. I

move my fingers from her hair to her face, touching her delicate skin
and memorizing the feel of it.

“It would be easier if I could…for both of us.”

“We were meant to be together, Jasinda. There can be no changing

that. You belong to me.”

Her eyes narrow and she jerks her face away from my touch.

“I belong to no man,” she all but growls.

“You do,” I correct her. “You belong to me.”

“No—”

“And I, sweet Jasinda, belong to you.”

She starts to deny it, but my words stop her. I watch as her tongue
darts out to wet her bottom lip. I
can hear her heartbeat slamming wildly in her chest. My little mate
is a mystery. She stands up to me,

and yet I can smell her fear, sense her anguish. I don’t understand
it, but it’s there.

Does she not know that I will never let anything hurt her ever again?

If she doesn’t now, I’ll soon show her. The days for my mate to
worry are long gone.

“You would give yourself to me?”

“We’re mates. That’s how it’s done, little one.”

“Not all packs are this way. They form relationships built on alliances
and gain,” she says.

“Then they’re fools.”

“Yes,” she says, her voice full of sadness.

I frown, not liking that emotion coming from her. I stare at her
mouth, which I need to taste. I let

my thumb brush absently over her glistening lip and bend down
slowly.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Kissing you, my little mate,” I respond with a smile just as my

mouth touches hers. As my eyes

close and my tongue slides between her lips to explore her, I can
only think of one word to describe

Jasinda.
Ambrosia.

She is my heaven.

I take my time, exploring her mouth leisurely, our tongues mating,

dancing with one another, my

hand rubbing up and down her side, doing my best to help her to
relax and just enjoy the sensations.

I’m pleased she’s into this just as much as I am, her inner wolf not
allowing her to deny this, to deny

me. The scent of her arousal fills my head, making me drunk from it
all.

Slowly, her body eases against mine, her tongue becoming hungrier.

Our kiss becomes impatient. It’s so good, but yet does nothing to
satisfy the need in us both. My

hands slide under her shirt, pushing it up, needing her exposed to
me.

Jasinda breaks away, her hands going over the top of mine, stilling
my progress.

“Wait. We can’t do this.”

“But we can. I’m going to have you beneath me, begging me for my
cock and I’ll give it to you,

inch by inch.”

“I… we can’t… because…”

“Because what, Jasinda?”

“I’m not free, Colt. I’ve been promised to another,” she confesses.

Two simple sentences, but they ignite anger and hate so deeply
inside of me that my wolf howls

out, making Jasinda’s whimper.

She will not belong to someone else. I’ll kill anyone who tries to
claim her.

She’s mine.

Jasinda

This is insane, and something I should put a stop to it. But as I stare
at Colt, feel the mating heat

claim me, pushing away all other worries and fears, I know where
this will lead.

I’m helpless to stop it.

“I’m yours,” he says in that deep, animalistic voice that sends shivers
through my body.

It was those words that had something changing in me, that fear of
mating, of being found, of being

forced to be with someone, vanishing. Although mating is

unavoidable, it isn’t like being betrothed as

I was. It is something powerful and right, as if I’d been missing Colt

my entire life, and now that I’ve

found him everything in the world makes sense.

“We can go slow,” he growls out, but I can hear the need in his
voice. It’s the same rising inferno I

feel within me. “You hold the cards, little mate.”

I’m starting to breathe harder, faster. I can’t control it, can’t stop
this. But I should. I don’t know

Colt, yet I do. He’s a stranger, yet he’s not.

He’s my mate and all I want to do is give myself over to him in all
ways because then I’ll know

what perfection is.

I need to take this one day at a time. I am on the run, yet here I am
with my mate, about to give

myself to him because there’s no way I can stop it.

“Tell me, mate. Tell me what you want and it’s yours.”

I open my mouth, not sure what to say, how to explain any of this.
The flavor of him is still on my

lips and tongue, already having me addicted, already having me

crave more.

“You,” I whisper. “I want you.” There is no taking it back now.

I hear him growl low, his animal flashing to the surface, causing my
wolf to do the same in need,

in desperation. He has me in his arms a second later, the feeling of

his erection digging into my belly

making me moan.
I could have gotten off right then from the intense pleasure that
slams into me.

“I need you. I need my mate.” The words spill from me before I can
even censor them, before I

even know what the hell is going on.

And before I know what is happening, Colt steps a foot away and
has my clothes all but torn

away, this animalistic growl coming from him, his nails now claws as
he shreds the fabric in his haste

to get to me.

I feel the chill in the air brush along my now naked, overheated
body.

I’m about to tell him to get his clothes off, too, but he’s in the
process of doing that before the words spill from my lips. His focus is
on me the entire time, his eyes flashing with his inner animal.

His wolf wants out. It wants me.

When he’s naked all I can do is stare at his body uncovered. Colt is
hard, toned. As a shifter, he’s

huge, with defined muscle and raw male prowess. The danger and
power pour from him in waves,

causing me to get even wetter, more aroused.

He’s big and hard, with a light sprinkling of chest hair covering his
pectoral muscles, and another

dark trail starting below his navel and going right to the monstrous
cock that is hard and pointing right
at me.

My mouth dries at the sight.

“The way you’re looking at me has me barely hanging on, little

mate.”

Good, because that’s where I’m at right now.

I can’t tear my gaze from his dick, or his balls hanging right below
the massive length. There’s a

dot of pre-cum on the slit at the tip of his shaft, and my heart races.

God, will he even fit?

Being a virgin means this is all new territory for me, but because
we’re mates this is all so right,

so perfect. I may be inexperienced but the mating heat will handle

all of that. We’ll fit together

perfectly.

My mouth dries as I watch him grab his cock and start to stroke
himself from root to tip. I

certainly didn’t see my night ending his way, but I’m not going to
stop it either. I need it like I need to

breathe.

My throat constricts while watching as he jerks himself off, the

feeling of him watching me intense

and arousing, the mating heat strong between both of us. I lift my
gaze to his face and see the powerful
look of desire covering his expression.

“You want foreplay, little mate?”

“God. No.” I don’t think I’ll last if we do foreplay.

He groans deeply. “Good, because I can’t handle that shit right now.
I need you too damn badly.”

He has me in his arms a second later, and is striding toward the wall,
pressing my back up against it.

His hard, hot, long cock presses right into my belly. God, he’s hard …
and huge.

He has his hand between my thighs a second later, and a gasp

leaves me at the contact, at the heat

of his touch. His fingers are so big, and my pussy is so wet that the
digits slide right through my soaked cleft.

“Where do you want me?” he asks right by my ear. “Show me,

mate.”

I grab his wrist, keeping him right on my pussy, but slide it lower
until I feel his fingers brush my

entrance.

“Right there, baby?”

I nod. “I want you here.”

He slips his thick finger in me, and I groan at the instant pleasure.
He starts finger-fucking me in

slow, steady motions, and I bite my lip at how good it feels.

“Yes.”

“You want me to fill you with my cum, mark you from the inside?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. I gasp when he picks up his speed,

fucking me with that digit until my

toes curl on their own.

I can’t help the sound that leaves me.

“You know what I am to you. You know we belong together.”

