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SUCK IT
VAMPIRE BRIDE BOOK 2
LINSEY HALL
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18

Thank You!
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
About Linsey
Copyright
 1

Mac

Drakon was dead.

At least, that’s what it looked like.
I stared at his body, which had turned to granite. He sat still as a
statue in a massive, throne-like chair in front of an enormous hearth.
The harshly beautiful lines of his face were now carved in stone,
his broad shoulders made of rock. Somehow, his power was even
more obvious in this form. He looked like one of the kings of old—
noble and terrifying and powerful.
The Great Masters would have taken one look at him and wept
for the glorious creation that had not come from their hands.
And yet, for all intents and purposes, he was dead. Waves of
magic rolled out from him, so powerful that it made my bones
shake. But from what I could tell, he was as alive as granite.
I looked up at his friend, Dorian, whom Drakon and I had
rescued from the secret society only days ago. “You just found him
like this?”
 Dorian nodded. “He hadn’t said that anything was wrong. No
hint.”
I drew in an unsteady breath and stared down at him. I didn’t
want to feel grief—not after what he’d put me through—but I did.
And somehow, I had a sinking feeling this had something to do
with me.
Nah. That was crazy.
“Your witch friends are coming soon?” Dorian asked.
I nodded. Coraline, Mary, and Beth should be headed our way
now. Getting them to figure out how to help Drakon was the least I
could do.
There had to be a way to save him.
My familiar, a badger named Genevieve, appeared next to me. He
looks dreadful.
I nodded.
If you can’t fix him, you can always prop him up in your living
room. He’s very handsome as a statue.
He was handsome as a man, too. All the same, I nudged
Genevieve with my leg. “Shh.”
It’s dangerous to help him, you know.
“I know.” The Bride Bond still connected us, and he was still
incredibly dangerous. Saving him was like walking right into the
crazy, but I had to do it.
“The party is here!” Coraline’s voice sounded from behind me,
and I turned.
The three witches shouldn’t have had such an easy time finding
Drakon’s residence, but of course they had. They might look like a
kooky group of American sorority girls from a 1990s teen movie, but
they were immensely powerful.
 Coraline led the group, her dark hair spilling down the back of
her tight red cat suit. Beth wore an identical outfit in green, and
Mary in white.
Beth looked around the massive, stone-walled room and whistled
low under her breath. “Quite the digs.”
She wasn’t kidding. Drakon’s home was an enormous, cold castle
perched on a mountain top in Romania. He was truly a vampire of
legend, living up to the stereotype in fine, terrifying fashion.
Mary spun in a circle, taking in the enormous room. “It’s like a
throne room.”
And Drakon was undoubtedly its king. A loner whose power and
terrifying presence had no doubt driven everyone away.
The three witches stopped by my side, inspecting Drakon.
“So you don’t know exactly what happened to him?” Beth asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Not great,” Coraline said.
“Thank fates we’re super powerful,” Mary said.
“Can you help him?”
“Need to figure out what’s wrong with him, first.” Coraline
reached out to touch his hand. “Then we’ll know.”
“You three can wait over there.” Mary pointed to a collection of
chairs near the wall.
Dorian, Genevieve, and I retreated to the them.
I couldn’t sit, though. I needed to move, to try to get rid of the
anxious energy that surged through me. I shouldn’t be so worried—
hell, I should be grateful. I wanted him off my tail.
But not like this.
I shook the thought away and watched as the witches circled
Drakon’s throne. They laid down crystals and sprinkled potions, their
faces intense as they worked.
 “He’s powerful,” Coraline whispered so quietly that I almost
couldn’t hear her. “Never felt anyone as powerful as him.”
“Whatever spell is binding him must be crazy strong.” Mary
frowned, doubt on her face. “Not sure we’ve ever faced something
like this.”
Shit. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I shared a worried look
with Genevieve.
I could use a drink.
“You and me both,” I said to her. “But it’s not even five o’clock.”
The relevance of that eludes me.
“Of course it does.” I turned my attention back to the witches,
worry vibrating within me.
The three women joined hands, their skin beginning to glow with
magic. As their power rolled toward me, I held my breath. The
words that they chanted were in a language I’d never heard before.
Or if I had, I didn’t recognize it.
Genevieve leaned against my leg, and I drew strength from her
sturdy little body.
The witches’ magic filled the enormous room, sounding like the
screech of crows and the roar of wind. It smelled of green grass and
oak forests, tasted of sugar and cayenne. The strength of it nearly
stole my breath.
When it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, I nearly fell
over. It was like a vacuum had filled the room and the air had just
rushed back in. Gasping, I said, “Well? What’s wrong with him?”
Drakon still sat as unmoving as stone, but the triumphant look on
the witches’ faces gave me hope.
“He’s still alive,” Coraline said. “His soul is entombed in granite.”
“How do we fix him?” I asked.
 “No idea.” Coraline frowned. “At least, I don’t know a permanent
fix. We can release his soul for a short while—make him corporeal,
even—but it won’t last forever. Might give you time to break the
curse, though.”
“You mean he’ll be normal?”
Mary nodded. “For a week. Maybe a bit less.”
A week.
That wasn’t long.
I looked at Drakon, indecision and hope fighting within me.
Releasing him was stupid—at least for my long-term sanity. He
certainly didn’t make my life easy. I was his fated mate, and I didn’t
want to be. The consequences of that were going to be intense, no
doubt.
And yet, I had to. Even if it meant walking right toward the
danger, I knew I had to help him. My soul screamed it.
I could feel Dorian looking at me, his confusion palpable. He was
wondering why I wasn’t jumping on the opportunity to help Drakon.
He had no idea of our history.
“Do it.” The words escaped on a rush.
“A warning, though,” Coraline said. “You get one chance. If you
fail to save him and he returns to granite, it will be permanent.”
I swallowed hard, nodding. “I understand.”
I don’t like this kind of pressure. Genevieve twisted her little
hands together as she watched with worried eyes.
“Me, neither.”
The witches circled Drakon, and I held my breath as their magic
rose on the air once more. Smoke swirled around them as they
chanted, the brilliant purple and blue concealing their forms as they
directed their power toward Drakon.
 Hope and fear clashed within me as I waited. Magic pulsed,
nearly stealing my breath. By the time the smoke dissipated, I was
lightheaded.
Heart pounding, I watched as the witches stepped back.
The granite figure of Drakon sat upon the throne, his form still
and solid. A faint light glowed from him, slowly coalescing. The
ghostly shape of the vampire rose from the throne, stepping away
from his granite form.
My heart leapt. As I watched, the ephemeral figure turned solid
and real. Within seconds, Drakon was standing in front of the granite
version of himself. He was as terrifyingly beautiful as ever, with his
burning blue eyes and sharp cheekbones.
He turned to me, a confused frown tugging at his full lips.
“You’ve helped me.”
“I know. I’m as baffled as you are.”
His gaze lingered for a moment more, and he looked at the
witches. “How long will this last?”
“You’re welcome.” Coraline gave him a wry look.
“Thank you.” He inclined his head. “Of course, thank you.”
“Good. We’ll give you the bill. As for how long this will last, I’d
say you have a week at most. You’re not really here, after all.”
He reached out to touch the stone version of himself. His
fingertips pressed against the stone, solid and real. “I feel like I’m
here.”
“For a little while,” Coraline said. “But you’re more like a solid
projection. When the spell fades, your soul will be returned to the
granite. Forever.”
His brows rose. “Forever?”
She nodded. “We’ll never be able to do this again. It won’t work
twice. So you’ve got a week to figure out how to fix yourself
permanently.”
He nodded, gaze serious.
“Keep an eye out for the bill.” Coraline winked at me, and the
witches began to gather their supplies to leave.
Drakon looked between his friend and myself. He gave Dorian a
short nod, then strode toward me. When he stopped, his scent
wrapped around me. Divine spices of sandalwood and man caught
my senses, and I stepped back.
Tension tightened the air between us, the memory of the kiss
we’d shared impressing itself upon my lips and mind. Heat rushed
through me, foolish and crazy.
“I didn’t expect you to help me,” he said.
“Neither did I.” I glanced away, knowing I shouldn’t look at him
for too long. It just made me want to reach out and touch him to
make sure he was really here.
But no.
Our history—and our future—were far too complicated.
“What happened to you?”
His jaw tightened, and I could see indecision in his eyes. Was he
debating telling me the truth? Did I even want to know it?
“Something that has been a long time coming,” he said.
There was more to it, there had to be. “It’s part of the Bride
Bond, isn’t it?”
His jaw tightened. “It is.”
When he didn’t continue, I whispered, “How?”
“It’s the result of the pain I feel from being away from you.”
Shit. “But you don’t even want to be near me.”
Something flashed in his eyes—a look that suggested he might
want to argue that point. Instead, he said, “It doesn’t matter.”
Fates, this sucked. “Do you know how to fix it?”
 As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew the answer. Killing
you.
Darkness flashed in his eyes, an emotion that I couldn’t read.
The only way to break the bond between us was for one of us to
die.
Obviously not an option. “I need to go. Good luck fixing yourself.”
I turned and left, guilt tugging at me.
But it was the only thing I could do. I couldn’t stay by his side—
not at long as we were still inextricably bound by fate. Not as long
as the solution to his curse was my death.
But as I left, I could feel the heat of Drakon’s gaze on me. It
burned into my back as I walked away, and I knew it wouldn’t be
the last I saw of him.
As I strode through the echoing, silent hallways of the austere
castle he called his home, I couldn’t help but think that it reflected
him—strong, cold, forbidding.
Lonely.
Lonely?
I shook my head. Fates, I was losing it. I shouldn’t be feeling
anything for him, much less concern. He was my damned
bogeyman, after all.
Finally, I exited the castle onto the windswept mountain range
and could use the transport charm I’d brought. Within seconds, I
was back in the courtyard in front of my guild tower.
Comfort rushed over me, increasing when Carrow opened the
door and peered out. “Everything go okay?”
I nodded and updated her on the situation.
She frowned. “He’ll come for you, you know.”
“You were hoping it wouldn’t work, weren’t you?”
She flashed me a guilty look. “Just for your sake. He’s ruthless.”
 She wasn’t wrong. But I didn’t want to think of it. “I’m on shift at
the Hound tonight. I need to get changed.”
“Yeah, yeah. We won’t talk about it.”
I grinned. “Exactly. Avoidance is the name of my game. For
tonight, at least.”
She shook her head and moved aside so that I could enter the
tower. It was empty, besides Carrow, and it didn’t take long for me
to get changed and head back out into Guild City.
The streets were bustling with the early dinner crowd. Lights
glowed from inside pubs and restaurants, and several of the shops
were still open for early evening business.
Fates, how I loved Guild City.
By the time I reached the main gate tower that led to my pub,
the crowd had thinned out and quieted. This part of town didn’t
have quite as many restaurants, and it was often more serene.
I bypassed the larger gate and entered the darkened tunnel for
foot traffic. I was halfway to the portal at the end when strong
hands grabbed me from behind.
Panic gripped me. I started to scream, but a hand slapped over
my mouth. Arms of steel dragged me toward a huge body that felt
like it was made of stone.
Drakon?
No, this was someone else.
As they dragged me into a transport charm and the ether pulled
me through space, I had only one thought—Ludovic.
 2

