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 BEAST OF EDEN
PARANORMAL DATING AGENCY
BOOK 75
MILLY TAIDEN
 CONTENTS

About the Book

Beast of Eden

1. Violet
2. Franco
3. Violet
4. Violet
5. Franco
6. Violet
7. Violet
8. Franco
9. Violet
10. Franco
11. Violet
12. Franco
13. Violet
14. Franco
15. Violet
16. Franco
17. Violet
18. Franco
19. Violet
20. Franco
21. Violet
22. Violet
23. Violet

About the Author

Also by Milly Taiden
 ABOUT THE BOOK

It was him. Mate.

Her breathing choked in her throat, her blood pounding in her ears, thudding at her wrists and in
her neck. The noise of the room had fallen away. All Violet could hear was her tiger roaring inside
her mind. Her entire being vibrated from the noise inside her, a noise which pulsated throughout
her chest and rippled throughout her body.
She took a deep breath. His scent stood out from everyone else’s in the room and almost
overwhelmed her.
Violet knew that her pupils were dilated, and if she opened her mouth, she would have
purred.
The man stared at her, his brow slightly furrowed, his dark eyes narrowed. And then, in an instant,
there was a flash of awareness in his eyes.
Because he knew what she knew … they were mates.
She didn’t know how she knew, but things were about to get really complicated.
BEAST OF EDEN
 PARANORMAL DATING AGENCY

NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

MILLY TAIDEN
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be
construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Published By
Latin Goddess Press
Winter Springs, FL 32708
http://millytaiden.com
Beast of Eden
Copyright © 2023 by Milly Taiden
Cover: Willsin Rowe
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except
in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Property of Milly Taiden
June 2023

Created with Vellum

 —For my readers,

Thank you for sticking with me.

ONE
 VIOLET

I’m never flying Delta again, Violet groaned to herself. She lifted her aching butt out of the cramped
airplane seat as her row was led off the aircraft.
And I don’t give a damn if they were voted the best airline in America, she swore to herself. The
food was terrible.
Boy, was she crabby. The terrible flight … even if the quality of the flight had been an anomaly …
had not mixed well with her nerves. But she wouldn’t stay that way for long.
By the time she had walked into the terminal and headed to collect her checked luggage, the
irritation had passed. It was going to be a good weekend, Violet told herself, even though it was only
Wednesday.
She found a luggage cart as she waited with other weary passengers for her four bags. Maybe you
packed too much, she thought to herself.
But then, it was a special weekend. You’re going to meet your fated mate this weekend. The
person chosen for you by fate. You needed options.
The tiger inside her growled at the thought of meeting her fated mate, and Violet smiled as she
lugged her baggage onto the cart.
Maybe four bags were excessive, but Violet wanted her fated mate to fall to his knees at the very
sight of her. She had packed a variety of outfits and shoes … sexy, conservative, and comfortable …
along with her best perfumes.
When Violet turned toward the waiting area, she spotted the sign with her name on it right away.
“Violet Carney” stood out on the board in large, block letters. The driver who held out her name
looked at every person that passed him expectantly.
“Craig?” Violet said when she finally walked up to him. He looked down at her with twinkling
blue eyes.
Craig was an older, slightly rotund man with salt-and-pepper hair and a beard. In other words, he
was a dead ringer for Santa Claus.
“Violet?” He might have been rather round, but he grabbed her luggage cart with efficiency and
rolled it toward the arrivals parking lot.
“Yes, hi, thanks for being here on time.” She hurried to catch up with him.
“Of course.” Craig didn’t even huff as he expertly lifted and placed her bags in the trunk of his
town car. He was finished within seconds, and after taking the cart back to its designated spot, he
opened the back door for Violet.
She got in carefully, and after a moment, Craig pulled away from the lot and merged into the
traffic moving out of the airport.
 Violet sat quietly in the backseat, watching Delaware pass by through the tinted windows.
Throughout the trip, her excited anxiety slowly quieted until she was peaceful.
She was finally going to meet her fated mate.
By the time she finished her undergraduate degree, Violet had suffered several bad dates and
terribly faked orgasms. And the tiger inside her was getting equally testy.
She had seen what the legendary Gerri Wilder had done for her best friend … Abby had found her
fated mate through the firecracker of a woman in a week. And Abby had never been happier.
Violet was tired of waiting for her mate to simply wander into her life. Wherever he was, he was
clearly too busy to do that. So, she was going to him. And according to Gerri, that meant going all the
way to Dover, Delaware, from Philadelphia, where Violet lived.
What could her mate possibly be doing in Delaware? Was there anything to do in Delaware
aside from inhaling the ever-present fumes of motor oil that lingered in the air?
Violet had never been afraid of risking everything for herself and the people around her. She
supposed she should be more careful with the risks she took … they hadn’t all worked out. But life
was too short, and there was her innate fear of missing out on the possibility of a good opportunity.
This time, however, she hoped the risk was worth it.
“Are you a big racing fan?”
“What?” Violet replied distractedly.
Craig pointed out the window, and Violet turned to see a giant track stretching on for about a mile.
It was oval-shaped and almost beautiful. The track was surrounded by maybe ten thousand seats.
At least they were taking driver safety seriously, she thought to herself.
“Not really,” she finally answered. But the thought of watching the racing cars speed around the
track woke something in her.
“A friend gave me some tickets,” she said.
Tigers in the wild could run up to thirty miles per hour, even though they often weighed up to five
hundred pounds. Tiger shifters were no different. So, even though she wasn’t a fan of racing, she
could become addicted to the speed.
“And you better get used to the track quickly.” Craig laughed as he turned off the highway. They
had lost sight of the track by the time they turned into the hotel parking lot.
But Violet still heard the engines revving from where she sat in the town car. Though that had
more to do with her heightened sense of hearing than proximity to the vehicles.
“Because your hotel is right here next to the track. You’re going to love the smell of gasoline by
the time you leave, honey. And you must have some pretty generous friends to get a penthouse suite.”
“I do,” Violet said as she contemplated the first time she met Gerri.
They were introduced at a charity function hosted by Senior Rights, the organization Violet had
worked at until recently. Meeting Gerri at the event hadn’t been the first time Violet had heard of her.
She had, of course, heard about Gerri from Abby, who raved about the woman’s prowess at
matchmaking.
So, after downing some premium scotch, Violet had worked up the courage to ask Gerri to do the
same for her. The woman had nodded vigorously while opening a flask and pouring amber liquid into
her glass of fruit juice.
“Of course, darling,” Gerri said after listening to Violet. “You leave it all to me. Just be ready to
travel soon.”
Violet wasn’t sure why she had been surprised that Gerri had agreed to help her. She was just
relieved that the woman had such a kind heart.
 Craig was busy calling a bellhop to help with Violet’s bags when her phone buzzed. She opened it
quickly and scrolled to find her messager. The text was from Gerri, who asked if she had arrived
safely. Violet messaged her back and thanked her again for arranging everything.
The hotel she would be staying at was the Eden Sun Hotel and Casino, and it towered above her
as she got out of the town car. She tipped Craig well, and he saluted her before he got back into his
car.
Violet thought he should have clicked his heels together as she followed the bellhop into the
absolutely stunning lobby.
To her surprise, she found Gerri standing there waiting for her.

