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BITE ME

LINSEY HALL
 CONTENTS

Untitled

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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue

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

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 1

Macbeth O’Connell (Mac)

Some days, you’re the pigeon; some days, you’re the statue.
Today, I was the statue.
The Haunted Hound Pub was overly packed, and I was the only
one on shift. Worse, a complete moron had just dropped his beer
bottle on the ground, shattering it and spraying the contents
everywhere.
As I knelt to clean the spill, I was pretty sure he’d done it on
purpose.
Those suspicions were confirmed when he ambled up to inspect
my work. His friends watched from the sidelines, eyes bright with
anticipation.
I gritted my teeth and looked up at him, the wet rag clutched in
my hand. “Can I help you?”
“You sure can.” He gave me a cocky grin and pointed at his
crotch. “While you’re down there, I’ve got something else that could
use some attention.”
 His friends guffawed, and his eyes lit with satisfaction.
Bastard.
I smiled broadly and stood. “Based on your attitude, I have a
feeling I’d have a real hard time finding it.”
The smarmy smile faded from his face. “Uh…”
“That’s what I thought. But nice to meet you, anyway. I’m
Macbeth O’Connell.”
He paled slightly, wobbling drunkenly on shaky legs. “Shit, I
didn’t realize you were Mac.” He raised his hands. “Sorry, sorry.”
I felt my smile take on a razor’s edge. I’d been tending bar at the
Haunted Hound long enough to get a rep around magical London,
and as usual, it came in handy.
From behind him, his friends snickered.
“Well, it looks like your friends set you up. If you don’t want me
to break a wine cooler over your head, you’ll promise never to talk
to another woman like that ever again.”
“Of-of course!”
“Now turn around and walk out.”
He scurried away, and I thanked my lucky stars. I’d have
delivered on my promise, but I didn’t want to clean up another
mess. Anyway, it’d be a shame to waste a perfectly good wine
cooler. They were highly underrated beverages.
As the door closed behind him and his friends, I finished cleaning
up the spill and returned to the bar to fill more orders. To improve
my mood, I changed the music on the bar’s speakers and grinned as
’80s Bonnie Tyler blared. She might be holding out for a hero, but I
had no such illusions that one was going to walk through the door.
In all my years as combo bartender and bouncer, I’d never seen
anything close to a hero walk through those doors. At least, not the
kind of hero Bonnie was talking about.
 As if on command, the door to the pub opened. My gaze moved
toward it out of long habit. If the person who walked in was familiar,
I’d let them pass through the pub and into Guild City, London’s
secret magical enclave. If they were unfamiliar and shifty-looking, I’d
have to keep an eye on them.
The Haunted Hound served as a portal between regular London
and the hidden magical city that humans didn’t realize existed. I was
the first line of defense for my beloved city, and I took that job
seriously.
When a regular walked in, I relaxed. At least I knew that Cleo
wouldn’t cause problems. She’d have a Guinness at the end of the
bar and mind her manners.
Cleo took her favorite seat and leaned over the wooden expanse
to catch my eye.
“The usual?” I asked.
“Yeah, thanks.” She frowned. “But first…you know how I’m
hooked into the good gossip?”
I nodded. Cleo was a hairdresser who knew everyone in town.
“Well,” she continued, “I’ve been hearing about this super
terrifying guy. Like, Devil of Darkvale scary—maybe even worse—
and he’s looking for someone who sounds a lot like you.”
“Me?” I scoffed.
My life was pretty boring. Cool things happened to my friends,
but I spent most of my time tending bar here and hanging out on
the couch at home. “Nah. Not many people are as scary as the Devil
of Darkvale, and there’s no reason he’d look for someone like me.”
Cleo shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right. Probably nothing.”
“Let me get you that Guinness.” I built her beer, then filled a few
more orders. The night continued as usual, with plenty of regulars
passing through from London’s Covent Garden neighborhood into
Guild City. I kept the music blaring on the speakers despite Cleo’s
complaints. It had been a shitty night, and ‘80s power ballads were
my one vice. Besides the occasional sneaky wine cooler, of course.
An hour later, after Cleo had left, I headed over to clean a table
near the door. While I was wiping it off, the bell that hung over the
entryway chimed, announcing a new patron.
“Take a seat anywhere,” I called without looking up. There
weren’t many seats left, but it was also possible they were just
passing through to Guild City.
Finally finished with the table, I picked up my spray bottle and
turned to go. Immediately, I slammed into a wall of a man.
Gasping, I stumbled backward and looked up.
Holy fates. The sight of him hit me like a sucker punch to the
gut.
Whoa.
My heart shot into my throat, and my skin turned hot and cold at
once. He towered over me, as solid and immoveable as a mountain.
No, not a mountain—a glacier, powerful, icy cold, and capable of
carving the world around him to fit his desires. If he desired it, you’d
be dead before you realized.
I’d never seen a man like him before, impossibly handsome and
yet utterly terrifying. His face had the divine perfection of an
otherworldly god—black hair, sharp cheekbones, a blade-like jaw,
and full lips. But it was his eyes that captured me…such a brilliant
blue that they were impossible to look away from.
But I wished I could. He stared at me with a burning hatred that
set my soul alight in the worst fashion. His predator’s grace made
me feel like prey as he towered over me, his broad shoulders
blocking my view of the door.
 The silence that tightened the air between us could have only
lasted a second, but it felt like a millennium. Danger rolled out from
him in waves, along with a sense of familiarity that tugged at my
mind.
What the hell?
I’d never seen this guy before in my life. I’d certainly remember
if I had. A person didn’t forget a man like him, especially when he
looked at you like he wanted to tear your head off. His eyes traced
over my face. They flickered with flame and ice, and a shiver ran
down my spine.
Then his gaze moved to my neck, and his eyes lit with heat.
I swallowed hard, feeling my throat move. His gaze flared, and
his full lips parted slightly, revealing white teeth—two of which were
slightly pointed.
Vampire.
Oh, fates.
“Come with me.” His voice vibrated with power, lighting up my
soul and tugging at my subconscious.
I felt the strangest desire to obey and nearly stepped forward.
Then I frowned.
Hell, no.
“No, thanks.” I stepped back, desperate to get away. He was
trying to compel me. The strongest vampires had that ability, and I
shouldn’t be able to fight the compulsion. Somehow, though, I was.
He blinked, surprise flashing in his eyes, and gave me a
considering look. Without a word, he turned and took a seat along
the wall.
Feeling like a coward, I scuttled back to the bar. What the hell
was my problem? Normally, I’d demand to know what his problem
was. I ruled my bar with an iron fist when I was on shift, keeping it
running smoothly even when shit hit the fan.
But something about him froze my tongue in my mouth.
Danger.
I could all but smell it on the air around him, and I needed to
keep my distance.
I also needed to get my shit together, because freaking out was
so not me.
Behind the bar, I tried to catch up on orders as I stole glances at
him. He sprawled in the chair against the wall like he owned the
place, his grace and power on display for the world to see. Other
patrons avoided him, shooting wary looks his way.
But he never came over to order a drink.
Okay, that was weird.
I turned away to build another pint of Guinness, but every
second was overlaid by the feeling of the man’s gaze burning into
my back. It made my heart race and skin heat.
I reached up to tug on the long ponytail that hung over my
shoulder. It was a bad habit, a nervous tic that had made me chop
all my hair off a few years ago. But I’d become sick of the short ’do
and had grown it out recently. A bit of magic had helped, and it was
down to my shoulder blades, the perfect length for anxiety tugging.
Maybe I’d have to chop it off again.
The next hour passed without incident, except for the man who
sat against the wall, his eyes riveted to me. An aura of danger
vibrated around him so strongly that the tables on either side of him
stayed empty all night. Some people even left the bar, their drinks
half drunk and their steps hurried as they skirted around him. Every
minute that passed wound me tighter and tighter.
What the hell was he?
 He couldn’t be just a vampire. He was more than that.
Something special.
But I had no idea what else he was. It wasn’t always possible to
identify other supernaturals by sight. For example, no one could tell
that I was a seer with extremely mediocre powers.
I found myself inching toward the stash of potion bombs that my
friend Eve had made for me. I kept them under the bar, a magical
version of the bartender’s bat. I was good with my fists, but this guy
would require more than a punch if he acted on the venom in his
stare.
Finally, my shift was nearly over, and he was the only one left in
the place. The Haunted Hound would stay open so that patrons
could continue to pass through to Guild City, but since it was after
midnight, it would likely remain quiet until morning.
I looked at the clock, wanting Quinn to get here so that I could
get the hell out and leave him to deal with the sexy probable-
murderer in the corner. My shifter friend could handle it. I could, too
—and normally, I’d want to—but something about this guy told me
to get the hell away.
But Quinn still hadn’t arrived by the time the last patron cleared