Mac

The ether pulled me through space, making my stomach turn and

my sense of location go haywire. My kidnapper’s grip was as
unbreakable as steel, squeezing the breath from my lungs as I tried
to fight my way free.
When the ether released us, we appeared in the middle of a
stone cell. As the aftershocks of ether transportation faded from my
head, he patted me down quickly and yanked the dagger from my
boot, taking my only weapon.
Once he had it, he hurled me against the stone wall. My shoulder
slammed into the stone and pain exploded as I sank to the ground.
“Bastard.” I struggled to my feet, but he was gone before I could
see his face. I caught only a glimpse of dark clothes and a black
jumper with a hood that obscured the back of his head as the
wooden door slammed behind him.
Anger surged through me as I strode toward it and pounded on
the wood. It was windowless and appeared to be as thick as the hull
of a warship.
“Let me out of here, you bastard!” I screamed.
I knew he wouldn’t, but it felt good to yell.
“That son of a bitch.” I turned and stared at the small cell. No
windows, no other doors. Just walls made of massive stone blocks.
A faint spell echoed from the walls, radiating out to seep into my
body. A magic dampening spell, there was no mistaking it.
Well, the joke was on them, because I didn’t have that much
magic to dampen.
Not true.
Whatever I had was increasing in strength—I just didn’t know
what that was. An ability to make people do my bidding, yes. It was
different than the compulsion that vampires could employ, but
similar in nature. I was still a slightly shoddy seer.
But there was more to me. I could feel it.
I just didn’t know what it was because a mysterious spell had
rewritten my memories of my past. For most of my life, I’d had no
idea about the spell. The Witches Guild had helped me delve into my
erased memories and revealed that someone had cursed my mind.
Maybe it was Ludovic, maybe not.
When I’d fought him last week, he’d called me the Daughter of
the Arcane Order and said that he wanted to add me to his
collection.
I shuddered at the memory of the creepy phrasing he’d
employed. He’d collected the souls of hundreds of supernaturals and
used them to power the spells that protected him and his secret
society. I didn’t know exactly what it meant to be added to that
collection, but I wanted no part of it.
Fortunately, we’d released those souls.
Unfortunately, Ludovic had still escaped.
 And now it looked like he might have caught me. I still didn’t
have confirmation that this was his doing, but I was pretty damned
sure.
I didn’t plan to stick around to find out, however.
Quickly, I pulled my cell from my pocket. I didn’t have much
hope of it working—otherwise the guard would have taken it—but I
had to try. Unfortunately, I was right. No signal. I tried anyway, but
the call didn’t go through.
Time for Plan B.
“Genevieve?” I whispered.
With any luck, the magic-dampening spell that exuded from the
walls would not suppress my connection with my familiar.
Genevieve’s magic seemed to defy most rules, after all.
“Genevieve,” I whispered in a singsong voice. “I have
Manhattans. Good ones, made with the expensive vermouth you
like. And none of those bright red cherries you despise.”
Magic popped on the air, and her posh voice filtered through. You
rang?
“I did.” I turned to see the plump badger sitting on the stone
floor, her black and white fur gleaming and her eyes bright with
interest.
I see no Manhattan. She looked around, understanding flashing
in her eyes. Ah, I see. You are in quite a pickle.
“Exactly. Any idea how to get me out of here?”
She trundled around the room, inspecting all the walls and the
door. As she turned back to me, the sound of footsteps echoed
outside my cell door.
I made a shooing motion at her and mouthed the word hide.
She disappeared as silently as she’d arrived. A moment later, the
heavy wooden door swung open to reveal the form of Ludovic.
 No surprise there.
I stared at him. He wasn’t actually Ludovic, the white-haired man
I’d met on the boat, but this newer, scarier version had never told
me his true name. He’d called the older man his shell, and the idea
of it made me shudder.
He was as menacing as ever, his slender body vibrating with
power. Greed gleamed in his snakelike eyes, and no matter how hard
I looked at them, I couldn’t see a hint of a soul behind the glassy
orbs.
“So, you caught me.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the
stone wall behind me. “Going to put me into one of your creepy jars
now?”
His eyes flashed at the memory of the hundreds of glass jars full
of magic that had sat in the basement of the house his secret
society owned. Their magic had fueled him and the society, giving
them power and protecting them from the consequences of their
misdeeds. Because of the dark magic those spells, the society could
do whatever they wanted, and no one could find them to punish
them. Hell, no one could even identify them.
I’d destroyed every single jar, dealing a devastating blow to
Ludovic and his miserable society.
The smile that crept across his face was cold and hard as a
glacier. “I realized that I was thinking too small, then.”
“Oh yeah?” My mind raced, trying to figure out a way to escape.
Ideally, to kill him.
“There are plenty of other souls we can draw power from. But
you’re special.”
“How so?” They had answers about what I was, I was sure. Ever
since he’d called me the Daughter of the Arcane Order, I’d known he
held some of the secrets of my past.
 “Your power, of course. There’s more to you than meets the eye,
and you would be a valuable asset to the society.”
“I already made it clear that I’m deeply uninterested in joining
your little group.”
“Your mind can be changed.”
I scoffed.
“We can save that vampire of yours.”
Hope flashed, followed by fear and confusion. For my own safety,
I shouldn’t want that. But I did. “You’re bluffing.”
But I knew he wasn’t. I could feel it. His confidence was so
strong it filled the air, and my newly powerful seer sense indicated
he was telling the truth.
“Of course we’re not. Our society knows more secrets than fate
itself. One of those is how to save the First Vampire.”
“Oh yeah? How?”
He laughed. “That secret is only yours if you join us.”
“No deal.” We’d find another way. No chance I was joining this
group of evil, murdering lunatics. “I don’t even know why you’d
want someone like me.”
“Oh, don’t play stupid. Of course we want someone with your
power.”
“What power is what, exactly?”
“More secrets for you to find out. If you join us.”
“Still a no from me.”
He tutted disappointedly. “A little time in this cell will soften you
up, I’m sure.”
“Oh, suck it, you miserable old bastard.”
His brows rose, but he just smiled and turned to the door. Before
I could charge him, he was gone, the heavy door shutting behind
him.
 Shit, shit, shit.
I dragged my hand through my hair and spun in a circle.
This was not ideal.
And where the hell was I?
He gone?
Though I couldn’t see her, Genevieve’s voice echoed in my head.
“He’s gone, but wait just a moment to make sure he doesn’t
come back.”
I waited impatiently for a few minutes before Genevieve
appeared, two glass potion bombs clutched in her little paws. My
eyes alighted on them, and I grinned widely. “Oh, you are clever.”
I am aware. She held one out to me, and I took it. When I
reached for the second, she bared her little teeth. Mine.
“Fair enough.” I turned to the door and inspected it. Genevieve
had brought me a garden variety explosive, which would be perfect
for this job. And if one didn’t work, we had two. “I’ll go first. If the
door isn’t blown away, it’s your turn.”
She grinned and clutched her potion bomb.
“But back up toward the wall. It’s going to be a big blast.” I
pressed my back against the farthest wall. It was still going to be a
little iffy, but we’d survive. “Here goes nothing.”
I hurled the bomb at the door, then ducked to cover my head.
The blast pressed me back against the stone, hot and fierce. Smoke
filled my lungs, acrid and terrible, and I coughed as I felt my skin
heat almost unbearably.
When I looked up, the door was still there.
“Your turn.”
Genevieve hurled her bomb as I buried my head in my arms.
Again, my skin felt so hot it might melt off, but the pain was just
barely tolerable.
 When the smoke faded, I met Genevieve’s eyes. You look like a
chimney sweep.
“Feel like one, too.” I coughed as I stood and approached the
destroyed door. Half of it was blown away—more than enough for
my escape.
Together, Genevieve and I climbed out through the gap. The
smoke dissipated quickly in the wide hall, revealing two guards
charging toward us. They were massively tall, with broad shoulders
and cruel faces.
Magic radiated from them, and I regretted giving the potion bag
back to Eve. It would have come in real handy right about now.
“Don’t kill her,” growled the one on the left. “The master wants
her alive.” He
raised a hand and hurled a blast of flame at me.
I lunged right, narrowly avoiding the small fireball. Damned fire
mage. It wouldn’t have killed me, but it would have hurt like hell.
Genevieve charged him. Scrambling up his legs and chest, she
clawed at his eyes. She was so fast and agile that he couldn't get a
hand on her.
I left her to it, turning my attention to the other guard. He raised
a wicked looking dagger, and I grinned.
Hand-to-hand I could deal with.
I charged him, ducking the first slash of his blade as I drove my
knee up into his groin. The air whooshed out of him as he bent over.
Quickly, I slammed my knee into his chin so hard that he flew
backward and crashed into the ground, unconscious.
I dived for his dagger, which had flown out of his hand and
slammed against the wall. I picked it up. The hilt was a comforting
weight, and I whirled to face Genevieve and the other guard.
 He managed to grab her by the scruff and hurl her away from
him. Just before she slammed into the wall, she disappeared.
I lunged toward the guard, swiping out with my blade. Blood
poured from scratches on his forehead, obscuring his vision, and I
easily landed a blow to his chest. Crimson bloomed from the long
cut, and I followed up the attack with a swift, hard punch to the
neck.
He gasped and clutched his throat.
Kill him.
The darker part of me wanted to eliminate the threat entirely, but
I couldn’t be sure if he was totally evil or just a hired gun. His magic
didn’t make it clear.
I ignored the urge and flipped my dagger around so that the
blunt edge of the hilt became a weapon. Swiftly, I slammed it into
his temple. He collapsed backward, unconscious.
Genevieve appeared at my side a moment later. I would have
killed him.
“Bloodthirsty beast.” I gave the other guard one last look to make
sure he was still unconscious, then headed down the hall. “Let’s get
the hell out of here.”
Wherever here was. I’d used my last transport charm to get back
to Guild City, so we’d need to at least make it out of this building to
get to safety. Hopefully we’d be in a city, or something.
Anyway, I wanted to explore if I could. It was dangerous, but
Ludovic had answers—both about my past and about how to help
Drakon.
I looked down at Genevieve. “We don’t know how many guards
there are. If I get overwhelmed, go tell my friends where I am.
Maybe bring back a transport charm.”
She nodded. For now, we search?
 “Clever again.” She was a badger after my own heart, and
together, we’d find answers in this godforsaken place.
We raced down the hall toward a flight of stairs at the end. They
led upward, indicating that the dungeon was in the basement.
“Predictable,” I muttered.
Disappointing. Genevieve tisked. Villains really are so dreadfully
similar, aren’t they?
“In my experience, yes. Bastards, the lot of them.” I began to
climb, moving quickly up the stairs.
She followed, and we reached a door a moment later. Carefully, I
pushed it open and peered into the room beyond.
A guard stared right back at me, his eyes widening as they met
mine.
Shit.
Worse than that—seated behind him was a table of other guards
eating their lunch.
Oh fates—I’d stumbled upon the freaking break room.
 3