VIOLET HAD a certain vision of Gerri in her head before she met her.
Abby had never described Gerri’s physical features. All she had spoken about was Gerri’s
amazing personality and her take-no-shit attitude.
That was why upon meeting Gerri, Violet had been surprised. She wasn’t sure what she had
pictured, but she certainly had not expected the lean, short woman with white hair and snapping blue
eyes who stood in front of her.
Now, Gerri stood in the lobby with an unlit cigar, wearing a black, three-piece pantsuit. “Violet,
darling.” Gerri pulled Violet into a hug, and Violet was again surprised by the strength of the tiny
woman.
“How are you?”
“I’m good.” Violet smiled gratefully at Gerri, who was picking invisible lint off her perfect
clothing.
“Just glad I got here safely.”
“Me too, love. Me too. Now. Walk with me.”
Violet was conscious that she was letting out a low rumbling from her chest. Why are you
purring? She asked the tiger.
It was clear that her inner tiger was completely comfortable around Gerri.
She took a deep sniff of Gerri’s scent. Upon meeting Gerri, she had known there was something
different about her. She had felt it in Gerri’s handshake and in the way her body moved.
She could also sense the peculiarity about Gerri through her smell, though she had been unable to
figure it out. Gerri was still an enigma, and Violet’s natural curiosity perked up as they walked to the
hotel bar.
“Give me a whiskey sour,” Gerri ordered the barman, who jumped into action without question.
Then she turned to Violet expectantly. “Order something.”
Violet gladly followed Gerri’s instructions. She didn’t think the word no was in Gerri’s
vocabulary.
“I’ll have a glass of Syrah,” Violet ordered, and they both settled onto the barstools.
“So, how have you been?” Gerri asked and lit the already-clipped cigar.
“I’ve been great … I just graduated with my bachelor’s degree.”
“Congratulations,” Gerri gushed. “Education is so important to me. I love young people who are
determined to get their diplomas. What did you major in?”
“Business and Economics.” Violet took her glass of wine and watched as Gerri sipped her drink
with pursed lips. “I did it part-time.” Violet wasn’t sure why she felt like opening up to Gerri. She
had a feeling that was one of Gerri’s secret abilities. “I think I had to work for a while and gain the
wisdom of age before I could complete my degree properly.”
“Well,” Gerri had finished her drink and promptly ordered another one, “that’s the right idea. And
what about work?”
Violet’s shoulders sagged as she thought about her job situation. She had only recently become
unemployed. And not under good circumstances.
Violet took a deep breath and swallowed the rest of her wine in one large gulp. The barman
discreetly filled her glass again as she caught Gerri up on what had happened.
“About two weeks ago, we all went to work as usual. But when we got to the center, the entire
place was ransacked.”
Gerri gasped and inhaled some of her cigar smoke. Then she waved at the barman, who brought
over some snacks.
“The windows were broken, and all our equipment was stolen. Computers, printers, everything.”
Tears prickled in Violet’s eyes as she thought about all Senior Rights had lost. “Whoever broke in
also stole the food, clothing, and toiletries that we had collected for the elderly. We had to close
because we didn’t have the funds to fix the windows and replace everything.”
Senior Rights focused on helping vulnerable senior citizens with filing for social welfare or just
giving them something to do for the day. They also helped the homeless population over the age of
sixty in Philadelphia.
Only when Senior Rights had been forced to close did Violet realize she had finally found what
she wanted to do. She had cried like a baby when she first witnessed the destruction … not because
of what she had lost, but because fifty people would be going hungry for the first time in five years.
Senior Rights had been more than a day center or administration office. At Senior Rights, they
also rescued abused older adults from their families. They had identified the early signs of dementia
and Alzheimer’s among their regulars.
It had been difficult work. But it was worth it. They had saved lives. And they would have
continued to do so. But then it was all destroyed in a second.
Violet’s face had grown hot, and tears welled in her eyes again. “I resigned,” she murmured to
Gerri. “There was no hope of staying on at Senior Rights. I hoped I could use my business degree to
do something I’m passionate about.”
Gerri placed a cool hand around her wrist, and Violet smiled at her gratefully as she wiped her
tears away. “You’ve been through a lot. Which is why you need to focus on yourself for a while. And
also focus on getting to know your fated mate.”
Violet’s sadness about Senior Rights had not dissipated, but warmth rippled through her at Gerri’s
words. She had to focus on the good time she would have this weekend. She had to focus on finding
her mate and being there for herself.
She had to focus on the new start being offered to her.
“And speaking of passion,” Gerri said, “the racetrack and the life surrounding it is all about
passion. So, it makes sense that your fated mate is caught up in this world.”
“Yes, I suppose it does.” Violet was slowly starting to feel better.
“Now, go up to your room and relax. You need to unwind from everything you’ve been through,
but there will be a special dinner tonight, and your fated mate will be there.”
Gerri ordered another whiskey sour, and Violet marveled at the woman’s constitution. She had
had about five drinks and was steadier in her high-heeled shoes than Violet was in her sneakers.
 She kissed Gerri on the cheek and then headed up to the penthouse suite.

CRAIG HAD BEEN RIGHT. She had an excellent view of the racetrack through the floor-to-ceiling
windows in her suite.
Her bags had been brought up. She kicked off her shoes, then changed into something more
comfortable. She examined herself in the mirror before she went over to the windows.
Was she ready to meet her fated mate? Violet wondered. Yes!
Violet had always been fuller-figured, a fact that had never bothered her. She was proud of her
body, and the three days a week that she spent in the gym was proof of that. Her strong, hourglass
figure looked perfect, even clad in sweatpants and a baggy shirt. She ran a hand through her dark,
wavy hair that fell to the middle of her back.
Violet smiled giddily at herself, then grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-bar and went over to
the windows. She sat in a lounge chair that faced the window and unscrewed the bottle cap.
She sat forward, allowing her shifter vision to slide over her already perfect human vision. Now
she could see every single detail of the track. She could see each individual car and all the logos
plastered on them.
She could also see each one of the drivers, the pit crews, the mechanics, and the fans that had
arrived early.
“The racetrack is all about passion …” Violet recalled Gerri’s words, and she shivered with
pleasurable excitement.
She would be meeting her fated mate in a few hours, and the anticipation was almost
overwhelming. What would he look like? Would he like her? Would they get along right away like
Abby had with her fated mate?
Would they have anything in common? Would he be a shifter too? And if yes, what kind of shifter
would he be?
The tiger inside her growled angrily and started pacing.
Violet laughed. “Fine, I’ll stop obsessing about him. However, It’s hard not to,” she said, and the
tiger growled again.
She sat in that chair for several hours and only stood when she was completely relaxed. Then she
headed for the bathroom, so she could prepare for the night ahead.
She only hoped that her experience would be as magical as Abby had described. Because she
wasn’t sure what she would do if it wasn’t.
TWO
FRANCO
 NO TIME TO STOP.

Faster … Faster … Faster.