“Yes,” I moan. I bite my lip when I feel him remove his finger from
my pussy, but he doesn’t wipe

the cream off that covers the digit. Instead, he lifts it to his mouth to
suck the glossiness from it.

My mouth parts in response to how erotic it is.

“You taste like mine,” he growls out. His voice is distorted from his
wolf rising up. I can see the

flash of his human and animal alternating before me.

Before I know what is going on, he turns me around, has his hand
on the center of my back, and

presses me to the wall fully. I look over my shoulder to watch him.

God, I need to, need to see what he’s doing, what he’ll do to me.

“Spread for me, Jasinda. Show your mate what you’re offering.”

I’m breathing frantically.

“Let me smell the sweetness that drips from your tight little cunt and
will soon be covering my

cock.” He shift us so he can look me in the eyes, the pupils now

eating up the irises, his animal right

at the surface, just like mine.

And then, I do what he says because I need to do it as well.

The sound he makes goes through my entire core, settling on my

engorged clit, making it tingle. I

need him to touch me … desperately.

He holds on to my hip with one hand, and I rest my head on the

wall, waiting for the ecstasy I

know is coming. And then I feel the tip of his dick align with my
pussy hole.

A moan spills from me.

“I need to feel all of you, mate. I need to mark you, need to have
my cum deep in your body so you

smell like me, so all other males know who you belong to, who I
belong to.”

I whimper in need.

He digs his fingers into my hips, and I know there will be bruises.

I want those blue and purple marks, because then they’ll remind me
of what I did with my mate, of

how me marked me in more ways than one.

God, this might be a mistake, but I want to lose myself with Colt in
every way that counts.

Fuck being on the run, at least for right now. I can worry about
leaving afterward.

Colt

Ican’t fucking believe I have her.

My mate.

She’s right here in front of me, dripping with desire and waiting for
me to claim her. It’s like

every dream I’ve ever had come true, only better. Jasinda is
beautiful, much more than I could have

ever imagined. Perfection.

I push just the tip of my cock against her entrance, sliding in just an
inch and tearing through her

hymen, her virginity. She gasps and I can smell her discomfort
lingering in the air, but I also scent her

desire, her arousal.

Her muscles try to suck me in deeper, but I resist. The need to be

inside of her wars with the need

to memorize this moment and make it last.

“You’re mine,” I groan as I allow myself to sink into her another inch.

“Yours,” she whispers.

With her acceptance, I thrust my cock deep inside of her, sinking to
my balls. My wolf howls in

pride and my heart thuds while echoing with the pleasure of

knowing that she has given me her

innocence.

My hand is wrapped in her hair and I pull it, causing her head to fall
back against me.

Nothing has ever felt better.

I don’t move once I’m buried in her. I feel her body give way around
my hard cock and I know

that I’m stretching her to the point of pain. I’m dying to move, to
thrust in and out of her and empty

myself deep inside of her body, but I don’t. I need to give her time.
As it is, I can feel her pussy fluttering around me as her juices
envelop me. My eyes close as I drink the moment in and try to

memorize every second of it.

“Are you okay, Jasinda?” I ask, my voice definitely more animal than
man.

“Colt,” she whimpers and hearing her moan my name makes my

body vibrate with hunger.

“I’m right here. I’ll give you what you want,” I vow, as I begin
moving inside of her.

I move slowly at first, feeling my cock slide in and out of her tight
depths, thrusting deeper and
deeper with each stroke. Soon our bodies have begun a rhythm that
is as old as time, but with Jasinda

—with my mate—everything is new. Fuck, even the air around us

smells better, cleaner, fresher.

I feel alive in ways I never have before.

I can feel my orgasm approaching. Being inside her tight pussy is

too fucking good to hold it off. I

reach around her warm body, loving the feel of her pressed tightly
against me. My hands palm her tits.

They’re large and overfill my hand. I squeeze them, my eyes closing

at the dual sensation of gripping

her while my cock is owning her pussy. She’s mine, all of her, and
from this moment on I’ll never be

without her. I’ll kill anyone who tries to part us.

I tease one of her nipples, pulling on it as my other hand drifts down

her stomach in search of her

pussy. My fingers slip between the lips of her cunt, framing my cock
where it’s lodged deep inside of

her. Her juices instantly cover my digits.

“You’re so fucking wet,” I growl as I seek her swollen clit.

“Colt, I need…” She whimpers the last word, breaking off into a
moan as I massage her throbbing

clit and trap it between my fingers.

I’m dying to taste her. To suck her clit into my mouth, to eat out her
pussy while I make her shatter

and come so hard that it will take her days to recover. And I’ll do
that, soon, but right now I need her

getting off all over my cock as I unload my cum and shoot it so deep
in her it paints her womb.

Will I give her my child tonight?

That thought makes my dick go impossibly harder and causes me to

thrust so deeply that Jasinda’s

body trembles under me.

“I know what my mate desires,” I growl, my wolf bleeding through

my voice. “I’ll give you

exactly what you need.”

My hand tightens on her breast. I’ll probably leave a bruise, but I

like that.

“I’m going to come, Colt,” she cries and I can feel the way her pussy
is fluttering against my shaft,

tightening and vibrating. I can feel her climax thundering through

her.

“That’s it, my little mate. Come for me. Climax for your male,” I
command, still working her clit

and ramming in and out of her, my animal demanding her

submission and my release.

I nuzzle Jasinda’s neck, the scent of her sex so strong now that it’s
like a drug and I’m intoxicated
by it. Her climax tears through her body, causing her inner walls to
clamp down on my cock,

demanding my cum. My canines extend and I let them dance over

her tender skin. My vision alters,

becoming monotone and sharper, so much clearer that I can see her
pulse throb under the skin at her

neck. I can smell her blood, her essence, and I can hear her heart
beating furiously.

“Do it,” Jasinda orders, her voice shaking with her orgasm, her wolf
right at the surface. She tilts

her head, giving me the space I need and inviting me to complete

our bond.

A feeling of rightness pours over me. This is it. This is my woman,

my purpose in life… my

everything.

I bite into her shoulder, allowing my wolf to claim her, marking her
as ours. The moment I do, my

cock jerks, shooting jet after jet of cum deep inside of her body, and
our hearts stutter in time, and then the beats slow so they match
each other. We are one.

Two halves forming the perfect whole.

Mated.

Jasinda
I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep, not with Colt wrapped around me,
the very knowledge that I am

now mated running through my head like a broken record.

My father and the rest of the pack will come for me. I know that,
and as much as that scares

me, Colt needs to know the truth. He needs to know what he’s
getting himself into.

I shift on the bed so I’m facing him. He has his eyes closed, his big,
powerful chest rising up and

down slowly as he sleeps. I reach my hand out and move my fingers

along his short dark hair,

brushing it away from his forehead.

He stirs slightly, slowly opening his eyes. The blue is startling, the
dark pupils eating up the color

as he looks at me. This low growl leaves him and he leans in and
kisses me, taking away any words I

might’ve said.

“My mate,” he grumbles against my mouth, his tongue moving along

the seam of my lips.

I wrap my arms around him and he rolls onto his back, taking me
with him so I’m straddling his

waist, my chest against his.