Mac

For the briefest second, I stared in horror at the room full of guards.
“Escape!” yelled one.
The shout spurred me to action, and I lunged into the room,
dagger drawn. The group surged up from the table. There were six
total, and dread opened a hole within me.
Too many.
Genevieve charged past me and leapt onto one of the guards. I
left her to it, swiping my dagger across the chest of the nearest
guard. The blade cut deep, driving him back. Another took his place,
swinging a sword right for my neck.
I ducked, then plowed my shoulder into his gut. We slammed
into the table behind him, sending it crashing to the floor.
Hands grabbed me and yanked me off him. I thrashed, trying to
break free of the fierce grip.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” a voice grumbled as he dragged me back
toward the door.
 On the other side of the room, Genevieve was hurled against the
wall by a bloodied guard. She wasn’t quite quick enough this time
and didn’t manage to disappear. When she slammed into the wall
and dropped to the ground, I screamed and lunged for her.
The shock of the movement must have broken the guard’s grip,
because he let me go. I stumbled forward as Genevieve rose to her
feet.
I’m fine. Get the miserable sods.
Relieved, I whirled from her and faced the guards. Four of them
advanced on me. The two in the back tossed fireballs lazily in their
hands.
Shit, shit, shit. Six was a lot. But I couldn’t go back to the cell.
“We won’t hurt you unless you give us no choice,” grumbled the
leader.
“I’m definitely going to give you no choice.”
Quickly, I took stock of their weaknesses, hoping to find an
advantage. One had a limp, and another was covered in Genevieve’s
scratches.
That was about as much advantage as having an extra golf club
at a hockey match.
Still, I wouldn’t give up.
One of the guards in the back hurled a fireball at my legs. I
lunged left, right into the fiery blast sent by another fire mage.
Pain exploded against my shin, and I hissed, barely managing to
keep myself from toppling over.
The leader smirked. “Just give up.”
Magic sparked on the air, and a voice sounded from behind me.
“I hardly think that’s necessary.”
My heart leapt.
Drakon.
 I’d have known the lazy power in his voice anywhere. I wanted
to turn around and see him. Instead, I lunged for the nearest guard
and sliced out with my blade. He darted backward, but I charged
him, sinking my dagger into his shoulder.
Fireballs flew past me, headed for Drakon.
I didn’t have time to look. The guard that I’d stabbed swung a
big fist at my face, landing a blow to my temple that made my vision
go temporarily black. I staggered away, barely managing to keep my
grip on the dagger.
Blinking frantically, I managed to catch sight of Drakon charging
toward the other guards. He was unburned, of course. The first
vampire was so fast that dodging fireballs was a walk in the park.
My attacker lumbered toward me, swinging out with a big fist. I
ducked his blow. Crouched, I thrust my dagger up into his gut. He
hissed and reached for the blade that was sunk into his flesh. Before
he could grip it, I withdrew it and darted backward.
Blood poured as he stumbled away. Genevieve leapt onto him to
finish the job. As posh as she was, she fought like a street thug, and
I didn’t envy the guard.
I spun to find the rest of the fight nearly over. All but one of the
guards lay on the ground with their throats torn out, and Drakon
was finishing off the last with a vicious bite.
Panting, I leaned against the wall and tried to catch my breath.
The carnage around me turned my stomach. I’d been hoping to just
incapacitate most of the guards and make my escape.
That had not gone as planned.
The last body thudded to the ground and Drakon turned to me.
He wiped a hand across his mouth to remove the blood and strode
toward me, concern creasing his brow.
 “Are you all right?” His brilliant blue eyes swept over me, looking
for injuries. “You look like you’ve been in an explosion.”
“I’m fine. How did you find me?”
“I marked you, remember? I could feel you. Not just your
location, but that you were afraid.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t think I like that.”
“Not much you can do about it.” He looked at the bodies
scattered around us. “In any case, it worked in your favor.”
I couldn't argue with that. Genevieve and I could handle
ourselves, but this had been particularly dicey. “Thank you.”
“Let’s go.” He held out a hand. “I can transport us out of here.”
“Not yet. There are answers here. Answers about me and about
you.”
Drakon frowned. “What do you mean, answers?”
“Ludovic said they have the solution to whatever has trapped
your soul in granite. You still can’t be apart from me without
suffering great pain, right?”
A deep frown cut across his face right before his form flickered
slightly, like a light bulb experiencing a power surge.
He’s disappearing.
Fear clutched me. The witches had said he’d have only a week,
and the visible reminder of his situation made my heart clutch.
“It’s too dangerous.” Drakon loomed over me, concern in his
eyes.
“It will be fine.”
Frustration flashed on his face, and his gaze dropped from my
eyes to my lips. Suddenly, I realized how close we were standing. He
seemed to realize it, too, and the tension tightened between us.
He shook his head. “We need to get out of here. I can’t risk you.”
I can’t risk you?
 A shiver ran through me. The words were intense. The look in his
eyes even more so.
No way in hell was I ready for that.
I stepped back. “Not your choice. And I need those answers.”
A low growl escaped Drakon, but he bit it back. “You’re sure he
wasn’t lying about having answers?”
“Of course I’m sure. My seer power might be a bit wonky, but it
works well enough for that. He was telling the truth, and there are
answers here. I can feel it.”
And not just answers about Drakon. Answers about me. About
what it meant to be a Daughter of the Arcane Order.
“Stubborn.” His eyes flashed.
“I’m going to go look for answers. Come with me, and we can
transport out of here as soon as it gets dicey.” I turned to go, not
waiting for a response.
It was dangerous to be around him, but his help would be
invaluable. Having a quick ticket out of here would make all the
difference. I couldn’t afford to run into another group of guards
without an escape route.
He sighed, but I heard him follow.
Whew.
Genevieve had disappeared, no doubt to go clean the blood off
her normally pristine fur, but she’d be back if I needed her.
Together, Drakon and I crept out of the guards’ break room and
headed down the wide hall. The walls were paneled in dark wood
and dotted with brass sconces that cast a golden glow over the
crimson carpet.
“Do you know where you want to look?” Drakon murmured.
“No.” I wanted to capture and interrogate Ludovic, but odds on
getting that lucky were slim. And it was dangerous. “Maybe we can
find an office of some kind.”
We searched in silence, narrowly avoiding a passing maid while
turning up empty on several rooms. We got lucky a few minutes
later, stumbling upon a chamber crowded with books. A massive
desk sat beneath a mountain of loose papers.
“Jackpot,” I murmured, heading straight to the desk. Drakon
followed me, and I caught his gaze. “I’ve got this. You check the rest
of the room.”
He nodded and began to search. I turned my attention to the
desk, quickly rifling through the papers. The ones on the top seemed
boring enough, but a massive map at the bottom made my heart
race.
It appeared to be a map of some kind of festival grounds. There
was no distinguishing marker to say which festival grounds, but the
labels made it clear enough. Worse, there were spots all around the
future crowd that were marked with an X.
A small key at the bottom had one word written next to the X—
Attack Points.
Ice rushed over me.
Shit.
Double shit.
They were planning to attack some kind of festival. There could
be thousands of people present, but if Ludovic brought the right kind
of supernaturals and was smart about his attack points—which this
map indicated he was—they would be able to cause a lot of damage.
I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the map. I’d prefer
to take the map itself—or even burn the damned thing, I was so
disgusted by the destruction the plan could cause—but it would be
better if Ludovic didn’t know we’d seen this.
 Quickly, I flipped through the rest of the papers, looking for any
other clues. The only thing I could find was a timetable of the
moon’s phases.
Were they interested in shifters?
What else could it be?
If only the map had given a location.
“What did you find?” Drakon asked.
“A map of a festival of some kind, marked with attack points.
Definitely fishy.” I looked up to meet his gaze. “Did you find
anything?”
“Not yet. Nothing obvious on the shelves, and no secret
entrances to another room that I could find.”
I frowned. It would be too good to be true to hope that the
answers to our problems would be labeled on the spine of one of the
books. “Anything about the Arcane Order?”
He shook his head.
Damn. I’d done a little searching these last few days, but hadn’t
had any luck.
A thudding noise sounded from the corridor, then a shout.
“Someone’s coming.” I returned the papers to their original
location and moved around the desk to join him.
“Let’s get out of here.”
I nodded. We could stay and fight, but there’d be nothing to be
gained by it. And if we left now, Ludovic might have no idea we’d
seen his mysterious plan.
Because one thing had become apparent--we had to stop it.
Whatever it was would be bad, and now that I knew about it, I
couldn’t just do nothing. People were going to be hurt.
A shout sounded from the hallway, and I met Drakon’s gaze as I
stuck my hand out for his. “Take me home.”
 He gripped my hand, and a shiver of heat raced up my arm. My
heart leapt into my throat, and I closed my eyes, unable to bear the
intensity of his gaze. It pulled at me stronger than ever, and the only
way to resist it was to not look.
The ether sucked us in and spat us out onto the familiar scrubby
grass in front of the Shadow Guild tower. I opened my eyes,
gratitude welling inside me. The tall stone building covered by
climbing roses was a welcome sight.
I’d been a captive for a record-breaking short period of time, but
it had been more than long enough.
I let go of Drakon’s hand just as Carrow raced out the door, her
golden hair wild and her jacket halfway pulled on. When her gaze
met mine, she stumbled to a halt.
“You’re here,” she said.
“Yep.”
“Thank fates.” She sagged against the door frame. “We were just
coming to look for you. Heard you didn’t show up for work, and after
the craziness of the last few days, we were worried. What
happened?”
“You were right to be worried,” Drakon said.
Her brow furrowed. Before she could speak, Eve and Beatrix
spilled out of the tower, each of them dressed in clothing suitable for
a mission.
Eve’s gaze landed on me, and she heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh,
thank fates you’re back. We had no idea where to look.”
Beatrix grinned.
“I was abducted by Ludovic,” I clarified Drakon’s vague
statement.
“Shiiite.” Beatrix grimaced.
Carrow looked at Drakon. “And you got her out?”
 “I got myself out. Mostly.” I caught sight of Drakon nodding in
curt agreement. “He got me here.”
“I just provided transportation,” he said.
It had been a bit more than that, but before I could say it,
questions were spilling from my friends’ lips.
“Why did he take you?”
“Where did he grab you?”
“Did you kill him?”
“Slow down and I’ll tell you.” I turned to Drakon. “But first, now
that we have backup, should we go back there and see if we can
catch him?”
“I like this plan.” Carrow grinned.
Skepticism flashed on Drakon’s face. “If he’s as smart as we think
he is, he’s already transported away. At best, some of his people
might be there.”
“We could grab one and question them.”
“I’ll go check it out,” he said. “It’s too dangerous for you.”
I scowled. “Is not. That’s just the mate bond talking. You know I
can handle myself.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it. “You’re right.
You can. If Ludovic is there, I’ll return immediately to collect you. If
he’s not, I’ll perform reconnaissance of the house with Dorian. In the
meantime, you could work on finding out where they’re planning the
attack. That’s our best chance at finding him.”
“I want to hear more about this attack.” Eve leaned forward. “But
first, I agree that it’s best he go alone, especially if Ludovic is that
determined to get you. And I think I’ve got something that could
help. A new potion I’ve been working on that will hide you from his
sight.”
“Hide me from his sight?
 “Yes. If you seek him out, he’ll see you. But if sends his goons
after you, or comes after you himself, they won’t be able to find you.
It’ll be like you’ve disappeared.”
“That’s amazing.”
“I know.” She grinned. “It’s new. I’ve been working on it for a
while. There’s a chance that if he gets close enough to you, the
potion will fail. But it should provide a lot of protection.”
“Well done.” I turned to Drakon. “Okay, we’ll do your plan. But be
careful.”
Something flashed in his eyes, and I swore I could read the
question in his mind. You care?
Because funny thing was—I did.
We’d spent too much time together. No matter how dangerous
and frustrating he was, an annoying part of me had become
attached to him.