The words resounded through Franco’s head as he sped down Dupont Highway, passing a small
town called Camden on his way to Dover. He could already hear cars speeding around the track at
Eden International Speedway.
They were doing a practice run, he deduced, and the roaring cars added a nice undertone to the
rock music he was listening to. The windows of his McLaren Artura were open, and the music
blasted as he swung his car around a twist in the highway and flew into Dover. The city was awake,
alive with excitement for the coming race weekend.
Franco had driven this speedway before, and about eighty percent of the fans would be his. The
grandstands would be packed, and the noise from the crowd and commentators would rival the
sounds of the cars, and Franco would love every minute of it.
His lion was listening because the beast inside him arched its spine and roared, throwing its
magnificent head back. The road ahead of him was packed with cars, but he simply put his foot on the
gas. And the cars steadily gave way.
People in the street cheered as he sped past, and drivers leaned on their car horns. He put an arm
out of the window and gave a wave. Franco grinned when he heard one solitary scream from a female
fan.
And then the racetrack came into view.
No one at the racetrack administration asked him to stop to check for ID as they did with everyone
else. He was Franco Zellar. Everyone in Dover knew who he was.
He came to a stop in his assigned parking bay and jumped out of the car. He patted her for luck
and then headed in to meet his crew.
Franco had planned on heading to the hotel first, but he changed his mind halfway through
Georgetown. There was no time to wait.
He had to prepare for the race. It didn’t matter that he held the record for the most wins at Eden
International Speedway. Records were there to be broken.
And he would be the one breaking his own record. No one else would have that pleasure.
This weekend he had to get a workout in and see his physiotherapist in preparation for the
qualifying lap. It didn’t matter that he knew the track like the back of his hand. Every race was
different regardless of location, and any number of different problems could arise. A stiff wind could
cause failure at the exact same track that had resulted in a previous win.
And anyway, the Eden track was a bit of a bitch. The oval shapes weren’t always pleasant,
especially the Eden one. He might not have to shift gears more than twice throughout the one-mile run,
but he had to negotiate the shape of the track and the fact that there was virtually no leverage for the
car.
Franco jogged to the track and sat on the edge of the concrete. He barely looked at the other
drivers or their crews. Franco sat there until he could practically feel the track beneath his fingers.
It was hot outside, and the smell of asphalt was mixed with gas and motor oil. The heady
fragrance hung heavily in the air, and Franco inhaled it, indulging in it. The lion inside him roared
again, satisfied that they were in their version of the savannah.
They were the predator here, and every other driver was the prey.
After he felt in sync with the track, Franco went to inspect his car, which had been flown in the
night before. She was another McLaren … the McLaren MP4/4 … and she was beautiful.
Franco more than trusted the private pilot he had paid to fly his car to Delaware, but he still
wanted to inspect her because anything could happen during transport. He took another hour to study
every inch of the car. Once he was sure that everything looked good, he thanked the pilot who had
come to see the track.
His crew had arrived, including his mechanic, Cornel. Franco also considered Cornel a friend,
and the two men greeted one another like they always did.
“You good, man?” Cornel asked him. Cornel was already covered in grease, though Franco
wasn’t sure how because he hadn’t touched the car yet.
Felix and Samantha, two other members of his crew, stood ready. They were both always silent,
which Franco appreciated. After they did their cursory nod, they went to the car. They would do a
more thorough inspection than Franco had. Cornel would also take the car around the track a few
times to make sure it ran properly.
“I’m good,” Franco replied. “You ready for this?” he asked his friend and mechanic.
Cornel gave the widest grin and slapped Franco on the shoulder. “Always ready. Ready to win.”
He left a greasy handprint on Franco’s new shirt, but he didn’t mind.
Cornel was a homegrown repair guru … he had learned everything there was to know from his
father and grandfather. He had gone on to study mechanical engineering and could make even the
crankiest engine run as smoothly as a river.
They joined Felix and Samantha. “So,” Franco interrupted them, “what are we doing to the car
this time around?”
“We’re changing the steering wheel, for one,” Cornel said.
Franco almost groaned out loud. Cornel was a big fan of changing steering wheels all the time. He
rarely had more than a few hours before a race to get used to all the new controls.
Luckily, this time around, he’d have more than a few hours. But it would mean working late.
“You can’t work late,” Cornel said. His friend had always been able to read his thoughts. “You
have that dinner tonight.”
Franco sighed. “Dear God. You better hope I get used to that fucking steering wheel before
tomorrow,” Franco said. But he knew that Cornel had complete faith in him, and that gave him more
confidence in himself.
Soon, Franco was helping Cornel, Felix, and Samantha take out the engine and replace the
steering wheel. He got into the car while they put the engine back in and memorized the various
controls quickly enough.
It was close to mid-afternoon when Cornel hurried Franco out of the car and toward the hotel. He
couldn’t stay with them all night, as much as he wanted to.
Franco had a press conference at five that afternoon to answer questions about past and future
races. He also had to discuss the rumors that he had bet on himself in the Chicago race the previous
year and how he felt about the upcoming changes to the Eden track.
As much as Franco liked being in the spotlight, they were only one day away from the first race.
He hated having to answer so many questions when he was internally reviewing the track. Why
couldn’t they have the damn press conferences after the races? He thought to himself, slightly
disgruntled.
He also had dinner later with his sponsors. Once again, he preferred doing all that after the races.
But he couldn’t avoid his sponsors … they were paying the bills, after all.
The fans were waiting for him as he left the track and headed for the hotel. There were about a
dozen people, most of whom were older men who were living vicariously through him.
“I put down a hundred on you, Frankie,” one of the older men shouted. He smiled tightly at the
man. “Make sure I win!”
“I’ll do my best.” He laughed as he tried to quiet the lion inside him. The man’s comment grated
against Franco’s nerves, and he swallowed the low rumbling before it left his mouth.