This isn’t just some random fling, two people hooking up after just
meeting each other. This is two
souls becoming one, a mate finding their other half. This is real and
unavoidable, consuming and

intense.

So I break the kiss and rise up, knowing my expression is serious as

I look down at him. He looks

concerned, and I know he can read me even though I don’t say

anything.

I don’t want to prolong this. He needs to know what he’s getting

into.

“I want you to know, I need you to know, that my father and my

pack are coming after me.” My

chest tightens at those words.

He has ahold of my hips and gently lifts me off of him, pushing

himself up so he’s now leaning

against the headboard. His face looks hard, set in stone. He looks
brutal and savage, ready to take on

anyone or anything.

I swallow and lick my lips, my heart racing, my wolf pacing inside of

me. “I’m betrothed to

another, and so I ran because that’s not the life I want. But I know
they won’t stop until they find me.”

I hear his growl, the noise increasing as the seconds move by. His
wolf is right at the surface, this

ferocity causing the hairs on my hairs to stand on end.

“My father won’t stop. That’s why I ran. I wanted to find my mate,
to find love. Being all but sold

off to another wolf to strengthen our pack, to form some kind of

alliance, is not how I see my life. It’s

not how I’m going to live my life.” I feel tears start to track down my
cheeks and Colt lifts his hands

and rubs his fingers along the wetness, wiping them away.

“Mark my fucking words. No one is going to take you from me. No

one is going to make you do

anything you don’t want to. You’re mine, baby, my mate, my other
half. If they want you, they’re going

to have to go through me.” Colt shakes his head slowly. “And going
through me isn’t fucking easy,

especially not when it concerns my mate.”

“YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?” I ask as I shove my clothes in the bag

and look up at Colt. He’s leaning

against the wall, his arms crossed, this smug smile on his face. I
straighten. “What?”

“Nothing, except you’re looking pretty fucking hot right now.” He

pushes away from the wall and

strides toward me. “I mean, look at you, all gorgeous and fucking
primed for me.” I see the way his

nostrils flare, knowing he scents my desire, knowing there is no

hiding the fact I am wet and needy.

“You’re insatiable,” I whisper and hear him growl in response.

“Only for you. Only for my mate.” He kisses me passionately,
possessively, and I melt against

him.

I want nothing more than to say screw everything I’m going through
and just be with Colt, right

here, right now.

“Baby, I could mate with you all over again,” he all but growls
against the side of my throat.

I can feel how hard he is, his stiff cock pressing against my belly. A
fresh gush of moisture leaves

me and I moan.

“But keeping you safe is more important.” He kisses the side of my

throat and pulls away, and I

don’t stop myself from whimpering in disappointment. “Later, baby.

Later I’m going to fuck you so

hard you won’t be able to walk comfortably.”

A flush steals over me.

He pulls back and winks, and if not for the fact I am a wolf and
being mated is the one thing we

all want, this reaction to Colt might scare the shit out of me. It’s just
so intense, so consuming.

We grab our things and head out to where his car is parked beside
mine. He said something about
having a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, a place we can be
alone, where no one will find us. It

sounds like heaven to me.

Just as we are about to get in the car, the sound of an approaching

vehicle has me looking up. My

heart stalls when I see my father’s SUV, followed closely by two

more dark vehicles.

“My father and the pack are here,” I say softly and Colt is in front of
me a second later, keeping

his arm behind him and his hand on my waist.

“They want you, they’ll have to come through me, Jasinda, and
that’s not going to fucking happen.”

Colt

“Jasinda, it’s time for you to come home. You’ve embarrassed your
family long enough.”

I look at the older man who stepped out of the front vehicle. Even if
he hadn’t spoken, I

would have known he was Jasinda’s father. Their features are

strikingly similar from the color of

their hair and eyes to the shape of their faces. Although Jasinda is
softer and beautiful, where her

father comes off cold and hardened. Then again, that’s usually how
an Alpha is. She may look like
him, but that is where the similarities end.

“You are trespassing on Unforgiven Territory,” I say in a deep growl.

“Are you the pack leader?” he asks, and that familiar burn returns,
but if this scruff thinks the fact

that I don’t rule my own pack will stop me from defending and
claiming my mate, he needs to think

again. I will not allow him to give my female to another man.

I’ll die first.

“I’m not.”

“Then you’re of no subsequence to me, pup,” he responds, waving

me off and showing blatant

disrespect.

“I am the pack leader of the Unforgiven.”

Wyatt steps out into the clearing, several of my brothers with him
and they flank me, Wyatt

standing tall beside me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, talking to him through our mind
link, but staring straight at Jasinda’s father as his own men get out
to gather around him.

“Your mate’s fear, along with your aggression, alerted the pack.
You’ve claimed her. She is one

of ours now and we’ll protect her no matter what.”

Wyatt’s words ring in my head and cause a burning in my chest. It’s
been a while since I felt a part

of my own pack. The fact that despite our issues, Wyatt has shown
up now means a hell of a lot.

“Jasinda belongs to me now,” I tell her father, and I see his

expression grow even harder.

“Daughter, let’s go,” he orders without responding to what I said.

I feel the quiver of fear that runs through her, but she beats it down.
She moves from behind me

and faces her father, her shoulders pulled back, her chin tipped up in
defiance.

“My place is here with Colt now. We’re mated.”

“You’re promised to Stark,” her father says in response, his voice

laced with anger.

“As Alpha of the Unforgiven and ruler of this territory, I’m ordering
you to leave. Jasinda has

chosen her mate’s clan over you and she is now under our
protection,” Wyatt declares and something

else slips back in place. Something that has been missing for a long
time. I feel part of my brothers

again. I feel my link with my Alpha slowly thread back together.

“Under shifter fate and law, when a

mating and claiming has occurred, there is no discussion of fighting.

It’s set in stone. You have no

power in these parts, and I’m demanding you leave.”

“She’s my daughter,” he growls.

“She’s my mate. I won’t let her go. She belongs with me now.”

“She’s been promised to me. I have claim to her,” another male says,
standing beside Jasinda’s

father, his face a mask of anger.

My wolf growls and I feel my eyes begin to change as my vision

sharpens. It’s all I can do to hold

him back. I’m a hair’s breadth from shifting.

“Why do you want me, Stark? We’re not in love. I’ve found my one
true mate. You should be

happy for me. I hope that one day you’ll find your mate, too,”
Jasinda says and I snarl. I don’t like my

mate talking to another male. I smell the want he has for her. He
may not be her mate, but he covets

what’s mine.

He reeks of envy.

“You were promised to me, as well as being Alpha of your clan one
day. I will not step aside for

that, Jasinda.”

“I’m mated. That can’t be undone.”

“But it can. If I kill your male, the bond will be broken.”

“No! I won’t let you harm him,” Jasinda growls.

“What say you, Beta? ” Stark snarls, thinking his use of words
degrades me. He wishes to mock

me and have me react in anger, make myself vulnerable. He doesn’t

realize that Jasinda is much too

important for me to be stupid. He’ll soon find that out, though.