Drakon

I left Mac with her friends, my heart still thundering from the fear I’d
felt when I’d realized she was in trouble. I could feel it like ice water
in my veins, and it never seemed to warm.
It didn’t help that my movements felt odd—almost like my limbs
were floating through water. I could move like normal, but it was
very clear that my body wasn’t truly there.
I shook away the dreadful thought as the ether ejected me back
onto the lawn in front of the foreboding house that Ludovic had
chosen for his secret headquarters.
 Immediately, I could feel that he wasn’t there. When Mac’s
distress had drawn me the first time, I’d felt his foul magic on the
air.
Now, it was gone. He’d realized what had happened and had
abandoned the property.
Smart of him.
If I could find him, I’d kill him. I knew Mac wanted answers
about her past—hell, I wanted answers about Mac’s past. It was still
a mystery why she’d buried me alive in that tomb.
But he posed such a threat to her that I couldn’t imagine letting
him live—not even long enough to question him. We still didn’t even
know what species he was—just that he’d been capable of inhabiting
the body of the man who’d called himself Ludovic.
He likely had a name of his own, but I didn’t know it.
Perhaps there would be records still in the house.
Perhaps there was truly information about the prophecy that
cursed me. Even now, I could feel that my time was limited. The
only way I knew to break the curse was to kill Mac, and that wasn’t
going to happen.
The mere idea made me ill.
In truth, it was the oddest damned feeling. The idea of violence
had never bothered me before. I was capable of almost anything.
But killing her?
There was a massive part of my mind that resisted so strongly
that it nearly gave me a headache. I shook the thoughts away,
unwilling to entertain them, and stepped toward the house.
I’d search the place from top to bottom. With any luck, I could
take one of his minions hostage and get some answers. I didn’t
need backup for a job so small, even though I’d promised to get
Dorian when I’d seen the worry in her gaze.
 Worry for me.
No.
It was insane to think that. I’d misread her, of course. No one
worried for me. That was ridiculous.
Not only was it unnecessary, but I didn’t have a personality that
invited it. I’d been alone all my life for good reason.
I was still several dozen meters away when the entire place when
up in brilliant blue flames. I lurched backward, shielding my eyes
from the blaze as heat blasted toward me. Magic consumed the
structure in seconds.
Damn it.
Without a backward glance, I transported myself back to my
home.
 4