out, leaving only me and the mysterious newcomer.
Immediately, he stood.
My heart leapt into my throat. As he strolled toward me with the
deadly grace of a panther, I inched toward the bowl of potion bombs
beneath the counter.
“I wouldn’t.” His voice was smooth as whiskey and filled with
such quiet confidence that it was clear he controlled the world
around him. No one disobeyed him.
Well, he hadn’t met me yet.
 “Wouldn’t what?” I cocked an eyebrow, going for a bravado I
didn’t quite feel. If life had taught me one thing, it was that
cockiness could get you a long way.
“Reach for whatever weapon you’ve got under there.”
“I don’t know, I’m pretty fast.” But apparently, I’d also have to be
clever. Good thing I was. “Why have you been sitting in the corner
like a creeper all night?”
His brilliant blue eyes flicked over me, but I read no offense there
—probably because he seemed to think I was a bug he could crush
under his shoe. Disdain was written all over his face.
It raised my hackles, making me want to punch him in the nose
and tug anxiously at my hair, all at the same time. Instead, I
demanded, “Why did you spend the entire night staring at me?”
He stepped up to the bar, close enough that his magic slammed
into me. It took everything I had not to gasp and move backward.
I’d never felt anyone as powerful as he was.
Every magical being was identifiable by the taste, sound, smell,
feel, or look of our magic. Stronger supernaturals had signatures
that corresponded to all five of the senses, which sure as hell wasn’t
me.
But this guy…
Yeah, he had all five. He’d been keeping them hidden before, but
his magic now crashed over me as a wave, carrying with it the
roaring sound of the ocean on a rocky shore and the whip of cold
wind. The taste of the finest whiskey rolled over my tongue, and
when I inhaled, I got the scent of the most divine spices. All good
signatures, until I got to the sound—the screams of the damned.
They made my skin chill and my heart race.
But the worst part was his aura, black as night and shot through
with streaks of red that reminded me of blood. Only the most
powerful supernaturals had auras, and I’d never seen one like his.
Hell, I’d never felt one that was such a combination of good and
evil.
“Well?” I demanded, barely managing to keep my voice from
shaking. “What do you want with me?”
“You would attempt to play stupid?” he asked. “You are many
things, MacKenna Carraday, but stupid is not one of them. Evil, yes.
Devious, certainly. But not stupid.”
“I’m not MacKenna Carraday, pal.”
“Oh, you most certainly are.” He leaned on the bar, the corner of
his mouth tugged up in a devilish smirk. “I’d recognize you
anywhere.”
“Well, you’re wrong. It’s just a case of mistaken identity. I’m
Macbeth O’Connell. Mac to my friends, which you aren’t.”
“I’m not wrong.”
“Oh, bite me. ”
“I’d be delighted.” One side of his top lip pulled up into the first
smile I’d seen on him, revealing a fang.
Vampires didn’t tend to bite without permission, but it was clear
that this one was used to taking what he wanted, when he wanted
it, and to hell with the consequences.
I swallowed hard and resisted the urge to run.
“Well, MacKenna? What do you have to say for your actions?”
“Not mine, pal. I look like a lot of people.” Long blonde hair that
I’d recently grown out, brown eyes, medium height. Pretty enough if
I tried, with a sense of style that ran toward lumberjack.
Occasionally, I went all out with something nice, but my jeans and
flannel shirt over a tank top were more common. “Seriously, you
have the wrong woman.”
 He leaned back and looked me up and down. “You’re hiding your
signature, but it’s got the scent of a misty morning by the river. I
would know that scent anywhere.”
Shock flashed through me. “How do you know that?”
“Because you’re MacKenna Carraday, and you put me in the
ground five years ago.”
Shit, in the ground? “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar. You buried me alive five years ago today, leaving me to rot
in a tomb made of stone.”
A laugh escaped me, but it died as soon as I saw how serious he
was. My skin chilled.
Holy fates, he believed this. Like, really believed it.
“I didn’t do that. Five years ago, I lived in Newcastle and worked
at the Broad Reach Pub. I certainly wasn’t wherever you came from,
burying you alive.”
“You can lie all you want, but it happened. And I’m here to return
the favor.”
“Return the favor?” Fear rocketed through me, so fierce that it
took my breath.
He stepped closer, menace in every hint of movement.
I wasn’t the woman he thought I was, but it was clear as day
that he believed otherwise. And he had the power to act on it.
This bastard was going to kill me.
He was close enough that I could reach him, and I needed the
element of surprise with someone as powerful as him. Quick as a
snake, I lashed out and grabbed his upper arm.
His reflexes were too fast, though. Before I could disorient him
with my magic, he’d grabbed me by the collar and hauled me toward
the bar. The expanse of wood separated us, but we were so close
that I could see the silver flecks in his irises.
 “You dare to attack me?” he murmured, sending a shiver of heat
down my spine. “Not wise.”
“Never been known for my wisdom.” I gripped his shoulder and
fed a blast of my magic into him. His gaze went fuzzy as my power
temporarily disoriented him, and I yanked myself away, dropping
back behind the bar.
The maneuver took a lot of my magic, but it was enough to buy
me the few seconds I needed to grab one of the potion bombs
beneath the counter. I hurled it at him, savagely satisfied as it
crashed against his chest in a splash of blue and green.
Stunner bomb. A powerful one.
Shock flashed on his face before he collapsed backward,
unconscious.
“Didn’t expect that, did you?” I dusted off my hands. My ability to
disorient with a touch was a rare one, and it came in damned handy
sometimes.
“Thank you, Eve,” I muttered. It’d been a long time since I’d had
to use her stash, but thank fates for it.
I raced around the bar, heart pounding. If a human walked in
right now, they’d be freaked out to see the unconscious giant on my
floor. I needed to get him behind the bar, stat.
What the hell I would do with him then, I didn’t know.
Quickly, I grabbed his wrists. When my bare skin touched his,
energy shot through me, more power than I’d ever felt. It brought
with it the most horrifying sense of familiarity.
I recognized him.
Or at least my body did.
Still, I had no idea who he actually was. I shoved the shivery
feelings aside and dragged him behind the bar. As I heaved him into
the shadows, I used my weak seer sense to learn what I could about
him. Normally, I’d consider that an invasion of privacy. Now, it was
only smart. I needed whatever info I could get out of this guy, and
even though I wasn’t a proper seer, I could still glean something
useful. And oddly, when I touched him, my power felt a bit stronger
than normal. I could see more clearly.
For one, he really believed the story of which he was accusing
me. I looked just like the woman he was hunting, and she’d locked
him in a tomb five years ago.
Two, he was immortal, so he’d survived in that tomb for four
years before gaining his freedom. No wonder he was a little off his
rocker. That would make anyone crazy.
And three, he was the most powerful vampire I’d ever met, and I
knew the original Vlad the Impaler. He had massive strength and
speed, along with the ability to compel. Worse, it seemed that he
could make people feel terror and pain with just a touch.
Holy fates, that was awful.
How the hell was any of this possible? If he really was as
powerful as he seemed and so damned angry with me, I didn’t stand
a chance.
My mind raced. I could kill him now, while he was unconscious. It
was the only smart thing to do.
And yet, he was unconscious. No way I could kill him. I’d done
some questionable things in my past, but nothing like that.
Shit, shit, shit.
Surely he wanted something more than my death. I could give it
to him.
Desperate, I reached out with my power. It was weak, especially
since I’d used the burst to disorient him, but I was able to get a hint
of something.
 A secret society. Their shadowy faces hovered at the edges of his
mind, both threatening and annoying at the same time. Annoying
because he was so powerful that nothing ever threatened him…
except the mystery woman who’d somehow pulled one over on him.
Either way, the secret society had something of his that he wanted
very badly.
As I rested my hand on his wrist, I got another hint of
something.
Connection.
I didn’t understand it, but my seer sense was telling me there
was something here that I couldn’t see. Something more.
Even stranger, I was getting the strongest sense that I needed to
go with him to this place. There were answers there, or maybe
answers with him.
But that made no sense. My life was pretty much an open book.
Or it had been, until now.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something here I
needed to figure out. Something about him. It was the most
gnawing curiosity.
Who was he? Who was he to me?
He shifted, and the magic in the air changed dramatically. With
incredible speed, he leapt upright, fully conscious.
“Shit.” I scrambled backward, too far away from the potion
bombs to grab another. “You should still be unconscious.” I should
have had hours, damn it.
“Treacherous, just as I expected.” He prowled toward me with
the grace of a lion about to devour its prey.
“Duh. You’d just said you were going to kill me.”
He reached me, stopping just before making contact. I’d backed
all the way up to the liquor shelves, and we stood so close that I
could feel the heat of his body.
I shivered. “Get away.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me?”
“No. I don’t do that kind of thing.” Well, I did, but I only killed
demons and other one-hundred-percent evil beings.
Which he was. Mostly.
“Oh, yes, you do,” he murmured, his blue eyes searching my
face. “And five years ago, you tried to kill me.”
 2