“Shut up, Marvin,” a woman yelled. Franco assumed it was the man’s wife. “I told you the man
needs to concentrate. Don’t make me turn the car around and go home.”
Marvin fell silent right away.
Franco signed autographs for the other fans and clapped a sheepish Marvin on the back. The man
smiled up at him gratefully before Franco left.
He broke into a jog on the way to the hotel and entered through the side entrance where he could
avoid more fans and reporters. The Eden Sun Hotel and Casino had a contract with the racers to
allow them to enter through the side during racing season.
Franco headed up to his suite on the highest floor of the hotel. There he showered and found the
suit, tie, and sneakers that his assistant, Mandy, had put out for him.
Before dressing, he found his electric razor and shaved off his beard that he had let grow while on
a break from racing. It was too dangerous to have a long beard. Hair was flammable.
After he was ready, Franco headed down to the casino floor where the press conference was
being held. Mandy waited for him there, and she handed him a snack and a bottle of water, which he
downed in one gulp.
“These are the questions most likely to be asked.” Mandy handed him a clipboard. She had made
it a habit of watching past press conferences and noting the questions asked repeatedly.
At this point, Franco had perfected the art of press conferences. “Thanks.” He smiled at her, and
she nodded curtly at him.
Mandy was an efficient woman whose father had been an F1 driver. She had grown up in the
world, and after getting her administration degree, she had gone back to the thing she loved most.
Racing.
Franco was just lucky he had found someone like her when he did. And with that, he hopped up
onto the stage where the podium was set up.
“Mr. Zellar, you’re the top pick to win Sunday’s race. Are you ready?”
“Well,” he replied easily. “I’ll do my best as I always do, but I’m honored that I’ve been chosen
as the top pick.”
“And how do you feel about the fact that Hank Miller is reentering the racing world after his
horrific accident several years earlier?”
“Um.” Franco had not been expecting that question and actually had to think about it. “I think he is
a braver man than I am.”
 He knew that what he said wasn’t true. Nothing could keep him away from racing. Not even an
accident.
The press conference was over quickly enough for Franco to get out of there with time to relax
before the dinner with his sponsors. He strolled around the casino, hands in his pockets, as he thought
about Hank Miller’s crash.
That had been three years ago, and Franco had witnessed it. He had been three cars behind Miller
at a race course in Atlanta and had swung his car away from the crash just in time.
The three cars in front of Franco had all piled up. While Miller was the most severely hurt, there
were multiple injuries. Franco had been lucky, but his “luck” had more to do with his shifter senses
and reflexes.
His senses of hearing, sight, smell, taste, and touch were all heightened as a lion shifter. He was a
hundred times stronger than the average human man, and in his shifted form, he outweighed the
strongest lion in the Savannah.
Franco also knew that he was a champion, not only because he was dedicated to his craft but
because of his increased abilities and enhanced senses. The lion knew it too. Which was why it
demanded so much of him.
It seemed that Hank Miller was driving again, though Franco wasn’t sure that he’d be in any kind
of shape to race yet. But he had been honest when he spoke at the press conference. It was a brave
move on Hank’s part to come back to the sport.
His phone buzzed, and when he looked at the screen, he saw that Mandy was calling him.
“Yeah?” he answered her.
“You’ve got a workout scheduled first thing tomorrow. We’ve flown your own physiotherapist out
for the weekend. And as for the dinner later on, please be on your best behavior.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Franco asked. He heard her sigh on the other end of the line.
“You’re stubborn, Franco. Damn, the whole racing world knows it. And I’ve heard talk that your
sponsors might be asking you to make some changes in regards to promotional material.”
“What kind of changes?” The lion paced nervously. He was conscious then that he was emitting a
low rumbling. He stopped with some effort. Mandy didn’t know he was a shifter, and he intended to
keep things that way.
“I don’t know.” There was a hint of exasperation in her voice. “What I do know is it could mean
more money.” Her voice rose as she tried to encourage him. “You’re one of the top drivers in
America. Everyone wants a piece of you. But it comes at a price.”
“I know I’m good, Mands. But I shouldn’t have to sell my soul to get paid for what I do.”
“It’s too late for that. The sponsor has already signed you on for another five years. That’s past the
outside age point for most drivers. Just don’t be too stubborn tonight. Listen carefully and watch your
mouth.”
And with that, she ended the call.
Franco realized he stood in front of a mirrored wall. And when he looked at himself, he saw his
scowl.
He didn’t like being told what to do, but he had learned a long time ago that he had to give up
some of his independence when it came to work. And he had also learned that Mandy seemed to be
the only person in the world more stubborn than him.
He headed up to the fancy restaurant on the tenth floor. The dinner would start in about fifteen
minutes, and it was always good to show up early.
This place is so empty, he thought as he got to the elevators.
 But it was race weekend, so the place was probably booked up to its eyeballs with drivers and
their crews. People would still be arriving, which meant he would have some quiet time before
tomorrow.
The restaurant was called Fitzgerald’s Steakhouse, and it was one of the most expensive
restaurants in Delaware. He ate there every time he had a race at the Eden track. They had a pretty
decent Wagyu steak and great potatoes.
Franco arrived on the tenth floor, and the maître d’ showed him to the table where he’d be sitting
with the sponsors. There were seats for other guests, such as the press, loyal fans, and other potential
sponsors that Mandy had invited.
“Can I get a club soda, please?” He’d have a real drink later, but he wanted to keep a clear head
for now.
Just then, Cornel, Felix, and Samantha walked in, wearing their formal clothes. Many drivers
weren’t overly friendly with their crews and didn’t invite them to this kind of thing. But Franco had
learned early on that it was better to keep his crew close. That way, they consistently worked as a
team, no matter what happened.
It was always a funny moment seeing the three of them outside of their overalls, which they lived
in. He stood to greet them.
“You all clean up nice. Is that a little grease there, Felix? For comfort?”
Samantha rolled her eyes, and they took their seats.
Right then, the doors to the restaurant opened properly, and the sponsors strolled in.
THREE
 VIOLET