“Wyatt, protect my woman, please.” I reach out to him in my mind. I

ask him in a way that I thought I never would again. The word
please does not come easy to a strong shifter, and it shouldn’t.

But my mate is all that matters. I need to make sure she’s safe.

“Kendra,” Wyatt calls out and I sense Kendra behind me, her arms
going around Jasinda.

“Let’s go to the edge of the clearing with the others,” Kendra

murmurs softly.

“My place is beside Colt,” Jasinda argues, and pride thrums through
my body, my cock growing

heavy with desire and the need to claim her again. She has such fire
and spirit. She makes me proud

to call her mine.

“We’ll only distract them. You don’t want to be the reason Colt is
hurt,” the wold named Kendra

says, and I must admit in that moment I misjudged her. She’s not
weak, she’s not even afraid of

Jasinda and even I know my mate’s wolf is ready to attack.

I turn to my mate, confident in ways that I haven’t been in years

that Wyatt is guarding my back. I
look deeply into my female’s eyes, my fingers softly caressing the
side of her face. I let them trail down the line of her neck, moving
over my mating mark.

“All will be well, my beautiful little mate. I’ll take care of Stark and
then you and I will go to my

cabin like we planned.”

“You promise you’ll be okay?” she asks stubbornly.

“Don’t you have faith in your male, sweetheart?” I ask her softly, a
smile sliding on my face as I

fill with peace.

“You are, aren’t you?” she asks softly, stepping into me.

“I am what?” I ask, slightly confused, but that’s probably because

I’m getting lost in her beautiful

eyes. If I could have dreamed the perfect mate, it would be Jasinda.

There’s not one thing about her

that I would change. The only thing that would make her better is if
she was heavy with my child. But

perhaps that seed has already been planted. If it hasn’t yet, it will be
by the time this night is over.

“My male,” she responds and I can’t stop myself from leaning down
to taste her lips. It’s not the

kiss I long to give her, but it’s a small one full of promise.

“I am, sweet Jasinda. Completely yours. Have faith, sweetheart. I’m

not giving you up now that I
just found you,” I vow.

“Then go kick some ass,” she says with a smile, most of the worry
fading from her face and

confidence now in its place.

She believes in me.

That’s all I need.

“I accept your challenge, Stark. Come try to take me, if you think
you can,” I taunt him, stepping

into the clearing away from Wyatt and the others as I take my shirt
off and throw it on the ground.

Next, I kick off my boots as my wolf bleeds through the surface.

My vision shifts as Stark steps up and begins undressing. We shift

almost simultaneously and as

my paws hit the ground, I let the aggression I feel in my body take
over. I will end this quickly. I have

a woman who needs me now.

Jasinda

Ican’t watch, not when my mate shifts, not when I feel the air
electrically charged, or the rush of

emotion and aggression fill the air. Two waging packs, standing on
either side of the males,

ready to see who becomes the victor.

Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
“Mr. Douglas achieved a victory scarcely less wonderful, when, in
1854, against the secret desires of a strong administration, against
the wise counsel of the older chiefs, against the conservative
instincts and even the moral sense of the country, he forced a
reluctant congress into a repeal of the Missouri Compromise.
“And now we come to Mr. Thaddeus Stevens, who, in his contests
from 1865 to 1868, actually advanced his parliamentary leadership
until congress tied the hands of the president, and governed the
country by its own will, leaving only perfunctionary duties to be
discharged by the executive. With two hundred millions of patronage
in his hands at the opening of the contest, aided by the active force
of Seward in the cabinet, and the moral power of Chase on the
bench, Andrew Johnson could not command the support of one-third
in either House against the parliamentary uprising of which
Thaddeus Stevens was the animating spirit and the unquestioned
leader.”
And this was the man who stood at Mr. Blaine’s right hand in this
matter of the speakership.
Mr. Blaine was on the committee of military affairs with Mr. Stevens.
He became known to him thoroughly as a man with talent for
indefatigable toil, and a genius for doing hard and difficult things with
great certainty and despatch. He was just the man to attract the
attention, and be admired, respected, and loved by a man of Mr.
Stevens’ consummate ability, and to be selected by him for
promotion and honor. And the hour had come for just that honor, the
highest in the gift of the House.
It was the third office in the nation, with a salary three thousand
dollars greater than that of United States senator, and equal to the
salary of vice-president or secretary of state. And so by virtue of his
recognized fitness, and the power of this great friend, the office
comes to him, and he comes to it.
Some think, and perhaps rightly, that his tilt with Mr. Conkling
popularized him greatly with the members of the House, who
thoroughly enjoyed it, and so prepared the way to the honor which in
point of fact was his by right of nature. But six years was a long time
to wait, yet he waited, and was rewarded. And still it was not waiting,
but working, with him, occupying the stronghold he had made for
himself in the manifold business of the House.
But now he is taken from this, and out of the arena of debate, and
yet lifted into greater prominence and power; appointing all the great
committees of the House, a task requiring the highest order of ability
in the knowledge of men; deciding all questions, and exercising a
controlling influence over legislation.
There is little power men employ in all the great work of life, but he
needs it in its rarest form. He must be a broad, a wide, a universal
man; in sympathy with all, so far as right and justice are concerned.
There are the choice, the crowned ones from every congressional
district in all the states and territories, and he is the choice, the
crowned one among them,—their chosen chief.
Tennyson’s words press for utterance right here, as we see him step
from the floor to the speaker’s chair:—

“Divinely gifted man,

Whose life in low estate began,
And on a simple village green.

“Who breaks his birth’s invidious bar,

And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blow of circumstance,
And grapples with his evil star.

“Who makes by force his merit known,

And lives to clutch the golden keys,
To mould a mighty state’s decrees,
And shape the whisper of the throne.