Drakon

I stared down at the woman who had haunted my every waking

moment for the last five years. It was her.
Finally.
My Bride.
The one woman fated specifically for me, meant to end the
centuries of loneliness. Meant to end my immortality. The scent of
her was divine, her blood ambrosia. Just standing near her felt like
pleasure.
And five years ago, she’d locked me in a tomb, leaving me to rot
for eternity. I’d escaped only in the last year, and I’d been on the
hunt for her ever since.
She was more beautiful than I remembered but just as
treacherous. I hadn’t realized she could disorient with a touch—that
was an incredibly rare power, and one I should have seen coming.
She’s proven capable of the impossible, after all, when she’d pulled
one over on me—no one had accomplished that in centuries. No one
except her.
For that, I respected her as much as I hated her.
Confusion flashed in her eyes as I studied her. Either she didn’t
remember her actions or she was an incredible actress.
My money was on the latter. Prior to her misdeeds, I hadn’t
known her long, but it had been long enough to learn how skilled
she was at deception. I’d never met another like her, and my initial
infatuation had lowered my guard.
I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“You’ve got the wrong girl, I swear.” Her beautiful brown eyes
flashed with frustration, and her full lips pinched.
I’d never tasted those lips, and as much as her existence
enraged me, I still couldn’t keep my eyes off of them. Off of her. Her
golden hair swept over her shoulder, and her luminous skin made
her appear to glow. Her tall, lean form was built for battle. Though
she dressed like a man, I found I liked it.
“Oh, I don’t have the wrong person.”
My gaze dropped to her slender neck where the pulse beat
frantically. The blood that raced through her veins tantalized me,
and I knew she’d taste as divine as she looked. Desperate desire
thrummed through me, and I couldn’t stop glancing at her neck as
my fangs throbbed.
Born vampires had fated mates, while turned vampires had
cursed mates. But there was only one of me—the First.
And I had a Bride.
MacKenna Carraday—there was no mistaking it.
She pulled at my decayed soul. Fate was a cruel mistress to
deliver one such as her after all these years.
 She was everything I’d ever wanted, and yet my Bride had tried
to assign me to an eternity of torture. The years in the tomb had
been pure hell. Over and over again, I’d slowly starved, unable to
die and yet unable escape. Nightmares still haunted me, an
unacceptable weakness.
My anger simmered, beginning to rise to a boil.
“You want something,” she said. “I could feel it when I touched
you. And I can help you get it. Just leave me alive.”
“You are correct. I do want something.” My gaze swept down her
form. “Two things, actually. Your assistance with a problem, and
your death.” I tilted my head, studying her. “Perhaps I should return
the favor that you performed for me and bury you alive.” Even as I
said the words, they felt like ash in my mouth.
Now that I was here, I found the idea of killing her to be less
appealing than before, though I would still do it. I had to if I wanted
to survive. Her death was the only way for me to escape the vicious
trap of having her for a Bride. From the moment we’d met, we’d
become bound together, fulfilling the Bride Prophecy. She haunted
my every waking moment. Being away from her caused excruciating
pain, so bad that I sometimes couldn’t move. It felt like being
entombed in granite.
The Oracle at Kavina had told me that the only way to rid myself
of the feeling would be to destroy the one responsible for my fate.
Her.
But now that I was faced with her once again, I could barely
stomach the idea. I’d spent centuries as a cold and cruel force of
power, ruthlessly pursuing whatever I wanted. And yet, the idea of
killing her twisted my stomach.
What the hell was wrong with me?
 If I wanted to live, I would have to break the bond with my
Bride. Failing that, I’d succumb to the second, unavoidable part of
the prophecy: falling in love with her would strip me of my
immortality. I’d never let that happen, so killing her was the only
option.
But first, I needed her help. The Oracle had convinced me that
my Bride was the lone person who could help me with the task I
faced. My only friend in the world had disappeared while I’d been
locked in that damned tomb, and I was determined to save him. Not
because I cared for him—I cared for no one—but I owed him. I’d
committed many crimes in my life, but I never let a debt go unpaid.
“You said that you could feel there was something I wanted,” I
told her. “Are you a seer?”
She nodded. “Best you’ll find.”
That had to be why the Oracle had said I’d need her. I had the
ability to compel others—all except my Bride, though I’d attempted it
—but the people I was after had found some way to protect
themselves from compulsion.
This gave Mac a skill that was very applicable to my needs.
Having her help would also give me more time to find out why
she’d imprisoned me, a question that had haunted me for five years.
I shook the thought away.
“You’ll come with me to a weekend house party hosted by a
secret society with no known name,” I said. “They are immensely
powerful, and every so often, they open up their ranks to new
members. This weekend, they are hosting a series of deadly
competitions that will allow them to vet potential candidates. Those
who survive will be allowed to join. I have been invited, but I’ve no
interest in joining them.”
“Then what do you want?”
 “One of the members—I don’t know which—has something of
mine, and you’re going to use your seer power to help me get it
back. Normally, I would compel them to speak, but the society
possesses powerful magic. They’ve somehow created a spell that
protects them from my power.”
“So we participate in the competitions, but we’ll really be hunting
for info?”
“Exactly.”
“What was stolen from you?”
“I’m sure you can figure that out. You’re a powerful seer, after
all.”
“Yeah, of course.” She nodded. “I could be a huge asset, and I’ll
help you if you promise not to kill me. I’ll even prove my innocence
while we’re there.”
“Impossible.” My voice was rough as gravel. “This isn’t a matter
of mistaken identity. I can feel your magic. I can feel you.”
And fates, how she pulled at my withered soul. I’d felt nothing
but the most superficial emotions for centuries, but she tugged at
something deeper.
She swallowed hard, and my eyes dropped to her throat. I could
see the pulse there, and my fangs throbbed.
I’d never tasted her, of course, but I wanted to. Desperately.
I stepped back, fighting the urge.
Normally, I took what I wanted, anything and everything. I was
ruthless. Selfish. I liked myself that way. And yet, with her—it would
be unwise. Incredibly unwise. I didn’t want to lose control.
I needed far more from her than the pleasure of her blood, no
matter how divine it would be. Eventually, of course, I would have it,
but not now.
“Have you proper attire?” I swept my gaze over her derisively.
 “Attire?”
“For a formal party. It will be a weekend of events, and you’ll
need to fit in.”
“No, but I can get some.”
“I’ll have them sent to you. We will depart tomorrow in the
afternoon.”
Hope flashed in her eyes.
“Don’t think you’ll be able to escape me,” I said, leaning close. I
touched her arm, pleasure singing up my own as I fed a bit of my
magic into her and inhaled her glorious scent. Those beautiful brown
eyes went wide as she felt me mark her. I hadn't done it five years
ago when we’d first met—I’d barely had a chance. Now, I knew how
vital it was. “I’ve scented you. Marked you as mine. I will be able to
track you anywhere, so the opportunity to run has passed.”
She scowled, and I could all but feel her desire to curse. I
stepped back, needing fresh air. She smelled so divine, like a misty
morning by a country river, that it was making my head spin.
“What’s your name?” she demanded.
“You know my name.”
“I really don’t.”
I wouldn’t humor her ridiculous games. “Just be ready when I
come to get you tomorrow.”
“Okay, but I—”
No longer able to stand in her company without pulling her close,
I teleported, vanishing into the ether. I could escape her presence,
but I knew her face would continue to haunt me.
There would be no escaping our fate.
 3

Mac

Shocked, I stared at the empty space.