Violet had been dreaming about her mate ever since Gerri had agreed to help her. And now, as she got
ready for the party, she remembered every dream she ever had about him.
Her dreams never showed his face … or what Violet hoped his face looked like. Mostly because
she wasn’t that picky, as long as he was handsome. She still did not know if he was a shifter, though
she suspected he was from the little Gerri had said about him.
Her dreams changed almost every night. In one dream, her mate was also a tiger shifter. In another
dream, he was a bear shifter. And in yet another dream, he was a large, hulking wolf shifter.
The dreams were all anxiety-inducing which was why Violet tried not to think about them too
much. But they were all in the same vein.
She was in her shifted form as a giant tiger. She was wandering through a nameless forest until
she came to a giant gorge in the ground before her. And on the other side, in whatever form, was her
fated mate.
There was only one way to get to her mate. And that was to get across the gorge.
Her mate waited for her endlessly as Violet tried to jump. But she never made the jump. She
wasn’t frightened … she could leap the span.
But something about her fated mate held her back.
The dreams never changed. And every morning, Violet woke drenched in a cold layer of sweat.
She was not sure what the dreams meant, but she kept reassuring herself that they probably meant
nothing. When she found her mate, everything would be perfect.
After all, he was fated for her.

AFTER HER SHOWER, Violet ordered a small plate of appetizers. While standing underneath the
piping hot water in the shower, she had realized that she had drunk three glasses of wine and had
nothing to eat.
The bellboy wheeled the tray with the appetizers into the room while she dried her hair. She put
the dryer down and hurried over to eat before she passed out.
With every new moment that passed, her tigress paced impatiently inside her. All the animal
wanted was to meet its mate. But all the pacing was making Violet more and more anxious.
She grabbed her suitcase and pulled the dress options out of her bag. This is never going to work,
Violet thought to herself as she held the strappy dress up to the mirror. The dress was figure-hugging
and only a few shades darker than her skin. And while it was beautiful, it was more suited to a club
than a fancy restaurant.
She wanted her mate to see everything she had to offer. But she didn’t want everyone else to see it
too.
She had thirty minutes before she was due to arrive at the restaurant where the dinner was being
held. She had already done her hair and makeup. Her long, thick hair was twisted away from her face
in a French knot, and the updo was secured with shiny clips.
The hairstyle had taken her nearly twenty minutes to master. The hair clips hung on by a thread.
Her makeup was simple … a muted pink lip, dark eyes, and a slight hint of blush that highlighted her
excellent cheekbones.
Violet had brought about six dresses and had vetoed five of them already. They were either too
boring or too sexy.
The last one had to work because if it didn’t, she would have to wear a pantsuit, and that would
do nothing for her figure.
She exhaled slowly when she pulled the dress out of its bag. It was knee length with a square
neckline, black, and covered in shiny black sequins that made her glitter in the light of the hotel room.
The dress was understated glam. While it was modest in length, it clung to every one of her
curves. She paired the dress with a pair of sparkly silver heels that added height to her frame.
Violet jumped when she looked at her phone. She had ten minutes to spare and still had to make it
to the restaurant. She slipped the heels on, grabbed an equally sparkly purse, and then carefully made
her way to the elevators.
This is it. You’re about to meet your fated mate. She repeated the words over and over. By the
time the elevator had dropped to the tenth floor, there was a wide grin on her face.
She forced the grin away as she walked up to the maître d’ and gave him Gerri’s name.
“Are you a racing fan?” the maître d’ asked as he looked her up and down.
“Uh, not really. I was gifted this weekend by the woman who made the reservation.”
The man grinned at her suddenly. “Well, you better get ready. This is going to be one helluva
weekend.”
The entire restaurant had been booked for the exclusive dinner, and Violet headed for the bar,
where she ordered a glass of wine. She needed to calm her nerves and also needed to have something
to hold onto so that she didn’t look like an interloper.
I wonder who he is, she asked herself as she scanned the room. Who could Gerri possibly be
setting her up with?
She didn’t really care who he was if she were being honest with herself. She didn’t care if he was
the pit crew mechanic or one of the billionaires sponsoring the drivers. All Violet wanted right then
was to find her mate.
She hoped that he was a shifter so her mating senses would truly be activated. It would also help
if her mate was hot. She needed something good to look at every day.
She almost purred at the thought of being with another shifter. It had been so long since she had
truly been with anyone.
That was when she caught the scent in the air. It wasn’t the scent of her mate, but it was the scent
of shifters. She couldn’t tell what kind right away, and she also wasn’t close enough to anyone to
identify which of the guests … or staff … were her kind.
Violet decided to ignore them for now but stayed away from the crowds. Instead, she walked
along the outskirts of the restaurant and waited for Gerri, who hadn’t arrived yet.
 She tried to look as normal as possible while she made another lap around the room and looked at
the artwork on the walls. But she also kept looking at every guest, hoping one of them would be her
mate and that she would feel it right away.
Abby had described meeting her mate as a shock through the heart. She had known right away that
he was her mate. Would it be like that for her too? Violet asked herself. She hoped so.
The restaurant was filling rapidly. She made eye contact with a few men, but the mythical
magnetic pull wasn’t there for any of them.
But then, as a crowd started gathering on the other side of the restaurant, her pulse started racing.
Her heart thudded, and she almost purred as something pulled her toward the mass of people.
Then she stopped, confused. The person in front of her stepped away, and she was given a view
of the man at the center of the throng. And he turned to look at her.
It was him. That’s him. That’s my mate.
Her breathing choked in her throat, her blood pounding in her ears, thudding at her wrists and in
her neck. The noise of the room had fallen away. All Violet could hear was her tiger roaring inside
her mind. She almost vibrated from the noise inside her, the noise which pulsated throughout her chest
and rippled throughout her body.
She took in a deep breath. His scent stood out from everyone else’s in the room and almost
overwhelmed her.
Violet knew that her pupils were dilated, and if she had opened her mouth, she would have
purred.
The man still stared at her, his brow slightly furrowed, his dark eyes narrowed. And then, in an
instant, there was a flash of awareness in his eyes.
Because he knew what she knew … they were mates.
And then she was forced to step back as the throng of people pushed in around him again. The
tiger inside her wanted her to shove everyone in the crowd away, but she kept control of herself
because she could smell the shifters close by. She still didn’t know who they were, but she did not
need to piss off a pack of shifters before she even knew the name of her mate.
You finally found him. The words thrilled her. The tiger roared again as she went back to the bar
and got another drink. She sipped the wine carefully as she thought about the man who was hers.
He was the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. He, whoever he was, was over six
feet tall with short dark hair and intense dark eyes. Her mate was lean but muscular, and when he
turned, his jawline was sharp, and his cheekbones were high.
He was beautiful.
And he had dozens of fans.
Violet scanned the room as she looked at all the men and women throwing themselves at him.
They wanted autographs and photographs, and she couldn’t help but growl under her breath as she
saw woman after woman press their bodies against his.
The man, her mate, didn’t react or do anything other than smile. But jealousy still roared inside
her, unsettling her tigress. She tightened her grip around her glass and turned away from looking at
him.
Just then, the hostess came to the front of the room and asked everyone to find their tables. Violet
was at table number three, quite close to the main table, and she walked toward it gratefully. Her feet
were already aching.
When she arrived at table number three, Violet was delighted to see Gerri was there. She found a
seat next to the matchmaker, and Gerri took her hand and squeezed it tightly. They waited as most of
the people in the room found their seats.
Soon everyone, except Violet’s mate and a few other people, were seated. “I think I saw him,” she
whispered to Gerri right away.
“So,” Gerri whispered back as the commotion settled around them. “You found him. How do you
feel?”
“I feel …” She exhaled heavily. She could barely describe her emotions. “I don’t know.” Violet
laughed giddily.
“I get that reaction a lot.” Gerri laughed heartily and brightly and grabbed her drink. Another
whiskey sour. And again, the liquor barely seemed to make Gerri even a little off balance.
“He’s the one with the buzzcut and dark eyes,” Violet told Gerri. “The one surrounded by almost
everyone in this room.”
“Yes, that sounds like Franco. Franco Zellar. I love it when I’m right.”
“What does he do?”
“He is a racecar driver. That’s why I brought you here for the weekend. He’ll be racing around
Eden International Speedway this weekend.” Gerri swallowed most of the amber liquid in her glass.
She clicked her fingers, and a waiter appeared at her elbow with another.
Violet’s heart clenched with sudden fear. Her mate was doing a very dangerous job.
But then she told herself to calm down. He was clearly very good at his job if this dinner was
anything to go by.
She thought about his name again. Franco. The tiger purred.
“Franco,” she mused. Her voice was low, but when she looked up, her mate was looking directly
at her. “That sounds like a name I can say in bed.”
She murmured the words, her voice even lower, but Gerri heard. The matchmaker laughed out
loud and raucously. She startled the guest next to her, who spilled some of his drink on his pants.
“He has a lot of fans,” Violet told Gerri. She couldn’t quite keep the jealousy out of her voice.
She wasn’t sure if Gerri heard the tinge of possessiveness, but if she did, she didn’t acknowledge
it.
“Well, he is the top pick to win,” Gerri told her. “He is the top speed driver for this race. And he
is also the defending champion.”
Violet couldn’t help but feel surprised that the mate chosen for her by destiny was so
accomplished. And he was clearly adored by his fans too. She would have to learn everything there
was to know about car racing.
The waiters came around with their appetizers as Franco spoke with more fans. Everyone tucked
into their food while the hostess started to speak again.
“Welcome to tonight’s dinner, everyone. It is good to have you here celebrating Mr. Franco Zellar
tonight.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Franco said. “I’m glad to be up here while everyone is ogling me and
enjoying their food.”
Everyone in the room laughed. He was funny too.
Violet and Franco locked eyes again, and Violet saw a new intensity she had not seen before. For
the first time that night, she thought that maybe Franco was not entirely happy.
The restaurant was warm, and the food smelled amazing. Waiters came around with decanters of
red and white wine.
Violet looked around while she listened to the other speeches made by the sponsors. She had been
so excited to meet her fated mate that she barely looked at the décor around her. The restaurant was
luxuriously decorated in shades of cream and gold. Flower arrangements in Franco’s team colors
adorned every table.
Violet was also relieved to see that she was not overdressed. She allowed Gerri to pour her a
glass of wine, and she relaxed into her chair. She listened carefully to the speeches, where she
learned more about Franco’s life.
She learned that he was single-minded and hardworking. He was dedicated to his craft, and he
was a born winner.
The more Violet heard about Franco, the more she liked him. This is a man I could fall in love
with.
Just then, Franco and Violet locked eyes again. When he looked away, she saw his face darken
with annoyance. Is he annoyed with me? But then she put the thought aside and realized he was
annoyed at everyone in the room around him.
He did not want to be there. She could sense it, though she could not understand why. This entire
evening was in honor of him. What possible reason could he have for not wanting to be there?
Violet’s attention was dragged away from Franco when their main course was served. The
speeches were also over, and Franco walked away from the front of the restaurant.
Violet did her best to focus on her food … roasted lamb shank and vegetables. But suddenly, the
chair next to hers was pulled out. And when she looked up, there was Franco.
Her fated mate had sat down next to her.
“Hi.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Franco.”
She took his hand slowly. Her skin was on fire. She nearly jumped when their skin met for the
first time.
“I’m Violet.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Violet.”
FOUR
 VIOLET