Mac

After Drakon left, I followed my friends into the Shadow Guild tower.
The welcome scent of home washed over me. I breathed in the
aroma of the burning hearth combined with the floral scent of Eve’s
potion workshop on the second floor.
A partially completed puzzle sat on the coffee table in front of the
hearth, and Cordelia the raccoon sat on top of it, trying to put it
together.
“Oh man,” Beatrix moaned. “I’ve been working on that for ages.”
Cordelia shot her a glare.
Carrow, Cordelia’s person and the only one who could
understand her secret language, said, “She says she’s helping.”
“Sure.” Beatrix walked over.
I followed, and noticed that all of Cordelia’s pieces were
completely mismatched. I ruffled the raccoon’s head. “Good job.”
She gave a toothy grin.
 Beatrix flopped on the couch, but she clearly couldn’t help the
smile that tugged at her lips. Cordelia was cute as hell, even if she
was terrible at puzzles.
Carrow sat down in one of the squishy arm chairs, and I took the
other.
“Budge over.” Eve squished in next to Beatrix, who moved to
accommodate her.
Cordelia ignored us all and kept shoving the puzzle pieces
together at random.
“Well?” Carrow said. “Spill. You look like a chimney sweep.”
I laughed wearily, not wanting to know how bad I looked after
the explosion I’d used to escape the cell. My muscles ached as I
leaned back in the chair, exhausted. Then I sat bolt upright. “Wait,
who’s covering my shift at the Hound?”
“Quinn, so don’t worry,” Eve said. “Now spill.”
“Oh, good.” I relaxed back, but my heart rate stayed up as I told
the story of the abduction and what we’d found.
“An attack?” Carrow grimaced. “And you don’t know where?”
“This is all we’ve got.” I took the phone from my pocket and
pulled up the photo I’d taken of the plan, then put it on the table.
“We know some of their planned positioning during the attack, but
not where it’s going to happen.”
My friends leaned over to look at the map, and I racked my mind
for anything else I’d learned from what I’d seen on the desk. “We
did find a moon chart there.”
Eve’s head snapped up. “A moon chart?”
I nodded. “Shifters, right?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” Lachlan, Eve’s mate. was the Alpha of
the Guild City pack. Though she wasn’t technically a member of their
guild because she already belonged to ours, she was a member of
their pack by nature of being a wolf herself. “I’m not clued into the
gossip with the shifters, as you know. But Lachlan might know
something.”
“Can you ask?”
“I’ll do you one better. He’s at a meeting just down the street,
and I bet he can pop over here.”
“Thanks.” I looked at my other friends, hoping one of them would
miraculously recognize the place on the map.
Beatrix and Carrow just shook their heads.
“We’ll help you with this once you know where it is,” Carrow said.
“But I’m afraid I’m no help before that point.”
“Me neither,” Beatrix said.
“Thanks anyway.”
“But I can get you a snack.” Carrow grinned and hopped up,
disappearing into the kitchen before I could tell her not to worry
about it.
And honestly, I really wanted that snack.
A moment later, Drakon arrived. I felt him before I saw him, his
magic rolling over me like a wave that made my heart race. I turned
to see him standing at the open door. He knocked on the door
frame, and I gestured him in.
He strode inside with the confidence of a man who owned the
place, and he was so darkly beautiful that he seemed almost unreal.
There was a magnetic air about him that pulled at the deepest part
of me.
Little Cordelia dropped her puzzle piece while staring at him with
her mouth open. Beatrix reached over and shut it for her.
Apparently, the raccoon wasn’t immune either. People shouldn’t
be as beautiful and terrifying as Drakon. He shouldn’t be real. I
almost expected to blink and lose sight of him.
 I shook the thought away. I was losing it. “They were gone,
weren’t they?”
He nodded. “The house became engulfed in magical flames a
minute after my arrival. They had a plan in place, clearly.”
“Shit.”
“Are you any closer to determining where the event is taking
place?”
“Not yet, but we have a lead.” My attention caught on the door
behind him, where Lachlan appeared. “And here’s our lead. Perfect
timing, Lachlan.”
Drakon turned to face the massive shifter. Lachlan was identical
in height to Drakon, with a very similar build. The similarities ended
there, however. Lachlan’s face had the brutal beauty of a prize-
fighting poet, whereas Drakon was pure fallen angel grace.
The two men sized each other up briefly. Neither let their magical
signature show fully, but they were clearly well matched—albeit in
different ways. A fight between them would be magnificent and
terrifying.
Drakon nodded in greeting. “I am Drakon.”
“I know.” Lachlan strode in, confident and cool. “I’m Lachlan.” His
attention turned to me. “You have a problem?”
I nodded and pushed the phone toward him. He bent down and
picked it up, looking at the photo while I told him what little we
knew.
He frowned at it. “I don’t know where this is, but it’s my guess
that it is a Festival of the Moon. They’re happening all over the world
right now, hosted by various shifter clans.”
“Shit. So there’s more than one shifter festival going on?”
“Quite a few. We’re doing our own at our headquarters in
Scotland later this month. Fortunately, the setup looks nothing like
this.” He handed the phone back to me. “I can’t tell you where this is
going to be, but I can arrange a meeting with Glencarrough. If
anyone is going to know, it’s them.”
“Thanks.” It would be the next best place to look. Glencarrough
was the headquarters for many of the shifter packs, and it was hard
for an outsider to get an invite. With Lachlan's help, we’d get in
today.
He nodded and turned toward the door. “I’ll make the call now.”
As he disappeared back into the courtyard, Eve followed him out.
Drakon looked at me. “I’ll come with you to Glencarrough.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“I have as much invested in this as you do.”
“Of course.” He needed more info about how to break the curse,
and Ludovic was definitely his best bet.
Carrow returned with snacks, stopping dead in her tracks at the
sight of Drakon. Her brows rose. “You.”
He nodded briefly.
Her mouth flattened in annoyance. She hadn’t been fond of him
ever since he’d abducted me. I was over it, but I appreciated her
ride-or-die friendship. Beatrix was the same. She hadn’t stopped
studying Drakon with a suspicious gaze since he’d walked in.
Carrow handed me the grilled cheese sandwich she’d made me,
and I grinned gratefully. “My favorite. Thanks.”
“No problem.” She kept glaring at Drakon. “You can’t kidnap her
again, you know.”
He nodded sharply. “Of course.”
“Good.”
Lachlan reappeared in the doorway, Eve at his side.
“Glencarrough can see you today. Now, if you like.”
“Excellent.” I stood, taking the sandwich with me. “We’ll go.”
 “I can get us there,” Drakon said.
“Do you want backup?” Carrow asked, her gaze going between
me and the vampire.
I smiled but shook my head. “We’re good for now. I’ll let you
know when shit is about to really go down.”
“Good deal. But be careful.” She glared at Drakon for good
measure, and Eve and Beatrix did the same.
“I don’t envy you, mate,” Lachlan said.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of Drakon’s mouth, but he said
nothing.
“See you soon.” I quickly ate my sandwich while walking out to
the courtyard behind Drakon.
“Ready?” He turned to me.
I popped the last bite in my mouth, then held out my hand. “As
I’ll ever be.”
He gripped my hand in his, and I felt that familiar shiver race up
my arm. Desperately, I wanted to grip him tighter and pull him
toward me.
No.
That was an insane thought. It didn’t matter how good our kiss
had been before, it was crazy. But the heat that I felt was reflected
in his eyes, and I had to look away.
“You know where we’re going?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’ve never been inside the castle walls, but I know
the location.”
“That’ll do.”
A moment later, his magic flared on the air, and the ether sucked