He hadn’t even used a transport charm. And now he was gone,
but that wasn’t the craziest thing.
Holy fates, he was planning to kill me. Like, definitely-for-sure
murder me.
The way he’d looked at my neck…
I shivered.
It didn’t matter how powerfully beautiful he was—he was pure,
terrifying darkness. The deadliest threat I’d ever encountered. And
I’d just made an absolutely ridiculous deal with him because I was
actually a pretty crappy seer. I was going to get to that party and
find myself screwed when my wonky powers didn’t behave. And I
still had no idea what he was looking for. Info of some kind, but
about what, I hadn’t a clue. Still, whatever he was after, I’d try to
help him as long as that would keep me alive.
 “Are you all right?” Quinn’s voice sounded from the far side of the
pub, and I turned. My friend approached from the hall that led into
Guild City, his stride sure and confident. He was nearly as tall and
broad as the bastard who’d just left, but Quinn’s attractiveness was
more wholesome. With his auburn hair and kind eyes, he just looked
like a good guy. Fortunately, the leopard shifter actually was a good
guy. I didn’t make time for any other type.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I could have told him about my problems, but I
just wanted to get out of there. “Long day. See you later.”
“Sure, but—”
Whatever he said, I didn’t hear. I was already hightailing it for
the back hallway that led to Guild City. The narrow corridor was dark
and lined with shelves full of liquor bottles. While it was meant to
look like storage for the pub, in reality, it was the secret entrance to
our even more secret magical city.
At the back of the hall, I stepped through the portal that would
take me home. The ether sucked me in and spun me through space,
depositing me in the magical realm that existed right in the middle
of London.
It was after midnight there as well, so the tunnel that led
through the massive walls surrounding Guild City flickered with
glowing lights. The eerie golden glow illuminated my way as I
hurried through and into one of Guild City’s main squares.
Our walled town had been formed hundreds of years ago, a
secret refuge for the supernaturals of London. Ancient narrow
streets twisted and turned, surrounded on either side by old Tudor
buildings. A massive wall circled the city, dotted every so often with
a guild tower. There was a guild for each type of magical species,
from the witches and shifters to the seers and sorcerers. Long ago,
the guilds had protected the city from the safety of their towers.
Now, they were more like social and governmental organizations.
Quickly, I cut through town toward my own tower, hurrying down
the cobblestone street and past the ancient edifices. The
architecture was all stone and wood and white plaster Tudor
buildings, relics from the Elizabethan era. Despite the age of the
buildings, the glittering windows revealed glimpses of modern life.
The shops were full of magical and modern items alike—mobile
phones next to potions and computers alongside quills.
The city and its streets were too small for cars, but motorcycles
and mopeds were popular. I owned neither, but didn’t need one for
the short distance between my tower and the pub.
I passed a bar with tiny tables crowded onto the sidewalk. A
group of witches sat around one, shrieking and laughing at a
drinking game. Mary, unusually pale with pink hair, caught my eye
and waved me over. “Mac! You’re just what we need. Come liven this
party up!”
The other witches hooted their agreement, waving me over. It
was rare that I saw the witches out on the town—they often
preferred to throw parties in their guild tower. I attended a lot of
them, mostly to pull pranks that they would later return.
“Thanks,” I called out, wishing I didn’t have the vampire on my
mind. I’d much rather be partying with the witches. “But next time,
maybe.”
They booed me as I passed, and I just grinned. Mary seemed to
be able to tell that my smile was fake, and concern flashed on her
face.
Finally, I reached the narrow alley that led to my guild tower.
I couldn’t believe I’d told the vampire that I was an excellent
seer. Ha. As if. I wasn’t even in the Seers’ Guild because I was so
weak.
I belonged to the Shadow Guild—the guild for misfits and
weirdos.
It was the best place in the world, but it also proved that I was
going to be screwed when it came time to help him infiltrate the
secret society. What had I been thinking?
That I needed to be able to buy myself some time to prove my
innocence. And that he had answers. To what, I couldn’t say, but my
wonky powers had been strong enough to tell me that he knew
something I wanted to know, and my curiosity was raging.
Finally, I exited the narrow alley into the courtyard in front of my
tower. Each guild tower was fronted by an empty space, and
generally, shops lined the street opposite the courtyard.
Not the case with us. Our guild hadn’t even existed until earlier
this year. As a result, we were located in a quiet part of town with no
shops.
I liked it that way.
Quickly, I approached our tower, a simple stone structure that
rose above the city wall. Roses climbed up the huge limestone
blocks, and the windows glittered with warm golden light. Music
thumped out from the open door, a party beat that made me grin
despite my anxiety.
As I stepped into the main room that filled the bottom floor of
the tower, my friends turned from their spot in front of the fire.
Empty wine bottles littered the coffee table, along with glasses and
empty plates of snacks.
Carrow and Eve sat in front of the fire, dressed in PJs with their
hair tied in messy topknots. They turned to me, big grins on their
faces that faded almost immediately.
“What’s wrong?” Carrow surged upright. “You look like hell.”
 Eve frowned and rose, her concerned gaze moving over me. Her
silver and pink hair glinted in the light of the fire. “Yeah, under other
circumstances, I’d say Carrow was being rude, but you look rough.”
“I think I’ve got a problem.”
“Have a glass of wine.” Carrow turned back to the table to grab
the bottle. “And I’ll change the music.” She switched the play list to
’80s power ballads. What a hero.
“I’m not sure it’s a wine kind of problem.” In fact, I knew it
wasn’t. But I accepted the glass anyway and took a grateful sip.
“Where are the others? There are enough glasses on that table for a
football team.”
“Seraphia and Beatrix were here, but they left to get takeaway.”
I nodded, unsurprised. The other members of our little guild
were major foodies, especially Beatrix. For her, a couple glasses of
wine were always followed by an entire pizza or a platter of fish and
chips.
“Sit and tell us,” Eve said. “You’re worrying me. Normally, nothing
bothers you.”
Carrow nodded. “Yeah, you’re always the life of the party, but
you look like someone sucked the life out of you.”
“He wants to,” I muttered.
“He?” Carrow frowned and sat, and Eve followed suit.
I collapsed in the chair across from them and began to spill the
whole story. Just telling my friends started to make me feel better.
We’d been through so much together—surely they could help.
“Oh, man,” Carrow said when I finished. “This isn’t good. We
need to talk to Grey, see what he knows.” She picked up her phone
and began to type in a message.
Grey, the Devil of Darkvale, was Carrow’s mate. He was also the
most powerful vampire in Guild City, and had once been Vlad the
Impaler. If anyone knew about this bastard, it would be him.
“How did he mistake you for the woman who wronged him?” Eve
asked.
“I’ve got no idea, but I know it wasn’t me. I was living in
Newcastle at the time, tending bar.”
“We’ll prove your innocence.” Carrow’s frown deepened. “But are
you sure you’ve got to go to this party with him?”
I nodded. “He knows I live in Guild City, and he said he can track
me anywhere now, so…yeah.” I shivered at the memory of his magic
flowing into me. “Proving that I’m not the one he seeks is the only
way to get him off my tail.”
“We could kill him,” Eve offered.
While I was normally the ruthless one of our group, I couldn’t
stomach the idea. Not yet, at least. “Only if we must. He’s not a
soulless demon or anything.” And there was just something about
him, something that pulled at me in the strangest way—a mystery I
was desperate to solve. A connection that terrified me.
Except that sounded like the beginning of Stockholm syndrome,
so I didn’t mention it to my friends. “And right now, I’ve still got a
chance to prove my innocence.”
“I’m going to work on a potion that will confuse his ability to
track you,” Eve said. “Maybe we can even dose him with something
to make him forget you.”
“Forget me? Like, forever?”
She nodded. “It will take me time to brew, but I might be able to
come up with something that will erase you from his memory.”
“That would be perfect.” Hope flared. “He’s so determined. I’m
not sure he even cares about the truth. So if I can’t prove my
innocence, we could use your potion.”
 Eve nodded. “You just need to buy me some time to make it. A
few days. Two, at least, maybe three.”
“I can do that.” It would also give me time to figure out why I
felt like he had answers for me. I wasn’t even looking for answers,
but my seer sense was screaming at me that I needed to stick with
him for a while and figure out what the hell was up with him.
“Any time.” She squeezed my hand.
“Thank you.” Gratitude rushed through me. Among other things,
Eve was an incredible potion maker. With her on the job, I’d have an
advantage in no time. “Do you also have some truth serums?”
She nodded. “What do you want to know from him?”
“Not him. You know how iffy my seer powers are. I’m going to
try to get info out of these secret society members, so if my own
magic fails, I’ll need a backup.”
“Good thought.” Eve nodded and stood. “I’ve got a few that are
almost finished brewing. They might be strong enough.” She turned
and hurried up the stairs to her workshop.
A knock sounded at the door, and I turned to see the Devil enter.
He was tall and lean, dressed in an impeccable suit, lethal in his
grace and beauty. Carrow’s mate was one of the most terrifying men
in Guild City. Technically, he belonged to the Vampires’ Guild, but it
was just a formality. In reality, he was a loner. The top crime boss in
the city, though he no longer dealt in anything too shady. Carrow
had put an end to that.
“You rang?” he asked, striding forward with such grace that he
gave the bastard vampire a run for his money.
“We need help,” Carrow said.
“Anything.” He had eyes only for her, of course. His entire face
softened when he looked at her, and it was a mind trip to see him go
from deadly vampire to doting mate. He sat next to Carrow, and she
curled into him. “What’s wrong?”
“Mac has a stalker.” She described the vampire exactly as I had.
“Have you heard of him?”
Worry flashed in the Devil’s eyes, and he looked at me. “You’re
sure about his signature?”
I nodded. “She’s described him accurately.”
He frowned. “I’ve heard of him. Drakon of Dracul, the first
vampire. If you’ve met him, I suggest you stay far, far away.”
“I’m trying.” I grimaced. “But that’s the problem. He’s not going
to give up.” I explained the whole situation to the Devil, whose
expression grew more concerned by the minute.
“As the First, he was neither born nor turned,” he explained.
“Rather, it is believed that he was formed from magic and blood.”
“Shit.”
“He’s powerful, Mac. Extremely so. And immortal.”
“How long has he been around?”
“A thousand years, maybe more. Whatever he wants, he takes.
Whatever crosses him, he destroys. There’s no one like him. He’s
unkillable. Unbeatable. And if he thinks you almost got the best of
him by locking him underground, he won’t stop until he’s had his
vengeance.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“I’ll see what I can learn about him,” the Devil said. “He’s a
shadowy figure, but not entirely reclusive. Heartless, though. Selfish,
ruthless, and deadly. Be careful, Mac.” Again, worry flashed in the
Devil’s eyes.
I shivered. I’d never seen him worried about anything other than
Carrow. “I’ll get you whatever information I can about this secret
society we’re infiltrating. Maybe you could find something about the
members.”
Carrow leaned toward me, her gaze concerned. “Just hold him
off long enough for Eve to make the potion that will force him to
forget you. Grey and I will work on finding his weakness. Maybe we
can even locate the woman who locked him in that tomb.” She
gripped my hand. “Don’t worry, Mac. We’ll find a way to get him out
of your life.”
I hoped she was right. Because the more I learned about him,
the more obvious it became that he was going to be impossible to
defeat. And as long as he wanted my death, I was screwed.
 4