Sweat ran down her back. She wiggled in her chair, chewing on her lip. She was uncomfortable, and
she was sure it was showing. She had no one to talk to. And it looked odd when she was the only
person at the table not talking when everyone else was.
Gerri was speaking to an older couple discussing how their life was. She seemed to know a lot of
people as she was chatting with everyone. Every person at the table had talked to her at one point.
Violet shouldn’t have been surprised. This was Gerri’s job. She was supposed to know people
and talk to them. She didn’t expect her to just sit and be with her the entire night.
But she also didn’t expect that Franco would say so little to her. He wasn’t ignoring her exactly,
but he wasn’t urging a conversation with her either, and it was making her uncomfortable.
“So, you think you have a high chance of winning the race?” Laura, if she remembered her name
correctly, asked Franco.
Franco nodded, looking confident. “I do. I have the determination.”
Violet bit her lower lip, looping and unlooping her fingers together.
“Confident?” Laura asked, raising an eyebrow. Laura wasn’t flirting. She was middle-aged, so it
was just the way she held herself. But Violet was still jealous. This gal could talk Franco up while
she had no idea what to say.
“I’m confident because I practice,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m confident in my skills.”
“Do you practice every day?” Violet asked, pulling both of their eyes toward her. Violet chewed
on her cheek once more.
He racked his eyes down her and back up. She felt like he was examining her, and she
straightened her back. She swallowed, suddenly more nervous than before.
“I try to. Can’t stay the fastest if you don’t always push yourself.” He gave her a wide grin, and
her stomach flipped. She could certainly get lost in that smile.
He looked back at Laura, who waved a hand. “How fast does your car go?”
She looked away from them and looked toward Gerri. She was laughing at the couple. Wanda and
Phill. She’d heard so much about them already.
Wanda was from one pack, and Phill was from another. They were never supposed to be together.
They had that Romeo and Juliet love, but neither died in the end.
Gerri was soaking up their story. They spoke about their children, and then they talked about their
grandchildren.
“I think I have pictures,” Wanda said, pulling at her purse. “You think you could match up our
grandson? He has been having a heck of a time finding a woman.”
Gerri seemed to beam at those words. “Of course.”
 So, Violet sat trying to get in on either conversation when she could. It was hard, and she didn’t
understand why. This should be something that came easily for her. She was used to doing this. She
shouldn’t have an issue doing this.
Laura laughed and snapped Violet’s head toward Franco. “You’re joking, right?” Laura asked
with wide eyes.
Franco nodded his head. “Honest to God.”
Violet wanted to get up and leave. She didn’t think this was how dinner was going to turn out.
Maybe she had overthought this.
She wasn’t expecting to fall into his arms. Yet, she wasn’t expecting such little attention.
You are making yourself sound so needy. Lord, just talk with them. Why are you making it so
hard?
“Franco, why did you start racing?” Violet asked, trying to hop into the conversation again.
Franco looked at her, and his eyes looked over her face. She felt a blush form and hoped her
makeup hid it well. She shouldn’t blush because he looked at her.
“I always had a need for adrenaline.”
Laura nodded. “I watched a documentary on him. The story of his backstory. It was amazing the
boulders you had to overcome.”
She frowned, having not seen anything on Franco. She felt even more out of place. She wished
she’d known a little before coming here so she could relate to everyone else.
“Do you really donate some of your earnings?” Laura asked, tilting her head.
He nodded his head. “I do.”
He turned back to Laura, and she sighed. She felt he was giving her the cold shoulder, and she had
no idea why. She was trying to strike up a conversation.
Someone came over the intercom, clearing their throat. “Dessert is about to be served.”
Her shoulders relaxed, feeling they were getting close to being done for the evening. A couple of
servers came to their table, setting down small plates of cake.
She stared at her piece when Franco turned to her. She side-glanced at him, and he gave her a
smile. Her stomach flipped again.
“I have to go give a thank you speech and talk up the sponsors.” He gave her a wink, and she
blushed. “I need to schmooze a few donors and sponsors after that.”
She knew it was simply him explaining why he was leaving the table, but she also felt he was
telling her he’d be back. So, she took it as a win.
She smiled at him. “Sounds fun. Enjoy.”
She took a bite of her cake, watching him walk away. She swallowed, trying to settle her nerves.
“Hey, sweetie.” Gerri cleared her throat next to her.
She turned, popping another bite of cake into her mouth. Gerri was pulling her jacket on, sliding
her arms into it. “I have to catch a flight. I don’t like to leave like this, but I’ve got to get going if I’m
going to make it in time.”
Violet clenched. Was she leaving her already? But she had so many questions. Too many
questions.
Should she be worried that Franco was giving her the cold shoulder? How was she supposed to
talk to him when he was ignoring her? How could she get him to open up to her?
But she wasn’t going to hold Gerri up when the matchmaker had done her job. She introduced her
to her mate. It was up to them to decide what to do about it.
She took a deep breath in and forced a smile. “All right, but how can I repay you for this? You’ve
done so much for me.”
Gerri chuckled. Her eyes twinkled as she pulled her purse over her shoulder. “Seeing a happy
couple in love is all the payment I need at the end, Violet. Just make sure to invite me to the
wedding.”
Gerri patted her shoulder before she turned and headed out. She took a deep breath, trying to
straighten her back. She could handle this. All she had to do was sit and wait. And she had cake to
enjoy. So she focused on that.
She watched people leaving their tables to dance. She was the only one at their table after a few
moments. She finished her cake and worked on her drink. She watched the people dancing and the
couples laughing. She ached to do the same.
She looked for Franco after a while, feeling she hadn’t seen him in too long. She’d listened to his
speech and knew he was around.
She expected him to come back to the table. Didn’t he want to talk with her and get to know her?
Was she starting to misread things?
Remain calm, Violet. He’s a busy, popular man.
Her eyes searched the dance floor and all the tables. She figured maybe he was sitting with
someone chatting about his next race. Probably deep in conversation.
Her eyes weren’t expecting to find him on the dance floor. Seeing another woman in his arms, her
stomach sank. They were chatting as they danced, and her fingers tightened on her glass.