us in, spinning us through space to spit us out on the lawn in front
of the massive walled castle that acted as Glencarrough’s
headquarters in the highlands of Scotland.
 Chaos surrounded us. Normally, the green and purple mountains
would be empty and serene. The faint sound of a breeze and the
echo of birdcalls would fill the air.
Today, it was the setting for a massive gathering of shifters.
Bagpipes blared, and people competed in all sorts of athletic
competitions. The scent of beer and sausages and fried dough filled
the air.
“They must be having one of the festivals of the moon that
Lachlan mentioned,” I said.
There had to be over two hundred people here, nearly all of
them shifters. Fortunately, the sun was lovely and bright and the
breeze cool. It was the perfect day, and the spirit of the occasion
infused the grinning faces of everyone around me.
I couldn't imagine Ludovic attacking another celebration like this.
It would be carnage.
“Why the hell does he want to do it?” I muttered.
“I’ve been wondering that myself.” Drakon inspected the crowd.
“I think he wants to replenish his collection of souls. He relied on
that powerful magic before we destroyed it.”
“Of course. He’s in a hurry, so a massive gathering of
supernaturals is perfect.” Though we didn’t have confirmation of our
theory, it just felt right.
And awful.
Fates, all those people wiped out in one terrible attack.
No way in hell I’d let that happen.
My gaze finally landed on Eleanor, the leader of Glencarrough
and the one we really needed to speak to. She was currently busy
competing in a dancing competition, and I was impressed by the
swiftness of her feet and the wide smile on her face. Normally, she
was hard as nails and just as reserved.
 “This way.” I headed toward her, and Lachlan followed.
We passed a group of runners crossing the finish line. They were
red faced and sweaty as they came from the direction of a steep hill
they’d apparently just climbed.
The man in the lead stumbled over the finish line, and one of the
waiting attendees handed him a cup of water and a can of Tennant’s
Lager. The sweating man dumped the water over his head and
chugged the beer.
I felt a smile crack the edge of my mouth. Next, we passed a
group of people throwing massive logs into the air. Caber toss. The
supernaturals were able to throw them much farther than humans
could, and I watched one guy hurl his over a hundred meters. The
next competitors threw theirs even farther.
We stopped at the edge of the short wooden stage that
supported the dancers. They finished their reel and bowed. Eleanor’s
eyes met mine, and the levity faded, replaced with the same calm
control that I was used to seeing.
She left the other dancers and approached us. “Lachlan told me
about your concerns.”
I nodded. “I’m convinced that the person planning this is capable
of incredible destruction. I’m hoping you can help us stop it.”
“Of course.” She turned and started toward the castle. “Come
this way.”
We followed her to the castle, but instead of going into the main
building, she led us into one of the guard towers. It was quiet and
cool inside, and she wiped her brow as she faced us. “Tell me
everything you know.”
I pulled my phone out and passed it to her, making sure that the
photo was showing on the screen. She stared down at it, frowning.
“This is the McCabe and Donahue packs, I’m sure of it. I saw their
plan just the other day. How the hell did this Ludovic person get
this?”
“They have spies everywhere, I’m sure.” I shivered at the
memory of their power. “Can they cancel the event?”
Even as I said it, I knew it might not be the smartest plan. If
Ludovic needed power, he was going to launch an attack on
innocents. At least if he attacked this festival, we’d know where it
was and be able to stop him.
But that put the shifters at risk, and guilt surged through me at
the idea of using someone else as bait.
“I’ll see if the packs will cancel the event, but it’s highly doubtful.
They’re both Texas packs.” She grimaced. “Stubborn as they come.
But let me call.”
She turned away and pulled a slim cell phone from the pocket of
her dress. Quickly, she dialed, not bothering to leave the room while
she waited for them to pick up. Drakon and I stayed silent, and I
leaned against the stone wall as I waited.
The conversation that passed did not inspire confidence. It was
easy enough to get one of the alphas on the line, but once she had
them, Eleanor seemed unable to convince them to cancel or accept
our help. She pulled out all the stops, too. If I’d been on the
receiving end of her dire warnings, I certainly would have heeded
them.
In the end, the Texas packs did not agree to cancel the event,
nor did they appear to be willing to accept help.
I’d never been so frustrated in my whole freaking life.
Eleanor hung up the phone and turned to us with a disappointed
frown tugging at the corner of her lips. “I can see from your
expression that you heard.”
“Yeah. Stubborn bastards.”
 “Indeed.” She sighed. “Though I am not terribly surprised. Any
other pack might have accepted help, but this is a special scenario.
These two packs have been fighting for decades over land rights.
They’ve finally come to a tentative peace, and this festival is
supposed to patch up the bad blood. Neither clan is willing to accept
help for fear of how it would look.”
“Damn it.” I scowled, then shook my head. “They’re getting it
anyway. I don’t care if we have to show up uninvited.” Anyway, they
were our best lead for finding Ludovic, and he was the only one who
had answers about how to save Drakon. So even if the shifters
wanted to be stubborn, we had too much on the line to let them.
“The only problem with that plan is that I still don’t know where
the festival is taking place,” Eleanor said. “The plan never included
that information.”
“Shit, really?”
“Really.” She shook her head. “They’re two of the most secretive
packs in the world. We’re lucky they submitted their plans to us at
all, but they were unwilling to give more details.”
“So you’ve no idea where they’ll meet?” Drakon asked. “Even a
small clue could give us enough to get help from witches or
sorcerers to track them.”
“I know they’re having a planning meeting at The Rocking Bull
Bar and Grill,” she said. “That should actually be happening tonight.
I think the festival is any day now.”
“Tonight?” My heart raced. “So if we can sneak into that meeting,
we can at least find out where the festival is.”
“Most likely. But you’ll need to be careful. They won’t allow non-
shifters in there.”
“So we need a disguise.”
Another random document with
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of A year in
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 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
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Title: A year in Russia

Author: Maurice Baring

Release date: December 9, 2023 [eBook #72360]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Methuen & Co, 1907

Credits: Richard Tonsing, Peter Becker, and the Online

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A YEAR IN

RUSSIA ***
Transcriber’s Note:
New original cover art included with this eBook is
granted to the public domain.
 A YEAR IN RUSSIA

BY
MAURICE BARING
AUTHOR OF “WITH THE RUSSIANS IN MANCHURIA,” ETC.

METHUEN & CO.

36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
 First Published in 1907

DEDICATED

TO

LADY CONSTANCE LYTTON

“Vieni a veder Montecchi e Cappelletti,

Monaldi e Filippeschi, uom senza cura;
Color già tristi e costor con sospetti.
Vien, crudel, vieni e vedi la pressura
De’ tuoi gentili, e cura lor magagne:
E vedrai Santafior come si cura.
Vieni a veder la tua Roma, che piagne,
Vedova, sola, e dì e notte chiama:
Cesare mio, perchè non m’ accompagne?”

Dante (Purg. VI.)

“Une nation ne se sépare jamais de son passé sans de cruels déchirements.”

“Why, Sir, absolute princes seldom do any harm. But they who are governed by
them are governed by chance. There is no security for good government.”