Mac

I woke the next morning to a pounding on the door below. My room

was right over the great room, and the knock was loud as a cannon
boom.
For a brief, blissful moment, I knew nothing but irritation. Who
the hell was knocking at such an early hour?
Then I remembered my situation. Cold washed away the
annoyance, and I sat bolt upright.
Drakon. The party.
Shit, shit, shit.
I leapt out of bed and threw on a robe, then hurried downstairs.
I had no idea who was at the door, but it was clear that they wanted
in. They were knocking so loudly that it sounded like they’d wake
the next tower over.
Eve stumbled down the stairs behind me, her silver and pink hair
messy from sleep. Some nights, she slept over at the Shifters’ Guild
tower with her mate, Lachlan. She hadn’t wanted to leave me last
night, though, and I’d appreciated it.
“If that’s the bastard who’s stalking you, I’m going to kick him in
the balls,” she muttered.
“I’d pay a lot of money to see that.”
“Oh, honey, I’ll do it for free.”
I grinned, temporarily relieved of my worry, then opened the
door.
A tiny woman stood there, her dark hair wild around her head.
Pointed ears peeked out from behind her curls, and she exhibited
the delicate beauty common to the fae.
“Madame Alette.” Shock sounded in my voice. “What are you
doing here?”
“A terrifying and yet devastatingly sexy vampire managed to
convince me to make a house call,” she replied, folding her arms.
“May I come in?”
I looked behind her, spotting more fae carrying loads of dresses
and other miscellaneous boxes. Madame Alette ran one of the best
fae dress shops in town. With their beauty and charm, fae were the
perfect species to act as spies and assassins. They could trick their
way into any setting and get a job done.
As a result, they’d developed a reputation over the years. A few
of them had capitalized on it, starting clothing stores that specialized
in attire for people going into dangerous situations. Madame Alette’s
was the one that we usually patronized, but she never brought the
party to you.
Until now.
Drakon.
“Move, move!” She shooed us out of the way and stepped inside.
The others followed her in, filling the sitting room with the perfumed
scent of the dresses that spilled over every surface as they laid them
out. Madame Alette pointed to me and then the chair in front of the
fire. “You, sit.”
I did, bemused, as I watched the show. Eve joined me, surprise
on her face.
A tall fae with straight golden hair approached us, carrying a tray
of pastries and champagne. He’d whipped it out of nowhere that I’d
been able to see.
Madame Alette, who could clearly see my shock, said, “What? Do
you think we are barbarians who wouldn’t provide a delightful
experience?”
“Um, ’course not.” I took the champagne glass and what
appeared to be an almond croissant. Madame Alette always served
champagne when you entered her shop—I just hadn’t expected it as
part of her delivery service.
“Good.” She huffed and began to bustle about the room.
Eve took a glass and a pastry as well, and we watched them
work. Carrow joined us a few minutes later and snagged a flute. Out
of the corner of my eye, I spotted Ralph and Cordelia, Eve and
Carrow’s raccoon familiars, who also lived in the tower. They
sneaked into the room, quiet as thieves, and swiped refreshments
for themselves, then settled on top of a flouncy dress that had been
laid over a chair.
Madame Alette would lose her mind when she saw their fluffy
butts on the ruffles, but I was fine with it. No way was I wearing
that monstrosity.
As Madame Alette measured me for a few alterations, I got an
up-close look at her face. She was pale as a ghost, barely concealing
her pallor with expensive makeup. Normally, she had a lovely glow.
“Are you all right, Madame Alette?” I asked.
 She nodded, though her eyes were too bright.
“What is it?”
She sucked in a ragged breath and gripped my shoulder. “That
vampire—the First—you must be careful, Macbeth. So careful.” She
shuddered, clearly terrified beneath her brusque façade. “The things
I have heard about him…”
I shivered but tried to paste on a confident smile. “Don’t worry
about me.”
“I don’t. Not normally—you’re Macbeth O’Connell, after all. But
this vampire, he’s ruthless. Heartless. I can feel the darkness…”
“I know. I’ll be careful.” I squeezed her arm, trying to comfort
her, but it clearly didn’t work. She just smiled weakly and returned to
measuring.
The next hour passed in a blur as Madame Alette got me all
kitted out in the necessities of life for infiltrating a secret society
through their weekend house party. I normally wasn’t into clothes,
but I had to admit that some of the outfits were pretty cool. One of
the dresses was bullet- and sword-proof, and another would force
anyone who saw me in it to forget me. When all was said and done,
I had a fabulous new wardrobe and a tiny bit of a buzz from the
champagne.
“I’ll have to get you a hangover cure,” Eve muttered as the fae
began to stow away their leftover refreshments.
“No kidding. I’m in no condition to meet that bastard again.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a few things brewing that will help you out.
Do you know when you leave?”
“Soon, I think…”
Suddenly, the air changed. The very molecules seemed to vibrate
with tension, and a curious awareness heightened every one of my
senses.
 He was here.
As if on command, he appeared in the doorway, and I pulled on
my low ponytail as I shivered. I heard Eve draw in the faintest
breath, and I couldn’t blame her. He was terrifying but magnificent
with his powerful build and predatory grace. Despite the midmorning
sun, shadows seemed to surround him, and his aura of ancient
power made my heart race and my mouth go dry.
And once again, I felt that strange tug of awareness. There was
something I needed to learn from him. It was the oddest, most
compelling thing, but I could feel that awareness like I could feel the
ground beneath my feet.
When his gaze moved to me, I sensed it like a touch. His eyes
dropped briefly to my neck, and I could barely resist reaching up to
cover my skin.
He stopped just inside the door. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Almost,” I replied.
“Good. I’ll meet you in the courtyard.” He turned and left so
dismissively that I wanted to hiss at him.
Carrow leaned in and whispered, “Seriously, we can kill him if you
want.”
“I heard that.” His voice filtered in from the courtyard, and I
grimaced. “You can try, but you won’t succeed.”
“Can I have a rain check on that?” I muttered to her. Part of me
wanted to kill the cocky bastard, but the bigger part of me didn’t
want that blood on my hands.
Anyway, the Devil had said it was impossible, and I believed him.
“I think he’s right,” Carrow said. “He’s basically unbeatable. His
power felt just…whoa.”
Hearing that from Carrow, who was immensely powerful in her
own right, was enough to send a shiver down my spine.
 “And I don’t like how he looked at your neck,” Eve added.
“Me, neither.”
“It was really intense,” said Carrow. “Unusually so, and that’s
saying something.”
Considering that she was mated to the Devil, she would know.
“Wait there,” Eve ordered, then hurried up the stairs to her
workshop. She returned a moment later with a little vial of potion
and pressed it into my hand. “Drink this. It will make your blood
unappealing to him for about a week.”
“That’s fantastic, thank you.” I swigged it back, not caring that it
tasted foul.
Madame Alette quickly packed a bag of my new belongings while
I changed into some of my usual clothes. As she finished, I stepped
outside to check on Drakon. He turned, his gaze sweeping up and
down my jeans-clad form, and the disdain in his eyes made me
scowl. “What?”
“That won’t do.”
“This is perfectly fine.” I liked my jeans, tank top, and purple
flannel shirt. With my boots, I looked like a trendy lumberjack. It
was me.
“We’re infiltrating a deadly secret society, and blending in will be
the key to survival.”
Ugh. I couldn’t argue with that logic. “Then what?”
“The shopkeeper will know.”
“Fine.”
I turned back into the tower, passing Madame Alette and her
staff on their way out. Only Carrow remained in the room, and she
nodded toward the clothes that had been laid out on the couch.
“She selected those for you to wear today.”
 It was clear the shopkeeper had been eavesdropping, but that
was coming in handy. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, and
having the clothes ready was helpful.
I strode to the couch and inspected them. Black leather pants
and a sleek blood-red top sat next to a pair of tall leather boots. A
cool jacket with silver metal studs lay next to it, completing the look.
Not too bad, actually. At least she hadn’t put me in a dress. I’d
been a tomboy all my life, and as much as I liked to admire dresses
on other women, they weren’t for me. The most I would do under
normal circumstances was a sexy leather crop top and shorts, and
this wasn’t too far off.
Carrow watched me with concern as I dressed. By the time I’d
finished pulling on the new clothes, Eve had returned from upstairs
with a bag.
“Here,” she whispered and pushed it toward me. “It’s been
enchanted so you can store it in the ether.”
Wow. That was valuable magic. The ether was the magical stuff
that surrounded everything, and it was capable of storing things if
one had the right kind of spell. Such a spell was expensive and
difficult to come by, however, and I appreciated Eve sharing her bag
with me.
“The truth serums are in the smallest bottles,” she explained as
she rummaged through the bag’s contents. “I put in a variety of
offensive potion bombs, as well as an elixir in a pink container that
will hide you from his sight. Take it right before you want to get
away from him.”
“How long does it last?” I could only use it for sneaking away
temporarily, of course. It wasn’t like I’d run for good, as he knew
where I lived. No matter what I did, I’d want to be able to return
home.
 “A few hours at most.”
“I can work with that.”
“And there are a few explosives in there, the kind you like in
particular.”
“You know me so well, thank you.” I stashed the bag in the ether
and hugged her tightly, then Carrow. Grabbing my new luggage,
expertly packed by the fae, I hurried outside to find Drakon still
waiting.
He turned to me, his brows rising, and nodded. “Better.”