He was laughing, and Violet felt bile rise in the back of her throat. Was he enjoying the company
of another woman?
Her tiger raged inside, ready to storm across the room and rip that woman from his arms. She
wanted to scream and lose her control, but she couldn’t. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly.
That woman wasn’t single. He wasn’t in the arms of some free woman who would bend over for
him. She knew who he was dancing with.
She was the host’s wife, Charley. She was a beautiful woman but deeply, madly in love with her
husband. She’d seen them eating together a few tables away.
They were laughing the entire meal, and she could see the love those two shared. They had that
sparkle in their eyes. And the ring on her finger said it as well. It sparkled as Franco twirled her,
sending an ache deep in her bones. She wished for that. To be in Franco’s arms with a ring and happy
like the rest of the world didn’t matter.
She looked away, finishing her drink. This was probably part of the schmoozing he had to do.
Dancing with women and appearing happy.
He could at least try to look like it wasn’t the most amazing thing in the world.
She shook her head, hating how she sounded. She didn’t want to be that jealous girl. That wasn’t
her. This was just her tiger talking.
She leaned back in her chair as the dance ended. She felt she could relax. Maybe he would come
back to the table, and she could talk with him. They could finally have a conversation.
But as Charley turned to leave, another woman walked up to him as the next song started. Violet’s
lips tightened, and her jaw clenched. Another song and another woman each time. After four, she was
ready to claw their eyes out. There was no way he was doing all of that for sponsors.
Someone cleared their throat next to her, and she pulled her eyes up. A waiter stood next to her,
holding a smile. “Would you like another drink?”
She looked down at her glass. She could go for another drink. She would love to just wallow in
alcohol and stew. She knew better.
 If she sat there drinking, she was going to grow angrier. And the more frustrated she became, the
more the possibility rose that she would do something stupid.
She shook her head, handing him her glass. “No, I’m good, actually.”
The waiter smiled at her before turning to leave. She looked back at the dance floor, and another
girl stepped up to dance with Franco.
She wondered if she could get herself a dance partner and make him jealous. She sat with the idea
for a while but thought better of it. Maybe he wasn’t the jealous type. Besides, it probably wouldn’t
even work.
She thought of getting in line, but she didn’t like the idea. If Franco wanted to see her, he would at
least look at her. He would just have to look across the dance floor and look at her and mouth that he
was sorry.
Franco hadn’t even looked in her direction since he left, and it bit at her. With each dance and
every song, she felt the irritation sinking further into her skin. He wasn’t making any attempt to get
back to her.
She understood this was important for him, but wasn’t she? She was his fated mate, dammit.
Didn’t he want to get to know her?
She pushed herself up and walked onto the dance floor. She walked around, hoping maybe she
could catch his attention. She hated how desperate she was acting.
She looked at the line waiting to dance with him, her stomach sinking more. She couldn’t wait that
long to talk to him.
When the song ended, the gal dancing with Franco laughed. “You are an amazing dancer.”
She’d had enough. She stormed past the line, and a girl grabbed her arm. “Hey! You can’t just cut
the line. Who do you think you are?”
She turned, looking at the girl, and flashed her tiger eyes at her. The line bounced back as she
growled at them, having no control over her temper anymore.
Her tiger claws grew, which made all of them take an extra step back. After knowing she’d
proven her point, she turned, and Franco stood there staring at her.
He looked nervous, and she was proud she’d at least made herself known. She walked toward
him, and she noted he was uncomfortable.
“I’ll be taking your next dance,” she said, irritated.
Franco took her hand carefully, and she felt a spark shoot down her spine. She hated how her
body reacted to him so eagerly. She wanted to stay pissed, but she couldn’t. Her tiger didn’t want her
to.
She could see Franco felt it as well. His hand pulled her tighter against him as he twirled her. His
breath was hot against her neck, and she wanted to lean into him. She didn’t. She had at least that
much control.
She looked at him, and she saw the desire in his eyes. He felt the pull like she had. His fingers
tightened on her, and she swallowed nervously.
“What is your problem?” she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly at him. While she may love his
touch, she was still frustrated with him.
He inhaled, twirling them. “What do you mean?”
“You! You’ve been completely ignoring me almost the entire night. Gerri didn’t have me come
here …”
She didn’t finish before he shook his head. He frowned at her. “I never asked her to bring you
here. I didn’t ask her to match me up.”
 She bit into her inner cheek hating how irritated he looked. Was her presence that terrible?
He sighed and looked away. “I have a lot going on, and I can’t have this right now. I can’t do
this.”
It was a stab at her, and she felt it. She wanted to cry but, instead, let her anger build once more.
“It was nice meeting you, but I can’t do this.” He dropped his arms, and she frowned at him. The
dance wasn’t over, and everyone could see them.
He turned to leave, and she gripped her hands into tight fists. But he stopped and turned back to
her. He scratched his head for a moment before he sighed. “Can I get your number?”
She felt her jaw drop slightly. She wanted to slap him. Who behaved like this?
She knew it was the fated pull, and she didn’t know whether she liked it or despised it now. Was
that the only reason he wanted her number?
“Seriously?” she asked, crossing her arms. “You want to be a prick and expect me to give you my
number?”
She hated how she sounded. She hated how this entire night had gone. But she couldn’t not give
him her number. She marched up to him, throwing her hand out. He pulled his phone out, sliding it into
her hand. She opened a new contact, listening as the music kept playing and people gasped at them.
Others probably saw a couple eager to start their relationship, even though that felt far from the
truth at the moment. She typed in her name and added behind it girl-you-blew-off. She handed the
phone back to him.
She was probably overreacting and should consider the position he was in. He wasn’t expecting
to meet her tonight.
She decided she was leaving. She’d had enough of the party and, honestly, just wanted to go back
to her room and relax. She turned, walked off the dance floor, and headed for the exit.
She hoped tomorrow would be better. Maybe he just needed time to think about what was
happening. She could only hope.
FIVE
 FRANCO