“And moving up from high to higher,

Becomes on Fortune’s crowning slope
The pillar of a people’s hope,
The centre of a world’s desire.”
It was only by the proof of character, the most solid and reliable, he
could possibly have secured the friendship of Mr. Stevens. And not
his alone, but the friendship of Hon. Elihu B. Washburne, of Illinois,
who nominated Mr. Blaine as candidate for speaker, and who, as
senior member, swore him in.
It was a proud day for Mr. Washburne, the staunch friend of General
Grant, to witness his inaugural, and then, as the true friend of Mr.
Blaine, aid so largely in putting him into the speaker’s chair the same
day.
Mr. Stevens was not there to enjoy the triumph of his friend, but his
endorsement was good as a letter of credit.
When the ballot was concluded it read:—Whole number of votes
cast, one hundred and ninety-two; necessary for a choice, ninety-
seven; Mr. Blaine received one hundred and thirty-five; Mr. Kerr
received fifty-seven.
Mr. Dawes and Mr. Kerr conducted him to the chair, when he
addressed the House as follows:—
“Gentlemen of the House of Representatives:
“I thank you profoundly for the great honor which your
votes have just conferred upon me. The gratification which
this signal mark of your confidence brings to me, finds its
only drawback in the diffidence with which I assume the
weighty duties devolving upon me. Succeeding to a chair
made illustrious by such eminent statesmen, and skilled
parliamentarians as Clay, and Stevenson, and Polk, and
Winthrop, and Banks, and Grow, and Colfax, I may well
distrust my ability to meet the just expectations of those
who have shown me such marked partiality. But relying,
gentlemen, upon my honest purpose to perform all my
duties faithfully and fearlessly, and trusting in a large
measure to the indulgence which I am sure you will
always extend to me, I shall hope to retain, as I have
secured, your confidence, your kindly regard, and your
generous support.
 “The forty-first congress assembles at an auspicious
period in the history of our government. The splendid and
impressive ceremonial which we have just witnessed in
another part of the capitol [Grant’s inauguration],
appropriately symbolizes the triumphs of the past, and the
hopes of the future, a great chieftain, whose sword at the
head of gallant and victorious armies, saved the Republic
from dismemberment and ruin, has been fitly called to the
highest civic honor which a grateful people can bestow.
Sustained by a congress which so ably represents the
loyalty, the patriotism, and the personal worth of the
nation, the president this day inaugurated will assure to
the country an administration of purity, fidelity, and
prosperity; an era of liberty regulated by law, and of law
thoroughly inspired with liberty.
“Congratulating you, gentlemen, on the happy auguries of
the day, and invoking the gracious blessings of Almighty
God on the arduous and responsible labors before you, I
am now ready to take the oath of office, and enter upon
the discharge of the duties to which you have called me.”
It is a curious coincidence that General Schenck, of Ohio, who
startled Mr. Blaine with the charge of irrelevancy at his first utterance
on the floor, but was so utterly discomfited afterwards, is now the first
one to address him as “Mr. Speaker,” and Mr. Kerr, his competitor,
soon follows.
It was at this session that new members from reconstructed states
appeared, and many were the objections made to this new member
and that, because of disloyalty. It was to present a charge of this kind
that Mr. Schenck arose.
The noticeable feature of Mr. Blaine’s speakership is the expeditious
manner in which business is conducted, and the consequent brevity
of sessions.
It may be observed right here that Mr. Blaine’s friend, E. B.
Washburne, chose rather to go as minister to Paris, and Hamilton
Fish became secretary of state.
For two successive congresses Mr. Blaine was re-elected speaker
by the large Republican majorities serving through the reconstruction
period of the rebel states, and through most of General Grant’s two
terms of the presidency. It was during this period his reputation
became truly national.
He might have occupied the chair all the time, and taken things easy;
but this was not his nature. It was his privilege to go upon the floor,
and take up the gauntlet of debate. It was expected that things would
become lively at once when he did so. There was a resolution one
day for a committee to investigate the outrages in the South. Mr.
Blaine had written the resolution, which was presented by his
colleague, and asked for its passage; and, lest the claquers should
say he put only “weak-kneed Republicans” on the committee, he
made Benj. F. Butler chairman, which in some almost unaccountable
way greatly enraged Mr. Butler, who might have then contemplated
accompanying Gen. John M. Palmer and others into the Democratic
party, and so he telegraphed to newspapers and issued a circular
which appeared on the desks of members, denouncing what he was
pleased to call a trick, and used other vigorous language on the floor
of the House. Of course the speaker could not sit quietly in the chair
and be thus tempestuously assailed, so calling a future vice-
president to the chair (Wheeler), he said, “I wish to ask the
gentleman from Massachusetts whether he denies me the right to
have drawn that resolution” (it was presented in the caucus first
which had just re-nominated Mr. Blaine for speaker).
Mr. Butler replied, “I have made no assertion on that subject, one
way or other.”
Mr. Blaine: “Did not the gentleman know distinctly that I drew it?”
“No, sir!” was the reply.
“Did I not take it to the gentleman and read it to him?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Mr. Butler.
“Did I not show him the manuscript?”
“Yes, sir,” was the reply.
“And at his suggestion,” continued Mr. Blaine, “I added these words,
‘and the expenses of said committee shall be paid from the
contingent fund of the House of Representatives’ (applause), and the
fact that ways and means were wanted to pay the expenses was the
only objection he made to it.”
It appears that the resolution was considered as a test of the
Republicanism of members. General Butler had been asked to take
the chairmanship, but refused, and said he would have nothing to do
with the resolution; but Mr. Blaine put him on the committee, and
when asked why, replied, “Because I knew very well that if I omitted
the appointment of the gentleman it would be heralded throughout
the length and breadth of the country by the claquers, who have so
industriously distributed this letter this morning, that the speaker had
packed the committee, as the gentleman said he would, with ‘weak-
kneed Republicans,’ who would not go into an investigation
vigorously, as he would. That was the reason (applause), so that the
chair laid the responsibility upon the gentleman of declining the
appointment, and now the gentleman from Massachusetts is on his
responsibility before the country,” and there we leave him.
It can but be with peculiar interest that we read the strong words of
the oath taken so repeatedly by Mr. Blaine, and administered the
second time by Mr. Dawes, of Massachusetts, after he had received
one hundred and twenty-six votes, to ninety-two for Gen. George W.
Morgan, of Ohio.
It kept a large committee busy to pass upon the character of
members-elect and the legality of their election. Such was the
broken condition of state governments in the South, so battered by
war, and distracted by schism and contending factions. All of these
perplexities adhered to applicants for membership in congress,
presenting credentials of membership various in value as
greenbacks and gold, and these same perplexities affected the
staple of congressional measures.
Congress was increasing rapidly in the number of its members, so
that while one hundred and ninety-two votes were cast at Mr.
Blaine’s first election to the speakership in 1869, there were two
hundred and sixty-nine votes cast at his election to the same office in
1873, of which number he received one hundred and eighty-nine,
and Mr. Ferdinand Wood received seventy-six.
Mr. Blaine refers to it in his address to the “Gentlemen of the House
of Representatives,” the last time he was elected speaker. “To be
chosen,” he says, “speaker of the House of Representatives is
always an honorable distinction; to be chosen a third time enhances
the honor more than three fold; to be chosen by the largest body that
ever assembled in the Capitol imposes a burden of responsibility
which only your indulgent kindness could embolden me to assume.
The first occupant of this chair presided over a House of sixty-five
members, representing a population far below the present aggregate
of the state of New York. At that time there were not, in the whole