“Yeah, whatever.” I scowled at him.
He just smiled. “We can leave now.”
“How?”
“I’ll take us.”
“With your teleportation?” Would I have to hold his hand to
follow him through? A shiver ran down my spine. The idea tantalized
me as much as it terrified me, which was a clear indicator that I was
insane.
He nodded sharply and strode to me, holding out a hand. I took
a deep breath and slipped my palm into his. As expected, a lightning
bolt went through me. It was far too pleasurable, however, and the
air tightened with tension.
A frown flashed on his face, and he inhaled through his nose.
“Your scent. What happened to it?”
“I—”
He dipped his head to my neck, so close that I could feel the
heat of his skin. The tremor that raced through me at our proximity
was hot as fire and just as intense.
Did he feel this damned attraction, too?
I loathed it even more than I loathed him. I wanted some control
over my damned hormones. And yet, there was something about
him—something about us when we were together—that set my body
alight. Worse, his scent was simply divine. The rich smell of
sandalwood and man wrapped around me, making me want to suck
it in with deep breaths.
No. Moron.
“You’ve done something to your blood. It smells foul.” He drew
his face away, and I caught sight of annoyance in his eyes.
Disappointment.
“Yeah, I took a potion because you keep looking at me like you
want to bite me.”
“I do.” His voice was rough. “And I will.”
“You’re a monster.”
“You’re right. I am.”
Without warning, he called upon his magic and pulled us through
the ether. We spun through space, my stomach pitching, then
arrived on a train platform in the middle of the countryside.
Rolling green hills surrounded us, each dotted with dozens of
white sheep. A few oak trees speckled the hills, and fluffy clouds
drifted through the sky.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Far from Guild City. The house is only accessible via a train that
passes along this line.”
That wasn’t very descriptive, but I didn’t press him. “Does it go
anywhere else?”
“A few other houses that would like to remain off the grid.”
Whatever their reason for the secrecy, I had to imagine it was
something shady. Most supernaturals liked living near one another.
We often congregated in hidden cities or neighborhoods that had
been enchanted to be invisible to humans. The idea of living in total
secret all alone was a miserable one.
 Behind us sat a small, empty building that had once been a café.
Farther down the platform stood a man and a woman, both
studiously ignoring us.
“Are they going to the same place?” I murmured.
“Hard to say. We won’t worry about them for now.”
I stood next to Drakon, my bag at my feet, and tried to ignore
the dense silence. I didn’t want to talk to him, but my usual MO was
to joke around. This solemnity was weird.
Finally, a train pulled up to the station, an old-fashioned model
with red and black trim straight out of the nineteenth century,
though it appeared to be propelled by magic rather than steam or
petrol. Drakon led the way onto the train, handing two tickets to the
conductor as we passed. I followed him into a private car that had
been decorated to look like a living room. It was done up in an older
style that matched the exterior, and I felt like I was stepping into the
past.
I tossed my bag on one of the couches and took a seat at a small
table, annoyed when Drakon took the seat across from me. Giving a
pointed glance at all the furniture that surrounded us, I said, “There
are plenty of other places to sit.”
“I’m comfortable where I am.” He leaned back in the chair and
studied me, an expression of relaxed confidence on his face.
This was a man who never felt out of place. And how could he?
With his looks and power, he’d be the most impressive person in
every room. People would scurry out of the way as he approached.
“Fine.” I studied him, not caring that I was staring.
Sunlight glinted off his ink-black hair and pale skin. His
cheekbones and jaw were sharp enough to cut glass, but it was his
eyes that were truly riveting: blue like the sky, yet filled with so
many shadows and secrets that one could get lost in them for years.
 I doubted it would be a fun experience.
The train rumbled to a start. As it left the station behind, a shiver
of magic raced over my skin, and I raised a brow. “What was that?”
“Invisibility spell.”
“Whoa.” Invisibility spells were exceedingly expensive and
difficult to come by. Hiding a whole train was crazy.
“If tourists saw this rumbling through the countryside, they’d be
desperate for a ride. Better that we travel in secrecy.”
“This organization is pretty paranoid, huh?”
“If you’d done the things they have, you’d be secretive, too.”
“Bad things?”
“Bad is an understatement.” He looked out the window, clearly
finished with the conversation.
But I wasn’t. This entire thing had my curiosity seriously piqued,
so I stared at him, trying to figure him out. As we passed pastures
and hills, farms and cities, I studied every inch of his profile, wishing
that I could read his mind.
Finally, he sighed. “Stop staring.”
“No.”
He looked at me, brow furrowed. “Why the hell are you doing it?”
“I’m trying to figure out what your deal is.”
“Deal?”
“Yeah. You’re obviously a bastard and full of dark magic, but
you’re not all evil. Not quite.” Almost, though.
“How little you know.”
I rolled my eyes and got up to move to another part of the train.
My game hadn’t proven fruitful, and it was stupid, anyway. Instead
of watching him, I watched the countryside roll by. It was far more
boring, but better for my sanity.
 But as the miles passed, I kept feeling his gaze on me. I tugged
on my ponytail, unable to help myself. “You’re staring at me now.
Why?”
“Because I want to know why you did it. Why did you lock me
underground to rot?”
“I didn’t!” I snapped. “I’m telling you, you have the wrong girl.”
He shook his head. “You’re devious. Cunning. A genius. And
you’re helping me to buy yourself time. But I guarantee that I will
find out why you did it.”
“You’re going to end up disappointed.”
“You’re a seer.” He beckoned me back to my seat. “Why don’t you
come here and read the truth from my mind?”
“You can still lie inside your mind.”
“But you could feel it, couldn’t you?”
I could if my magic were cooperating today, but did I really want
to touch him?
Yes. No.
Definitely no, but with the tiniest bit of very stupid yes. I did
want to see what he thought had happened, though, just so that I
could prove it wasn’t me.
“Fine.” I stood and strode to him, then leaned against the table. I
was careful not to breathe in his scent. The last thing I needed was
for my heart to start racing.
Not that it was something I could control. As soon as I laid my
fingertips on the back of his hand, the traitorous organ started
thundering.
His blue gaze snapped to mine, and I looked away, closing my
eyes.
Immediately, I was inside his head. The memory slammed into
me, so bright and real that suddenly, I was him.
Another random document with
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recognised where the ladders lead down to the holds beneath.
These vessels carry powerful pumps, the oil being taken on board
and discharged by this means. Oil is also employed as the ship’s
fuel, and the boiler is kept as far away from the cargo as possible,
but in order to counteract the possibility of the oil getting adrift and
leaking into the after part of the ship, a separate small compartment
is also added, so as more completely to divide the hold from the
boiler and engines. This will be easily recognised in the illustration.
The other illustration facing page 246 shows a model of the Silverlip,
also with her engines placed well aft; but this, with her derricks and
her deck-houses, represents a larger and more complex ship.
We come now to a type of steamship, which, by reason of its
peculiar construction, is deserving of more than ordinary
consideration. Opposite page 248 we give the latest example of this
type—the s.s. Inland. The “turret-ship,” as the class is called, is of
quite modern origin, and no one can come face to face with her
without being instantly struck with her unusual appearance. She
owes her birth to Messrs. William Doxford and Sons, Limited, of
Sunderland, who are the patentees and builders of this kind of ship.
It is needless to say that when this novel class of steamship first
appeared in the early ’nineties there was aroused the usual
prejudice; indeed, having in mind what has been the experience of
other inventors in connection with our subject, the reader could
hardly expect otherwise. Firstly, let us consider her with regard to her
appearance. It will be seen that she differs from the usual cargo and
passenger ship in that her sides tumble right in above the water-line.
This forms a kind of half turtle deck, and is known as the harbour
deck. But the upper deck of the “turret-ship” is extremely narrow.
(This will be seen more easily by reference to the next illustration,
which gives a model of the midship section of such a ship.) The
harbour deck need not be used except when in port, but it can be
employed for stowing long timbers or even iron girders if required.
Like the oil-tanker, many of the turret-ships have their engines
placed right aft, so that there is a long clear space for stowing the
cargo in the hold, an advantage which is especially appreciated in
the carrying of certain kinds of cargoes. Just as we saw there was
great danger to a ship in the possibility of oil washing about the hull
and shifting in a perilous manner, so also there is a danger in such
cargoes as rice and grain. With regard to the latter, I remember the
case of a big cargo ship which had the misfortune to spring a leak
and the water swelled the rice to such an extent that the ship, strong
as she was, burst her sides. But in the case of grain the danger is
not merely that, but also of shifting. As guarding against this
possibility the turret-ship, by reason of her special design, is
specially suitable, for any shifting that may take place in the turret
matters but little, and whatever shifting may take place in the hold is
compensated for by the turret; the cargo can be shot into the hold
without needing any trimming. The deck of the “turret” portion will be
seen from the illustration facing page 248 to form a navigating
platform.