Dr. Johnson
 PREFACE

The basis of most of these chapters is composed of letters

contributed during the current year to the Morning Post, by whose
kind permission they are here republished. They reflect the fleeting
ideas, the passing moods of the moment; but as the various moments
of which they reflect some kind of image form part of what must
constitute an eventful chapter of Russian history, I have thought that
it would be worth while to republish them, so as to furnish some kind
of record of what people were thinking and saying while the
interesting things—which history will relate—were happening, and so
as to give a few sidelights showing the attitude of “the man in the
street,” during the hours of crisis. Such sidelights tend to show how
little even the greatest crises in the lives of States affect the daily life
of the average man. The people who cry out that the state of things is
intolerable and not to be borne are, for the most part, well-to-do
people who work up their indignation towards the end of a good
dinner. The people who to the far-off looker-on seem to be
undergoing intolerable oppression are themselves lookers-on, and
they scarcely look, hardly realise and seldom say anything.
I have endeavoured in these chapters to present impartially the
widely divergent points of view of various people; at the same time I
have made no attempt to disguise the whereabouts of my
sympathies, being mindful of the sage, who, as Renan translates him,
says: “Ne sois pas trop juste, et n’affecte pas trop de sagesse de peur
d’être un niais.”
These sidelights being the reflections of fugitive phases, I have
made no attempt to introduce an element of consistency into them,
nor have I in the light of subsequent events tried to modify the effect
of the hopes which proved to be illusory or of the fears which were
groundless—hopes and fears which I myself shared with those by
whom I heard them expressed.
To those who take a serious interest in the Russian evolution I
would suggest two valuable books, “The Crisis in Russia,” by
Professor Milioukov (London: Fisher Unwin, 1905), and “La Crise
Russe,” by Maxime Kovalevsky (Paris: Giard & E. Brière, 16, Rue
Souflot, 1906).
“Modern Customs and Ancient Laws of Russia,” by the same
author (Nutt, 1891), will be useful to the student of the past history of
Russia. Nor can one too often recommend “L’Empire des Tsars,” by
M. Leroy-Beaulieu. Sir Donald Mackenzie Wallace’s work on Russia
needs no recommendation. All these books, which deal with the past
of Russia, will help the student to understand what is happening at
present; for without some knowledge of the past history of Russia,
what is now taking place cannot but be incomprehensible.

St. Petersburg
CONTENTS
 PAGE
PREFACE ix
INTRODUCTION xiii
CHAPTER
I. ST. PETERSBURG TO GODZIADAN 1
II. JEN-TZEN-TUNG 11
III. THE STRIKE AND THE MANIFESTO OF OCTOBER 21
(30TH) 17TH
IV. MOSCOW AFTER THE MANIFESTO 31
V. ST. PETERSBURG BEFORE THE SECOND STRIKE 39
VI. MOSCOW—THE DECEMBER RISING 43
VII. MOSCOW—AFTER THE RISING 63
VIII. THE “INTELLIGENZIA” 75
IX. THE BEGINNING OF THE REACTION 84
X. CURRENT IDEAS IN ST. PETERSBURG 97
XI. DOSTOIEVSKI’S ANNIVERSARY 121
XII. THE POLITICAL PARTIES 128
XIII. IN THE COUNTRY 137
XIV. THE ELECTIONS 152
XV. EASTER AT MOSCOW—THE FOREIGN LOAN 162
XVI. THE AGRARIAN QUESTION—ON THE EVE OF THE 178
DUMA
XVII. THE OPENING OF THE DUMA 191
XVIII. FURTHER IMPRESSIONS OF THE DUMA 202
XIX. THE DEADLOCK 212
XX. CURRENT IDEAS ON THE DUMA 225
XXI. THE BEGINNING OF DISORDER 233
XXII. PRINCE URUSSOFF’S SPEECH 250
XXIII. NAZARENKO, AND OTHER PEASANT MEMBERS 258
XXIV. THE DISSOLUTION OF THE DUMA 281
XXV. IN THE COUNTRY AFTER THE DISSOLUTION 288
INDEX 309
 INTRODUCTION

This book is nothing else but a collection of notes, a bundle of

impressions gathered during a year’s stay in Russia. It lays no claim
to be either exhaustive or even of any practical use to the serious
student of the Russian Evolution. It is written for the ignorant, and
with the object of helping them to decide whether they wish to take
an interest in what is now happening in Russia, or not. I cannot take
them into the house and show them all over it from floor to ceiling
with the knowledge and authority of a master-builder; all I can do is
to open a small window and ask them to look through it and observe
certain things, pointing out how far these things are typical of the
whole; and my hope is that the glimpses I have given them will
enable them to decide whether they wish to go and knock at the front
door and investigate for themselves.
This book consists solely of a record of things I have seen and
heard myself in Russia during an interesting year of the history of
that country. My experience of English opinion on Russian things
has convinced me that in order to make such a record as intelligible
as possible, a great deal of introduction and explanation would be
necessary. The reason of this is that the ignorance in England about
Russia is extraordinary; and most of the current literature—I mean
the books published on Russian affairs—instead of dispelling that
ignorance, succeed rather in increasing it. Russia and Russian affairs
are so little known in England that the country has proved a happy
hunting ground for sensational writers of fiction and still more
sensational purveyors of facts. Leaving the writers of fiction out of
the question, the chief bar which seems to separate writers about
Russia from a just estimate and a valuable appreciation of that
country is the language. It is possible to convey information about
Russia if you are ignorant of the Russian language; and such
information may prove to be not only useful, but of surprising
interest to people who are totally ignorant of the country. But unless
you are acquainted with the Russian language it is impossible to
acquire an intimate knowledge of the Russian people, and it is
difficult to understand many things which happen in Russia.
I had, therefore, the intention, before proceeding to a record of any
things I had seen myself, to collect and convey the impressions I had
received of the Russian character and of Russian life in various
classes, correcting and illustrating my impressions by those of others
who have worked in the same field, and by evidence drawn from
Russian literature. I meant to try and illustrate books by examples
taken from life, and throw light on events and people by examples
taken from literature; but I found when I began to do this that the
writing of such an introduction was equivalent to the writing of two
large books, one on the Russian people and one on Russian
literature, a task which I still hope to accomplish some day, but for
which I do not at present feel sufficiently equipped. Moreover, even
were I sufficiently equipped, the writing of two such books cannot be
accomplished in a hurry in a country which is in a state of political
effervescence. I have therefore sadly resigned myself to work
backwards, and give to the public my record of raw facts first and the
explanation at a later date.
Nevertheless in giving this collection of scraps to the public I still
have an aim and a purpose. As I have said, Englishmen are
amazingly ignorant of Russia; not only because they deliberately
prefer the works of sensation-mongers to those of really well-
informed writers like Sir D. M. Wallace or M. Leroy-Beaulieu, but
also because, when they honestly seek for truth in the newspapers
which are by way of being serious, they are almost invariably misled.
On the other hand Englishmen who live in Russia, even if only for a
short period—such as officers from the Indian Army who come out
on leave to learn the language—find no difficulty in forming a just
appreciation of the country and its people. It has always struck me
that if any such person were to write a record of what he saw and
thought, that record would have a real value because it would
constitute an aspect of the truth and not an aspect of the lie. This is
therefore my aim, and it is the only merit I claim for this work. It
contains aspects of things, seen by some one whose object was to try
and understand the ordinary and not to invent the extraordinary.
And therefore, although my work has no sort of claim to be taken
seriously, either as history, or as a manual of useful information, it
will have the negative merit of being free from any attempt at
sensationalism, and, I hope, the positive merit of containing some
aspects of the truth, some unvarnished record of la chose vue.
If what I have written leads others to take an interest in Russia and
to go and see for themselves, and to treat exhaustively in a masterly
fashion the things at which I have hinted incompletely and haltingly,
I shall feel amply rewarded.
Somebody might object that even if we are totally ignorant of
Russia in England there is no great harm done, that Russia is a far-
off country with an impossibly difficult language; why should we
bother about it? To this I would reply that the British people have
shown themselves to be gravely concerned about the increasing
competition with which the Englishman has to contend in all
branches of life, and at the alarming improvement in the methods of
his neighbours, which is met by no similar improvement at home.
British trade, British influence, are rapidly, it is said, being
outstripped. Remedies, such as protection, are suggested. As to
whether such a remedy would prove efficacious or not I have no idea;
but one practical reason of our stagnation in certain matters cannot
fail to strike the most indolent observer. Our neighbours are well and
practically educated. We are not. Is not this fact the cause of a great
many things? If we want to remedy an evil we must look for the
cause. I firmly believe that the unpractical education which is given
to so many of us is largely responsible for the comparative stagnation
of Englishmen in matters of trade and enterprise, compared with the
sedulous efforts of the citizens of other countries. I am not
advocating the introduction of a purely continental system of
education, nor would I like to see our system of athletics disappear;
but it is obvious that there is not and never will be any danger of
either of these two things happening. But I never mean to lose an
opportunity of advocating a radical reform in the old-fashioned
strictly classical education given and received at our public schools
and rendered necessary by the obstinacy of our universities, owing to
which Greek and Latin are taught (but no longer learned except by a
slender minority), to the exclusion of all other useful knowledge.
 The mass of boys who now learn nothing because Greek and Latin
mean nothing to them, would gladly assimilate something which
would be useful to them in after life: for instance, some smattering of
their own history, some mastery of the English tongue, or the
knowledge of a modern language.
There is no country where the disadvantage at which an
Englishman finds himself compared to his continental rivals is made
so plain as in Russia. In Russia there is, and there will be even more
in the future, an immense field for foreign enterprise. The Germans
have taken, are taking, and will take the utmost advantage of this
fact. The English are content to send advertisements here, written in
the English language, and never dream of trying to learn Russian
themselves.
A working knowledge of the Russian language is acquired here by
the average British officer, working for an examination, in the course
of six months. Therefore this difficulty, though serious, is not
insurmountable. This, then, is the practical reason which I advance
for the furthering of knowledge about Russia. I say that such
knowledge is useful and advantageous to Englishmen. I have another
reason for wishing such knowledge to be propagated, which is
personal and moral, but not sentimental. It is this. I confess that I
entertain perhaps a foolish desire for goodwill among nations. Of
course I know very well that rivalries and conflicts must exist.
Sometimes such rivalries and conflicts are the result of a
fundamental antagonism and of the struggle for existence. But
sometimes they are merely the outcome of misunderstanding and
prejudice.
One of the wickedest things which shelters itself under the holy
name of patriotism is the spirit which stirs up such prejudice and
incites one country against another groundlessly by playing on
ignorance and popular passion. With regard to Russia this has been
done with considerable success. So far from considering such action
to be patriotic, I consider it to be criminal; and although it may not
be of the slightest interest to any one to hear this opinion expressed,
to express it is a pleasure which I cannot deny myself. Whatever
faults this book may contain, I mean to make up for the
disappointments which it has caused me by indulging to the full in
the luxury of saying exactly what I think in its pages. I cannot,
unfortunately, hope to be among those masters who, speaking with
inspired authority and unerring skill, compel the crowd to listen to
their message, and at the sound of whose clarion-like utterance the
“forts of folly” fall to the ground like the walls of Jericho. Mine is a
humbler task, a more inglorious ambition. I hope to be like an
obscure mouse who nibbles in the darkness at the net which holds
the lion captive. The mouse in his lifelong effort succeeds perhaps
only in gnawing away a little; and I shall be content if I succeed in
nibbling through the most tenuous thread of this great net of error,
misunderstanding, and falsehood. There are other mice who will
come after me, and who knows? perhaps one day the lion will be set
free.
Finally, if it be asked from what point of view I approach my study
of Russia, I would answer that I have no political views whatever in
the matter; I have tried to make it my business to discover,
understand, and explain the points of view of the people with whom I
have met; with some of these views I sympathise, with others I do
not. I have already said that I have not disguised my sympathies, but
I have attempted to understand even what repelled me; my attitude
is that of a sympathetic friend, for whether the Frenchman who said
“L’intelligence est presque toujours la sympathie” was right or
wrong, I am convinced that the converse is true, and that the spirit of
carping is nearly related to stupidity.
A YEAR IN RUSSIA
 CHAPTER I
ST. PETERSBURG TO GODZIADAN