United States, fifty thousand civilized inhabitants to be found one
hundred miles distant from the flow of the Atlantic tide. To-day,
gentlemen, a large majority of you come from beyond that limit, and
represent districts peopled then only by the Indian and the
adventurous frontiersman.
“The national government is not yet as old as many of its citizens,
but in this brief span of time,—less than one lengthened life,—it has,
under God’s good providence, extended its power until a continent is
the field of its empire, and attests the majesty of its law.
“With the growth of new states and the resulting changes in the
centres of population, new interests are developed, rival to the old,
but by no means hostile; diverse, but not antagonistic. Nay, rather
are all these interests in harmony, and the true science of just
government is to give to each its full and fair play, oppressing none
by undue exaction, favoring none by undue privilege.
“It is this great lesson which our daily experience is teaching, binding
us together more closely, making our mutual dependence more
manifest, and causing us to feel that, whether we live in the North or
in the South, in the East or in the West, we have indeed but ‘one
country, one constitution, one destiny.’”
Few addresses so brief breathe a spirit of broader statesmanship, or
loftier ideal of civil government. Two years before this, in 1871, he
had been charged by General Butler with having presidential
aspirations, and surely he was able to manifest the true conception
of a just and righteous government, “oppressing none by undue
exaction, favoring none by undue privilege,” which is apparently the
exact outcome—a sort of paraphrase of Lincoln’s words, “With
malice toward none, with charity toward all.”
Many who had participated in the Rebellion, having had their political
disabilities removed by the vote of two-thirds of each House of
congress, came forward and took the special oath provided for them
by act of July 11, 1868.
Mr. Blaine seldom, if ever, leaves the chair to participate in debate
when questions of a political nature are pending, so that he may hold
himself aloof for fair ruling in all of his decisions.
The position of speaker is, in many respects, a thankless one. When
party spirit runs high, as it does at times, like the tide of battle, in the
great debates, men are swept on by their sympathies, as barks are
tossed in ocean-storms, and under the influence of their most
powerful prejudices they are driven to rash and unwarrantable
conclusions regarding the justice of any ruling, to conjectures the
most unfair and wanton regarding motive, and as in the case of Mr.
Blaine, to the most stupendous efforts at political assassination.
But it was not until the days of his speakership were over, and the
people at home had expressed their confidence in him and their love
and admiration for him, by electing him to congress for the seventh
time consecutively, that the storm struck him. It had been gathering
long. Its animus was enmity, its bulk was hate, its dark, frowning
exterior was streaked with the lurid lightnings of a baleful jealousy;
muttering thunders like the deep growlings of exasperation were
heard oft, but feared not.
The solid South had marched its rebel brigadiers by the score into
the arena of national questioning and discussion, where for twelve
years he had stood intrepid as the founders of the Republic. No man
was more at home upon that field than he,—none more familiar with
the men, the methods, and the measures that had triumphed there,
—and few have been more victorious in the great ends for which he
strove, few readier to challenge the coming of any man, to know his
rights, his mission, and his weight. He was, of all men, the most
unconquerable by those who plead for measures subversive of any
great or minor end for which the war was fought.
He had gained the credit of the fourteenth amendment, and had
been identified with all. He was simply bent upon resistance, the
most powerful he could command, against all encroachments of the
bad and false, and to show no favor toward any feature for which
rebellion fought. Fair, honorable, just,—none could be more so.
When speaker of the House, he was informed one day that a
prominent correspondent of a leading paper, who had maligned and
vilified him shockingly, was on the floor, and at once he said, “Invite
him up here,” and he gave him a seat by his side, within the
speaker’s desk, and placed at the disposal of the man the
information of public importance at his command. The fellow was
amazed, and went away and wrote how kindly he had been treated
by the great-hearted man of noble impulses, after he had so roundly
abused him.
There is nothing vindictive about him, nothing despicable. He is
severe, herculean, desperate for the right, and will win in every battle
that commands the forces of his being, if victory be achievable. But
he honors strong, square men, who have convictions and dare
proclaim them; but petty, mean, ignoble souls are first despised, then
pitied.
But the day of his betrayal came, the day of rebel wrath; and he met
the stroke before the nation’s gaze, and was vindicated before the
world.
A business correspondence, it had been said he had burned. He
said, “No, there it is, and I will read it to the House,” and he read it.
What business firm, it has been asked, would like to have their
correspondence regarding any great business interest, read to those
who are filled with all manner of suspicions, and so have it
misjudged, misinterpreted, and misapplied? And then, to show the
temper of those with whom he dealt, a cablegram from Europe
vindicating him, was for two days suppressed by the chairman of the
congressional committee, before whom he stood, and who failed to
convict him by any document at their command. The scene at that
time, and their discomfiture, is thus described by an eye-witness:—
“His management of his own case when the Mulligan letters came
out was worthy of any general who ever set a squadron in the field.
For nearly fifteen years I have looked down from the galleries of the
House and Senate, and I never saw, and never expect to see, and
never have read of such a scene, where the grandeur of human
effort was better illustrated, than when this great orator rushed down
the aisle, and, in the very face of Proctor Knott, charged him with
suppressing a telegram favorable to Blaine. The whole floor and all
the galleries were wild with excitement. Men yelled and cheered,
women waved their handkerchiefs and went off into hysterics, and
the floor was little less than a mob.”
About this time, Hon. Lot M. Morrill, of his state, was transferred from
the senate to the cabinet of President Grant, and as a partial
justification, General Connor, the governor of Maine at this time,
appointed him to represent Maine in the United States senate in
place of Mr. Morrill. The official note was as follows:—
“Augusta, Maine, July 9, 1876.
“To Hon. Milton Saylor, Speaker of the House of
Representatives, Washington, D. C.:
“Having tendered to the Hon. James G. Blaine the
appointment of senator in congress, he has placed in my
hands his resignation as representative from the third
district of Maine, to take effect Monday, July 10, 1876.
“SELDON CONNOR,
“Governor of Maine.”
When the legislature of his state met, he came before them and
placed himself under a thorough investigation at their hands. And as
Ex-Gov. A. P. Morrill says, “They made thorough work of it.” A man to
come forth from such an ordeal unscathed, and without the smell of
fire on his garments, must be right and not wrong,—or else he is the
veriest scoundrel, guilty, deeply so, and competent for bribes, and
they, the legislature of Maine, who virtually tried him, hopelessly
corrupt. But, no! this cannot be; and so he was vindicated, and
triumphantly elected by them to the highest trust within their gift, to
wear the honors of a Morrill and a Fessenden.
And yet again do they elect him for a full term of years. And then the
royal Garfield, the nation’s loved and honored president, knowing all,
and knowing him most intimately for seventeen years or more, takes
him into his cabinet, trustingly, and for the nation’s good.
Can victory be grander, or triumph more complete, endorsement
more honorable, or vindication more just, or a verdict be more
patient, thorough, or exhaustive of evidence! What man in all the
land, traduced and vilified just as Washington, Lincoln, and Garfield
were, wears prouder badges of endorsement from congress,
governor, legislature, senate, and conventions by the score! What
man that bears credentials of his character as trophies of higher
worth, from judges of sounder mind, and lives more unimpeachable?
Answer, ye who can!
 XV.
UNITED STATES SENATOR.