SECTION OF MODERN OIL-TANK STEAMER.

Photograph from a Model. By permission of Messrs. Sir W. G. Armstrong, Whitworth & Co., Ltd.
 THE “SILVERLIP.”
From the Model in the Victoria and Albert Museum.

Some of the modern turret-ships are fitted with twelve or

fourteen masts arranged in pairs, each pair being across the ship
instead of fore-and-aft-wise. These vessels have proved themselves
to be excellent sea-boats, and owing to their high freeboard and the
harbour deck, which acts as a kind of breakwater, it has to be a very
bad sea indeed that will break over the ship. Furthermore, the
harbour deck tends to reduce the rolling of the ship, for when one
side of the ship heels over so that one harbour deck is under water,
the windward side, when it holds a certain amount of water, actually
tends to bring the ship back to her level. Moreover, since these
decks are unencumbered with obstructions, they can suffer no
damage through the wash of the sea. They are also extremely strong
ships, for the sides of the turrets increase the strength of the vessel
longitudinally, while the curved formation of the harbour deck
augments their strength transversely; their simplicity of construction
and their adaptability for almost any cargo still further add to their
virtues. But from the view-point of the owners the turret-ship is even
still more a welcome type of craft, in that since dues are paid on a
ship’s registered tonnage the turret-ship is able to carry far more
cargo in proportion to her size than most vessels. On a small
registered tonnage the turret-ship has an exceptionally large dead-
weight capacity, and those parts of her which are liable to be taxed
are diminished as far as is possible, whilst at the same time greater
space is allowed to the carrying and handling of the cargo.
Economically, then, the turret-ship, with her odd shape, her many
masts and derricks, is a very advantageous carrier.
A good deal of interest has recently been aroused by the
peculiarities of a steamship named the Monitoria, which, though not
a turret-ship, is sufficiently out of the ordinary design to warrant
special mention. She is just an ordinary single-deck cargo steamer,
but instead of the usual wall-sided shell-plating has two longitudinal
corrugations along the outside of her hull. These swellings, so to
speak, extend below the water-line and gradually merge into the
ship’s lines at bow and stern. The claim made for this novelty is that
it is effective in reducing the wave-like irregularities, and allows of
more power being available for propulsion, whilst it also lessens the
rolling and pitching of the ship. The captain of this ship is reported to
have said that these corrugations had a beneficial effect on the
steering, whilst the wake of the ship was found to be smooth and
about half the width instead of the full breadth of the ship. Very
interesting as practical comment on a subject that we have treated
elsewhere in this volume, is her commander’s remark that whilst in a
diagonal sea, which was running at a height of 9 feet or 10 feet, a
ship of ordinary form and the same dimensions as the Monitoria
would have been safe proceeding at no higher speed than 6 or 6½
knots, yet the Monitoria was safe going ahead at 7¼ to 7½ knots.
The corrugations are said also to increase the ship’s buoyancy, and
thus admit of three per cent. more cargo being carried, while the hull
is more readily able to resist the strains than vessels of ordinary
shape. It is probable that this novel principle will be presently
exemplified in a first-class liner, and in a foreign cruiser.
Similar to the turret-type is the “trunk-deck” steamer, which
possesses like advantages. She resembles in appearance the
former type, but instead of the curves (seen in the Inland) at the
gunwale and bases of the turret or “trunk,” the sides of the trunk rise
from the main deck nearly at right angles, the harbour deck being
really a true deck. This kind of ship owes her birth to Messrs. Ropner
and Sons, of Stockton-on-Tees. Such vessels afford even more than
the turret-ships the appearance of a kind of up-to-date man-of-war,
without the guns which one would almost expect to see protruding
from behind some of her steel plates. It should be borne in mind that
both the turret and the trunk type possess an absence of sheer, for
the height of the lofty turret, or trunk, enables this to be dispensed
with, while to make up for this lack of sheer from the bows to the
stern, the vessel is given a top-gallant forecastle.

THE TURRET-SHIP “INLAND.”

From a Photograph. By permission of Messrs. W. Doxford & Sons, Ltd.
 MIDSHIP SECTION OF A TURRET-SHIP.
From the Model in the Victoria and Albert Museum.

When a vessel is carrying her full cargo her stern is sufficiently

immersed to prevent her propeller from racing badly in a heavy sea.
But when she is making a voyage “light” there is great danger of
damage to the ship through the fracturing of the propeller shaft as
the ship dips her bows and raises her tail in the air. Everyone who
has had experience of handling small craft of any kind is aware that
the lower the ballast is placed the more the ship will roll. In an
extreme case, when all the ballast is placed outside the ship on to
her keel, the motion in a sea-way is more like that of the pendulum
than anything else. The method which we are now about to discuss
allows of water-ballast tanks being placed sufficiently high at the
“wings” to counteract this rolling. Opposite page 250 will be seen two
illustrations of the patent cantilever-framed steamers which are built
by Messrs. Sir Raylton Dixon and Company, Limited, of
Middlesbrough, through whose courtesy the photographs are
reproduced. By examining them it will be seen that water-ballast can
be carried not only in the usual tank at the bottom of the ship, but in
the wing tanks at the sides of the ship, and at such a height that
when the ship is crossing the ocean without cargo, she will have an
easy motion.
The lower illustration shows a section of one of these cantilever
ships, and the water-ballast tanks, above which is a shelter deck that
in the case of a passenger ship can be used as a promenade, or can
accommodate live cargo in cattle-ships. It will be noticed that the
ship’s frames are bent inwards, and that these, together with the
vertical sides of the hull, form the triangular spaces for the tanks.
Now these tanks run fore and aft on both sides and increase the
strength of the ship, not merely longitudinally, but transversely.
Owing to this the necessity of adding such obstructions to the hold
as pillars and beams vanishes, and as will be seen in the
illustrations, the hold is thus free and unencumbered for all manner
of cargo. It is further claimed for this cantilever craft that she can
carry a dead-weight more than three times the net register, and since
these tanks are not reckoned into the tonnage they increase the
safety and comfort of the ship without detracting from her utility. The
reader will also notice in the upper picture to what an enormous
extent the modern steamship is now being fitted with extra derricks,
with a cross-piece up the mast to take the strain involved in working
the latter.
As the reverse of being specially adapted for a particular service,
the steam tramp is built so that she can readily engage in almost any
carrying trade. Unlike the liner with her fixed routes and set times of
departure and arrival, the tramp is a nomad, and wanders over the
world picking up a cargo here and there, and taking it across the
ocean at her economical but jog-trot speed. If there is nothing for her
to pick up at the last port of call she betakes herself elsewhere with
the hope of better luck. Her main income is derived as a coal-carrier,
and for this she is quite suited. But the modern collier—the kind of
ship which is expressly built for the coal trade—is fitted with numbers
of steam winches in keeping with the modern feverish haste and
hurry, so that no sooner has she come alongside than she may
instantly begin to unload. In old-fashioned times the discharging was
done from the shore, but nowadays the up-to-date turret-ship makes
short work of handling her black diamonds. Special appliances are
also provided for those steamships which bring over the seas vast
quantities of New Zealand mutton, fruit, and other perishable articles
of food. Elaborate refrigerating machinery has to be installed in the
ship, and special means employed to facilitate the disembarking of
the cargo, especially in the case of the former.
 CANTILEVER-FRAMED SHIP.
By permission of Sir Raylton Dixon & Co., Ltd.
 To a still more exceptional purpose has the steamship been
adapted in order to act as an ice-breaker and give liberty to those
ships which, in certain parts of the world, have, with the approach of
winter, been compelled to enter a lengthy imprisonment. Such
localities are found in both Canada and Russia. Thanks to the ice-
breaker steamship it has been made possible to keep open the
Baltic ports with a passage of sufficient width. Constructed of a
strength which is possessed by no other vessel than a man-of-war,
the ice-breaker attacks the frozen masses as a battleship used to
ram her foe. She goes for the ship’s enemy with her curved bow, and
wages war with all the ability which the ship-builder and naval
architect have given her. Her bow is specially strengthened to suffer
the force of the contact with the heavy ice masses, and the lines of
the hull are such that the ice in its endeavour to crush the ship finds
difficulty in getting a good grip upon it. Nevertheless, these ships are
fitted with numerous water-tight compartments. Their means of
propulsion are, of course, screws.
Similarly, across the North Atlantic, the steamship on the Great
Lakes, where for one third of the year the water is frozen, has to
battle with the ice-fiend. Ordinary steamers have to be laid aside, but
the train-ferry steamship still goes on with her work, being specially
designed to break through the impeding ice. As in the Russian ice-
breakers, so here the principle employed is that the ship shall forge
her way unto the ice, and by means of her overhanging bow, and its
weight, shall break through the obstruction.
Across the wide harbour of New York the steamship train ferries,
carrying rolling stock run aboard by lines, are employed to an extent
that is strange in comparison with English customs, although the
idea is not new to the Mersey, and the evergreen scheme of
instituting a ferry of this nature across the English Channel to
France, so that international travellers can go from Charing Cross to
the other end of the world without having to change their
compartments, is still advocated with enthusiasm.
We pass now to another type of steamship, which is endowed
with as much distinctive character as the steam tug. The steam
trawler may not be as smart as a steam yacht nor as fast as a
torpedo destroyer; yet, for all that, she is able to encounter as bad
weather and—size for size—is perhaps a good deal better sea-boat.
In the North Sea, which has been the favourite cruising ground of the
steam trawler, there is to be encountered as nasty and dangerous a
short sea as can be found, perhaps, in any other part of the world. In
all weathers, and at all times of the year, the trawler has to go about
her business, and the comparatively few disasters that overtake her
is a credit at once to the seamanship of her skipper and the
seaworthiness of the little ship herself. Opposite this page we show a
photograph of a typical North Sea steam trawler. This is the Orontes
of Hull, built in 1895, of iron, by Messrs. Cochrane and Sons, of
Selby. She measures 110 feet long, 21 feet wide, and 12 feet deep,
her net tonnage being 76, and her horse-power 60. The evolution of
the steam trawler was on this wise: When the value of steam had
been shown to be worth the consideration of the fisherman he
responded. At first the old-fashioned paddle-steamer was used
tentatively on the north-east coast of England, and the writer
remembers in the early ’eighties the singular unattractiveness—the
total absence of beauty, indeed—which these vessels possessed. By
birth and adoption these were properly tugs, but they did a bit of
trawling on their own account when not otherwise required, and met
with sufficient success to repeat the experiment many times. Some
of these ugly old craft are still to be seen in the neighbourhood of
Scarborough and Whitby.
 THE NORTH SEA TRAWLER “ORONTES.”
From a Photograph. By permission of Messrs. Cochrane & Son, Selby.