August 8, 1905.

I left St. Petersburg this evening for Manchuria. The one absorbing
discussion in St. Petersburg is the question of the peace negotiations.
Will there be peace or not?

In the train on the way to Irkutsk,

August 11th.

I started for Irkutsk on the 9th from Moscow. The train is crowded
with people—officers going to the war, men of business going to
Siberia, women and children. It is exceedingly hot. The last time I
travelled in this Trans-Siberian express the winter had just given way
to the leafless and bare aspect of early spring. Now we travel through
great stretches of green plains, past huge fir-woods which are burnt
and browned by the heat. The topic of the peace negotiations
continues to prevail above all other topics. I am constantly asked my
opinion. We have just received the latest telegrams from Portsmouth.
A man of business asked me if I thought there would be peace. I said
“Yes.” “There won’t be,” he replied. The railway line is fringed all the
way with pink flowers, which, not being a botanist, I take to be
ragged robin. At night the full moon shines spectral and large over
the dark trees and marshes, and every now and then over stretches of
shining water. The officers discuss the war from morning till night.
They abuse their generals mercilessly. They say that it is impossible
for Russians to look foreigners in the face. In my compartment there
is an army doctor. He assisted at the battle of Mukden and is now
returning for the second time to the war. He tells me that he wrote a
diary of his experiences during the battle and that he is unable to re-
read it now, so poignantly painful is the record. He trusts there will
not be peace. He is sanguine as to the future. He loathes the liberal
tendencies in Russia and detests Maxim Gorki. Yet he is no Jingo.
A gentleman from Moscow, and his wife, on the contrary, inveigh
bitterly against the Government and the war. (I saw these same
people again at Moscow after the December rising. Their house was
situated in a street where the firing had been heavy and abundant.
They had had enough of revolution and blamed the revolutionaries
as severely then as they now blamed the Government.) We
constantly pass trains full of troops going to the war. The men all ask
the same question: “When is peace going to be?” They ask for
newspapers and cigarettes. I gave some of them some bottles of
whisky, which they drank off then and there out of the bottle. An
amusing incident happened last evening. We had stopped at a siding.
Everybody had got out of the train. I was walking up and down the
platform with one of the passengers. We saw a soldier throwing big
stones at the window of the washing compartment.
“What are you doing that for?” we asked.
“I want to speak to his Honour,” the soldier said; “he is washing
his face in the washing-room.” And through the window of the
compartment, lit by electric light, we could see the silhouette of an
officer washing his face.
“Why don’t you go and knock at the door?” we asked.
“They are” (to speak of a person in the third person plural is
respectful in Russian, and is always done by inferiors of their
superiors)—“they are ‘having taken drink’ (Oni Vipimshi),” he
replied, and then he added, lest we should receive a false impression,
“His Honour is very good.”
As we passed train after train of troops I reflected on the rashness
of prophecy. How often I had heard it said in London, when the war
broke out, that the line would break down immediately. Even when I
reached Mukden I heard people say that the line could not possibly
last through the summer, and here it is supporting gaily train after
train in the second year of the war.

On the way to Chita, August 20th.

We arrived at Irkutsk on the morning of the 17th and took the train
for Baikal. At Irkutsk station there was a train of sick soldiers
returning from the war. They begged for newspapers. The tedium of
their long journey is, they say, intolerable. They say there has been a
good deal of typhus in Manchuria.
We crossed the lake in the steamer. Its summer aspect is far less
striking than the strange glory which it wears when it is frozen, and
the distant mountains seem like “a sunny pleasure dome with caves
of ice.” In summer the waters are blue, the nearer hills grey and the
distant mountains blue, but with nothing strange or unreal about
them. Yet when the sunset silvered the grey tints and spread a ragged
golden banner in the sky, the lake was extremely beautiful in another
way. At Baikal station there was the usual struggle for places in the
train. How well I remembered the desperate struggle I had gone
through to get a seat in a third-class carriage at this same place last
year! This time it was in the first-class carriage that the conflict took
place. An engineer got into the same carriage as I did. He occupied
one of the lower berths and I the other. Presently a lady arrived,
bound for Chita, and looking for a place. She came into our carriage
and asked to be allowed to have one of the lower berths. The
engineer flatly refused and said that he had occupied his seat and
had a right to keep it. I told her I would let her have mine with
pleasure. She occupied it and went out. I moved my things into the
upper berth. “Why on earth did you give up your seat?” the engineer
asked. “You had a right to keep it.” When the lady came back she
said to me: “Ah! you are evidently not a Russian; no Russian would
have given up his place.” The engineer turned out to be quite a good-
natured sort of person, but there is something about trains which
makes people who are by nature mild and good-natured turn into
savages, and instils into them a passionate determination to cleave to
their rights. The next morning another man arrived in our carriage,
with a large basket and a second-class ticket. This upset the engineer,
who complained to the “Controller” of the train, and the poor man
was turned out. The engineer snorted and said: “There’s an insolent
fellow for you.” The lady was the wife of an engineer who was
employed at Chita; and she told me much about life in Chita: how
hard times were, owing to the war, how scarce food was getting—
“Und wie so teuer der Kaffee,
Und wie so rar das Geld!”