T was generally understood in Maine that the Hon. Lot M.

Morrill was serving his last term in the United States
senate, and that Mr. Blaine was to be his successor; so
that when Mr. Morrill was advanced to the secretaryship of
the treasury in General Grant’s cabinet, it occasioned no surprise
that Governor Connor appointed Mr. Blaine to the senate in his
stead. He was just recovering from the partial sunstroke which felled
him to the pavement while on his way to church, on a Sabbath
morning, with Miss Abigail Dodge (Gail Hamilton), just prior to the
Cincinnati Convention, and soon after his victory over Proctor Knott,
during his persecution in the House. Next to the nomination at
Cincinnati, nothing of a political nature could have been more
grateful to him than this high honor from the governor of his state, in
accordance, as the governor himself says, with the expectation of
the people. Coming, as it did, at an ill and weary time, it must have
greatly refreshed and revived his spirits, to have new and larger
evidence of the esteem and endorsement of those to whose
interests his life was devoted.
On July 12, 1876, he took his seat as the colleague of Hannibal
Hamlin in the senate. He is placed at once as chairman on the
committee on rules, and on the committee on appropriations, and on
naval affairs, besides on a select committee “on the levees on the
Mississippi River.” This, for a senatorial start, was quite honorable to
his judgment and ability.
There are many old traditions and customs, which amount to laws,
so far as assigning positions of responsibility to new members is
concerned, but there is no law which prevents a new member from
taking the most advanced position possible by virtue of his wisdom
and knowledge, and his ability in debate.
He could not well become entangled in the meshes of an intricate
network of rules and regulations, which Butler, in acknowledging Mr.
Blaine’s superior knowledge of in the House, had said he knew
nothing about,—Blaine knew it all. His position made it necessary
that he should, and now he was made chief in this department in the
new branch of legislation to which he had succeeded. So he could
not be held or hampered by any difficulty of this kind. Moreover, his
acquaintance was well-nigh universal among the members, and
some of them knew him a little better than they could have wished.
He was also familiar with the methods and measures of the senate,
having frequently been on joint committees with them during his
early terms of service in the lower House, and then the general
subjects of appropriations, naval, military, judiciary, manufactures,
commerce, foreign affairs, finance, pension affairs, etc., these were
the subjects with which he was accustomed to deal during all of his
years in congress.
He was at home, and coming into the senate on the wave of popular
excitement, which was of the same broad and sweeping character
that surrounded Henry Clay, and which came so near giving him the
nomination for the presidency then, he was not only at home in all
his feelings of political association and public duty, but exceedingly
prominent as well,—the one man of worth above all others, though
the last to enter there.
He had no need to take front rank; he was there already, and gave
himself to his work, not as a defeated man,—they had played but
one inning then,—but as a victor, enjoying his promotion well, from
the lower to the upper house of congress. He was nearing the goal,
taking the honors by the way, just as Garfield did, but unlike him,
tarrying in the senate to enjoy them. It was a good place to be; grand
enough to command the lives, in all their richness and maturity, of
Sumner, Webster, Choate, of Hamlin, Fessenden, and Clay, of
Wilson, Edmunds, Dawes, and galaxies by the score, representing
every state in the Union. Great lights from every department of life
shone there: scholars, teachers, authors, successful generals;
culture, refinement, and every excellence.
Mr. Blaine brought with him from the House, his old spirit of freeness,
and general adaptability and service. He had not come in to rest, be
shelved, or fossilized. His old habit of thoroughness was on him still;
he was not the man to change at six and forty years of age. He must
still touch top, bottom, and sides of every question with which he
dealt, and so he did.
He loved the truths of history, and took them whole, entire, lacking
nothing, and not in a garbled form. This of course caused facts and
figures to strike with telling power upon many a man’s coat of mail,
or cause the shield to tremble with the power of his stroke. But he
was there without apology, to do the strong, decisive work which
marked the history of his life. He loved the state of his adoption, and
the time had come when the pride of her glory should appear.
The old House of Representatives had been devoted, as a gallery of
art, to portraits and statues of the great men of the nation. Two were
to be selected by each state from the record of their leading men.
The statue of William King, the first governor of Maine, in 1820 and
1821, was presented with speeches in the senate by both Mr. Hamlin
and Mr. Blaine. In reciting briefly the history of Mr. King, Mr. Blaine
relied wholly upon Massachusetts authority, and he added, “To have
given anything like a sketch of Governor King’s life without giving his
conflict with Massachusetts, touching the separation of Maine and
her erection into an independent state, would have been like writing
the life of Abraham Lincoln without mentioning the great Rebellion,
which, as president of the United States, he was so largely
instrumental in suppressing.”
These words he uttered in vindication of himself from certain
restrictions placed upon him, and he closed by saying “that he
notified the senators from Massachusetts that he should feel
compelled to narrate those portions of Mr. King’s history that brought
him in conflict with the parent state.”
In less than a month after the statue of Governor King was placed in
the national gallery, by a unanimous vote of the senate, Mr. Blaine
was before that body with a speech of his usual force and energy,
upon the absorbing question of hard money. The subject had been
discussed in the House, and their action sent to the senate, and Mr.
Blaine had offered a substitute for their bill, which contained three
very simple provisions, as he said, viz.:—
1. “That the dollar shall contain four hundred and twenty-five grains
of standard silver, shall have unlimited coinage, and be an unlimited
legal tender.
2. “That all the profits of coinage shall go to the government, and not
to the operator in silver bullion.
3. “That silver dollars or silver bullion, assayed and mint-stamped,
may be deposited with the assistant treasurer at New York, for which
coin-certificates may be issued, the same in denomination as United
States notes, not below ten dollars, and that these shall be
redeemable on demand in coin or bullion, thus furnishing a paper-
circulation based on an actual deposit of precious metal, giving us
notes as valuable as those of the Bank of England and doing away
at once with the dreaded inconvenience of silver on account of bulk
and weight.”
He cites an exclusively gold nation like England, which, while it may
have some massive fortunes, shows also the most hopeless and
helpless poverty in the humblest walks of life. But France, a gold-
and-silver nation, while it can exhibit no such fortunes as England
boasts, presents “a people who, with silver savings, can pay a war
indemnity that would have beggared the gold-bankers of London,
and to which the peasantry of England could not have contributed a
pound sterling in gold, nor a single shilling in silver.”
Mr. Blaine’s sense of justice, and national honor, and national pride
were injured by making a dollar which, in effect, was not a dollar,—
was not worth a hundred cents.
“Consider, further,” he says, “what injustice would be done to every
holder of a legal-tender or national-bank note. That vast volume of
paper-money—over seven hundred millions of dollars—is now worth
between ninety-eight and ninety-nine cents on the dollar in gold coin.
The holders of it, who are indeed our entire population, from the
poorest to the wealthiest, have been promised, from the hour of its
issue, that the paper-money would one day be as good as gold. To
pay silver for the greenback is a full compliance with this promise
and this obligation, provided the silver is made as it always has been
hitherto, as good as gold. To make our silver coin even three per
cent. less valuable than gold, inflicts at once a loss of more than
twenty millions of dollars on the holders of our paper-money. To
make a silver dollar worth but ninety-two cents, precipitates on the
same class a loss of well-nigh sixty millions of dollars. For whatever
the value of the silver dollar is, the whole paper issue of the country
will sink to its standard when its coinage is authorized and its
circulation becomes general in the channels of trade.
“Some one in conversation with Commodore Vanderbilt during one
of the many freight competitions of the trunk lines, said, ‘Why, the
Canadian road has not sufficient carrying capacity to compete with
your great line!’
“‘That is true,’ replied the Commodore, ‘but they can fix a rate and