THE STEAM TRAWLER “NOTRE DAME DES DUNES.”

From a Photograph. By permission of Messrs. Cochrane & Son, Selby.

But since the fishing fleets were at sea for weeks together, and
something faster than a sailing ship was required to hurry the
cargoes to market, a special steam fish-carrier came in which plied
her voyages from the Dogger to London and the east coast ports.
From that it was an easy step to building a steamship for use not as
a carrier but as a trawler. Already steam had been in use on board
the sailing trawler, but that had been for hauling the nets and
warping into dock. The increase of competition, the loss of a market
through calms and the prevalence of head winds, clearly marked the
way for the coming of the steam trawler. Recently it has been shown
that the employment of the motor-propelled trawler means a saving
of cost and a greater share of profits to all concerned, and perhaps
in the next decade the steam trawler may find the more modern form
of propulsion to be a serious rival. But even now sail has anything
but vanished, and there are many purely sail-driven trawlers, as also
there are many steam trawlers with auxiliary sails. Within the last few
years the steam fishing ship has grown to be of considerable size,
with topgallant forecastle, high freeboard and lofty wheel-house, so
that it penetrates to oceans thousands of miles away from the North
Sea, being enabled by reason of its size to carry sufficient quantities
of coal for many miles. The lower illustration facing page 252 shows
one of the modern type of steam trawler. This is the Notre Dame des
Dunes, built by the same makers as the Orontes. Her substantial
forecastle, her bold sheer and high bows, together with her length
(rather more than six beams to the longitudinal expanse), eminently
fit her for her work in most trying circumstances. A curious survival of
the old-fashioned sailing ship is seen in the retention in a twentieth
century ship of the imitation square ports painted along her topsides.
The Notre Dame measures 160 feet long, 25 feet wide, and 14½ feet
deep.
 HYDRAULIC LIFEBOAT.
By permission from “The Yachting Monthly.”

But to-day, even with all the modern improvements which have
been put into the ship, both sailing and steam-propelled;
notwithstanding all the navigational appliances, the water-tight
compartments, the size of ships and the excellence with which they
are sent on their voyages, there is still need for the lifeboat, which
has to go out many times during a bad winter at the summons of
necessity. Although it is possible that the motor, as in the trawler, will
eventually oust steam from this special type of craft, that stage has
not yet been reached. Steam is a comparatively recent innovation to
the lifeboat, and this is partially explainable by the deep-rooted
prejudice of the local seamen. It is also owing to the fact that when
the lifeboat has to go out at all the seas are very bad, and the craft is
subjected to the water breaking over, and unless special precautions
were taken to guard against this the fires would be put out, and the
boat would be rather worse off than if she had no engines. There are
only a few steam lifeboats along our shores, and they are placed at
such stations where they can lie afloat instead of having to be
launched down the beach or from a specially constructed slipway.
The first form of steam lifeboat was to some extent on the lines of
the ship which John Allen had suggested as far back as 1730, of
which we spoke in an earlier chapter. It will be remembered that he
advocated a system which was actually employed by James
Rumsey in 1787. The principle was that of sucking water in at the
bows and ejecting it at the stern. A more recent instance of the use
of this idea will be found in the boat illustrated on the opposite page
which shows a hydraulic lifeboat. The disadvantage of having a
screw propeller is that it stands a very good chance of being fouled,
if not damaged, by wreckage and ropes. Therefore engines were
installed which sucked in the water by means of a “scoop,” placed at
the bottom of the boat amidships. The water thus indrawn is
discharged aft on either side of the hull, and if the craft is desired to
go astern, then this is easily done by discharging water forward. This
type has been in actual use, and has been highly efficacious in
saving human life from shipwreck. By referring to the lower figure of
the illustration on page 255, which shows the midship section of one
of the hydraulic type, some idea will be gained of the placing of the
“scoop.” By using alternately one of the after pipes the ship can be
manœuvred to port or starboard just like a vessel fitted with twin-
screws. But there are corresponding disadvantages which require to
be weighed. It is distinctly not an economical method of propulsion,
and if the sea happens to contain much sand considerable damage
may happen to the engines, and other undesirable matter also may
work still greater havoc.
 A SCREW LIFEBOAT.
By permission from “The Yachting Monthly.”

On the other hand, we have mentioned that the screw has its
drawbacks owing to the possibility of its suffering injury. It was
therefore decided that this could be avoided by placing it in a tunnel
some distance forward of the stern, and thus protected against all
likely damage. (A similar method is also employed in the steam fire-
boats which are used by the London Fire Brigade on the Thames,
and are summoned whenever a river-side warehouse or factory gets
ablaze.) If reference is made to the illustration on page 257, this
tunnel will be discernible. In order to leave nothing to chance a
water-tight hatch is placed in the cock-pit floor just over the propeller,
through which any pieces of sea-weed, rope, or other undesirable
matter can easily be removed without having to beach the craft first.
These little ships measure about 50 feet long, and about 15 feet
wide; they are driven by direct-acting, compound, surface-
condensing engines, which give to them a speed of about nine
knots.
In certain parts of the world where the rivers are shallow, either
at their banks or in mid-stream, steam navigation is only possible by
means of “stern-wheelers.” Such instances occur on the West Coast
of Africa, and also in America. In general idea, though not in detail,
this method is a reversion to the antiquated ship already discussed
in Hulls’ idea for a tow-boat. The stern of these steamships to which
we are referring is not ended in the same continuous straight line,
but is raised slightly upwards at an angle so that the paddle-wheel is
able to revolve freely without requiring such a draught of water as
otherwise it would have needed if placed on the ship’s side in the
usual manner. This will be seen on examining the stern of the Inez
Clarke, illustrated opposite this page. This stern-wheeler was built as
far back as 1879, but the points on which we are insisting are here
well demonstrated. The draught of the ship, notwithstanding the
weight of her engines, was only 15 inches, so that she was enabled
to go into the very shallowest water, where even a bottle could float.
Nevertheless her stern-wheel was sufficiently powerful to send her
along at 15 miles per hour. Her measurements are 130 feet long,
and 28 feet wide. Steamboats possessing a similar principle to that
exhibited in the Inez Clarke, but much different in the arrangement,
are to-day in use on the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, being used as
tugs to tow along a large fleet of flat-boats containing coal. As much
as fifty to sixty thousand tons are taken in tow at one time.
 THE “INEZ CLARKE.”
From the Model in the Victoria and Albert Museum.

THE “NATCHEZ” AND THE “ECLIPSE” (1855).

 THE “EMPIRE.”
From the Model in the Victoria and Albert Museum.

To North America, with its fine long rivers, the steamboat has
been, as Fulton in his foresight prophesied it would be, a highly
useful institution. To the European mind the vast possibilities of the
mighty Mississippi come as a shock when fully realised. To quote the
very first sentence in one of the most popular books which that most
popular writer, Mark Twain, ever wrote, “The Mississippi is well worth
reading about”; so, also, we might add, are its steamboats, but in our
limited space we can only barely indicate some of their essential
features. The illustration facing page 258 shows a couple of these,
the Natchez and the Eclipse, racing against each other along this
great river by the light of the moon at midnight. The first thing that
strikes the attention is the enormous height to which the decks of
these steamboats are raised. The pilot-house is higher still, and will
be recognised as about midway between the water-line and the top
of the long, lanky funnels. Even to Mark Twain the height seemed to
be terrific. “When I stood in her pilot-house,” says the author of “Life
on the Mississippi,” “I was so far above the water that I seemed to be
perched on a mountain; and her decks stretched so far away, fore
and aft, below me, that I wondered how I could ever have considered
the little Paul Jones a large craft. When I looked down her long,
gilded saloon, it was like gazing through a splendid tunnel.... The
boiler deck—i.e. the second storey of the boat, so to speak—was as
spacious as a church, it seemed to me; so with the forecastle; and
there was no pitiful handful of deck-hands, firemen, and roustabouts