force us down to it.’
“Were congress to pass a law to-day, declaring that every legal-
tender note and every national-bank note shall hereafter pass for
only ninety-six or ninety-seven cents on the dollar, there is not a
constituency in the United States that would re-elect a man that
should support it, and in many districts the representative would be
lucky if he escaped with merely a minority vote.”
Mr. Blaine’s sympathies in this discussion were with the people, and
although he had passed out of that popular branch of congress, as it
is called, most nearly connected with them, he could not in any
sense be divorced from them, and so, although before men of great
wealth, his plea was for the laboring class,—for those who made the
country strong and rich,—and so in continuing his speech he
pleaded for them; and it will bring them nearer to him to-day to recall
his strong and earnest words, which, even in the staid and formal
senate, with its infinite courtesies and conservative venerations, has
a heart to smile, and good cheer sufficient to applaud, as they did
this close of his hard-money speech. These were his final
utterances:—
“The effect of paying the labor of this country in silver coin of full
value, as compared with irredeemable paper,—or as compared,
even, with silver of inferior value,—will make itself felt in a single
generation to the extent of tens of millions—perhaps hundreds of
millions—in the aggregate savings which represent consolidated
capital. It is the instinct of man from the savage to the scholar—
developed in childhood, and remaining with age—to value the metals
which in all tongues are called precious.
“Excessive paper-money leads to extravagance, to waste, and to
want, as we painfully witness on all sides to-day. And in the midst of
the proof of its demoralizing and destructive effect, we hear it
proclaimed in the halls of congress, that ‘the people demand cheap
money.’ I deny it. I declare such a phrase to be a total
misapprehension—a total misinterpretation of the popular wish. The
people do not demand cheap money. They demand an abundance
of good money, which is an entirely different thing. They do not want
a single gold standard that will exclude silver, and benefit those
already rich. They do not want an inferior silver standard that will
drive out gold, and not help those already poor. They want both
metals, in full value, in equal honor, in whatever abundance the
bountiful earth will yield them to the searching eye of science, and to
the hard hand of labor.
“The two metals have existed side by side in harmonious, honorable
companionship, as money, ever since intelligent trade was known
among men. It is well-nigh forty centuries since ‘Abraham weighed to
Ephron the silver which he had named in the audience of the sons of
Heth—four hundred shekels of silver—current money with the
merchant.’ Since that time nations have risen and fallen, races have
disappeared, dialects and languages have been forgotten, arts have
been lost, treasures have perished, continents have been
discovered, islands have been sunk in the sea, and through all these
ages, and through all these changes, silver and gold have reigned
supreme as the representatives of value—as the media of exchange.
The dethronement of each has been attempted in turn, and
sometimes the dethronement of both; but always in vain! And we are
here to-day, deliberating anew over the problem which comes down
to us from Abraham’s time—the weight of the silver that shall be
‘current money with the merchant.’”
As Mr. Blaine resumed his seat, it is said, in brackets, there was
protracted applause; and so much was there that the vice-president,
William A. Wheeler, of New York, felt compelled to say, “Order! The
chair assuming that the galleries are ignorant of the laws of the
senate, gives notice that if applause is repeated they will be promptly
cleared.”
This cannot fail to suggest the fact beyond a doubt, that he had lost
none of his old-time fervor, and that he proposed to allow no right of
the people to slip from them, so long as he held place and power in
their interest, and had a voice to lift in their defence.
The great business of congress is done by committees, as is well
known, and their reports are discussed, amended, and acted upon,
endorsed or rejected.
Mr. Blaine’s committee on appropriations was one of the most
difficult. Demands are almost innumerable, and to act intelligently
requires a large knowledge of every department of the government;
of the military, the great postal lines and offices, and the new ones
being built, custom-houses, forts, arsenals, navy-yards, etc.; and this
work must be done by the committees, working not early, but late.
He was specially fitted for the committee on naval affairs, as he had
gone over the whole question of ship-building and shipping while in
the House.
We find him actuated by the same feelings of humanity and
carefulness, as actuated him years before, but now more
conspicuously, because in a larger, loftier sphere.
He presents bills for the relief of the families of those who perished
on the United States dredge-boat “McAlister”; to enlarge the power
and duties of the board of health in the District of Columbia; to
amend the Pacific Railroad act by creating a sinking-fund. He moved
to investigate charges against Senator M. C. Butler, of South
Carolina.
We find Mr. Blaine showing an appreciation for that old soldier of the
Republic, in the Mexican war and the war of the Rebellion, Hon.
James Shields, of Missouri, by presenting a bill to make him a major-
general. General Shields had a bullet through his body in Mexico, at
Buena Vista, and a silk handkerchief drawn through his body in the
track of the wound, and now he is honored as an old man; but he
does not live long to enjoy it. He was a hardy, heroic, faithful man
and soldier, and worthy of the repeated honors conferred upon him
by his state and by the nation. It was a generous impulse of a kindly
heart that prompted this honor in the senate for the aged soldier.
The bureau of engraving and printing was remembered by him in a
bill to provide that department with a fire-proof building.
When the bill was before the senate to pension the soldiers of the
Mexican war, Mr. Hoar offered a resolution by way of amendment:
“Provided, further, that no pension shall ever be paid under this act
to Jefferson Davis, the late president of the so-called Confederacy.”
Twenty-two were found to vote against it. The discussion grew now
almost intolerable. Nearly every rebel sympathizer from the South
spoke against it; among them were Garland, Bailey, Maxey,
Thurman, Gordon, Lamar, Morgan, Coke. Strong hearts were stirred
against their utterances, and strong words uttered for the Union
cause.
“There is no parallel to the magnanimity of our government,” said Mr.
Blaine, in reply to Lamar’s charge of intolerance. “Not one single
execution, not one single confiscation; at the outside only fourteen
thousand out of millions put under disfranchisement, and all of them
released, and all of them invited to come to the common board,
fraternally and patriotically, with the rest of us, and share a common
destiny for weal or for woe in the future. I tell the honorable
gentleman it does not become him, or any Southern man, to speak
of intolerance on the part of the national government; rather, if he
speak of it at all, he should allude to its magnanimity and its
grandeur.”
The great boldness with which Mr. Blaine stood up against the
usurpations of the solid South is a lasting honor to him. He desired to
place on record, in a definite and authentic form, the frauds and
outrages by which some recent elections were carried by the
Democratic party in the Southern states, and to find if there be any
method to prevent a repetition of those crimes against a free ballot.
One hundred and six representatives had been elected recently in
the South, and only four or five of them Republicans, and thirty-five
of the whole number had been assigned to the South, he said, “by
reason of the colored people.” In South Carolina, he speaks of “a
series of skirmishes over the state, in which the polling places were
regarded as forts, to be captured by one party and held against the
other, so that there was no election in any proper sense.” The
information came from a non-partisan press, and without
contradiction so far as he had seen.
This was his resolution in the senate:—
“Resolved, That the committee on the judiciary be
instructed to inquire and report to the senate, whether at
the recent elections the constitutional rights of American
citizens were violated in any of the states of the Union;
whether the right of suffrage of citizens of the United
States, or of any class of such citizens, was denied or
abridged by the action of the election-officers of any state
in refusing to receive their votes, in failing to count them,
or in receiving and counting fraudulent ballots in
pursuance of a conspiracy to make the lawful votes of
such citizens of non effect; and whether such citizens
were prevented from exercising the elective franchise, or
forced to use it against their wishes, by violence or
threats, or hostile demonstrations of armed men or other
organizations, or by any other unlawful means or
practices.