He woke and frowned at the ceiling. She was still on his mind. She was seeded deeply in his brain,
and she was all he could think about. He was sure he was going insane.
Franco pulled himself out of bed and marched over to his luggage. He dug around until he found a
pair of shorts and a shirt. He stripped, changing into them along with socks and his sneakers. He tied
them tightly, liking them to form to the shape of his foot.
He rolled his neck and stretched his arms. He went toward his door, trying to get his mind to
focus, but it was no use. His lion kept thinking about Violet.
He’d tried to push her out of his mind last night when he was getting ready for bed. He tossed and
turned, disappointed with how he’d acted. That wasn’t how he wanted to behave around his mate.
But he’d been blindsided. That wasn’t how he had expected to meet her. He thought he would
randomly meet her after a race or at a coffee shop. He didn’t expect their meeting to go like this.
He raked his hands through his hair and sighed heavily. He needed to get going on his duties and
get her off his mind. There was a process, and he wasn’t going to screw with it. He wanted that win,
and to get it, he had to put a hundred percent into it. He had to push her deep into his thoughts.
But how could he when his mate was here? His lion wasn’t going to let him just toss her aside
until it suited him. It wanted her too badly. He also saw her having a problem with that. The way she
had walked straight up to him and growled at the other girls scared him a little. She was confident and
pissed.
He opened his door and stormed into the hallway. He shook his head, trying to get himself started
for the day. All of this could be sorted out later.
He needed to start his workout. There was a park not too far away where he went as his preferred
location. It was far enough to serve as a warm-up and a cool-down when he was done.
He jogged over toward the grassy area, allowing his muscles to relax. He’d done this tons of
times, and he knew just how many laps he needed to do around the track to hit his goal.
He wanted to break into a sprint, but his lion wasn’t letting him. It kept thinking about Violet.
It wondered what sounds she made when she was being kissed. Did she moan quietly, or was she
louder? Did she like things gentle or wilder?
Franco started down the pathway keeping his body relaxed as he moved. He took in the other
runners and monitored how fast he was going. He suddenly wished he’d brought his music.
He would normally think of the race. Running was a way for him to contemplate everything. He
had nothing better to think about. That was until now.
Violet bloomed in his mind, sending sparks down his body. He thought of the way her black hair
moved over her shoulder. He had smelled her perfume and the mint from her breath when they
danced.
Really? You’re going to worry about a race? A stupid race when your mate is here? A race
comes and goes, but she is something you have for life.
He didn’t want to argue with his lion because he knew it had a point. He was trying to put the race
first. That’s what he knew how to do.
Racing was something he’d done for a long time. He knew how to control every aspect. His mate?
That was new territory.
She’s your future. You want children, a wife, and a life.
He shook his head. He didn’t want to argue with himself.
“I have her number. It isn’t like she’s just going to disappear. I can call her after the race,” he
grumbled to himself.
Really? Excuses? What’s next? You can’t take the loss? You’re being an idiot. You have her
number, great, but what if she isn’t here?
He frowned, shaking his head. He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t be there. They were fated.
She wouldn’t leave.
Don’t make yourself seem like a god. After the way you rejected her yesterday, what makes you
think she didn’t check out of the hotel and head home? What makes you think she’s even still here?
He stopped running as his body tensed. His lion had a point. He had treated her terribly last night.
You don’t know that she didn’t catch the first flight out to leave your ass. Wouldn’t blame her.
You were a prick.
He growled at himself, running his hands through his hair. Panic started to set in. He had no idea if
she was even here anymore.
The race suddenly wasn’t that important. Keeping her close mattered more. He turned and ran
back to the hotel. His muscles burned as he reached the door.
He frowned, mad at himself. What was he supposed to say? How could he make up for his bad
behavior? He hardly treated her like a human.
Pacing in the lobby, he was unsure of what to do. His mind pulled him in two directions. He
needed to work out his frustration, and he needed to talk to Violet.
He ran his hands through his hair as he headed down the hallway toward the hotel gym. They had
all the equipment he would need.
You won’t focus until you talk to her. You and I both know this.
He stopped and pulled his phone out. He pulled up her contact and realized what she’d written
after it, and he frowned.
Nice, you really are an ass, you fucking idiot.
He inhaled, and his thumb froze over the button. Did he call her? It was still pretty early. What if
she was asleep?
Then you wake her. Do you really want to blow this?
He clicked on the call button and placed the phone up to his ear. It rang a few times while his leg
bounced with nervous energy. He ached for her to answer. He needed her to answer. He couldn’t let
their fling be screwed up already.
The phone clicked, and he heard someone fumbling with sheets. His body straightened as he heard
her groan on the other end.
“Hello?” she answered in her sleepy voice, and he realized he’d woken her. He couldn’t help but
smile.
She hadn’t left town. He hadn’t screwed up as badly as he thought. Not that he wasn’t terrible, but
he wasn’t so bad that she didn’t think there was a future, even considering his actions.
“Hey,” he said, feeling his voice crack. He quickly cleared his throat. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
He heard her clear her voice. “Yeah, it’s odd. I didn’t think you’d call so early.”
He smirked. There was a lot they had to learn about each other. So far, he could gauge she wasn’t
a morning person.
“I wouldn’t have, but I needed to talk to you.” It was the truth. His lion needed it too. His
shoulders relaxed a little, and he heard her shuffling around. “So, why did you call?” she asked,
yawning.
He swallowed, suddenly nervous. What if she didn’t want to see him? What if she was just being
nice?
“Franco? You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.” He turned and looked at the gym. “Could you come down to the gym?”
She fell silent, and he heard her moving once more. He inhaled slowly. He could tell she was
mulling his words over.
“The gym? When would you want me to come down?”
He scratched at his head, looking around the space. There was no one around and no one around
him. They would be alone. It was the perfect place to talk.
“Now?” he asked.
“What? Now? Do you even know what time it is?” she asked, sounding shocked.
He looked at his watch, seeing it was just a little past six. He shrugged as this had been normal to
him.
“How much time do you need?” he asked, rubbing his neck.
He could hear her groaning. “You really know how to sweet talk a woman, Franco.”
He smirked, hearing her sarcasm. He chuckled, leaning against the wall. “I can wait, but I would
like you to join me. I want to talk.”
He expected her to say no. He knew it was early, and after yesterday, he wouldn’t be shocked if
she told him he was crazy. He couldn’t blame her if she said no.
“Okay. I’ll be down in a bit.”
She ended the call, and he stood shocked for a moment. She was actually going to come down. He
smiled at himself, gripping his phone tighter.
He went inside the gym. At least he could stretch more and do something to occupy his mind.
He tried to ignore the time and every minute that ticked by. His body bounced with energy, and he
looked forward to seeing her.
Last night, his body reacted to her. His primal instinct had been to keep her close. He had to use
everything in his power to focus on all the tasks at hand.
He wanted to take her into the bathroom and have his way with her. With every woman he danced
with, he kept glancing at her when they twirled. He wanted her badly.
He hated how she left, and he felt like an ass. But he’d been blindsided. He didn’t know how to
react. He wished Gerri had given him more time or a heads-up so he could have been more prepared.
Could he get her to understand? Maybe she could see where he had been coming from. It wasn’t
that he didn’t want her around because he did.
He was lifting weights by the mirror when he heard the door open. He looked over his shoulder,
and Violet stepped inside. His eyes widened at her outfit. She had on leggings that hugged her body.
She wore a tank top that hung low, showing part of her sports bra. His mouth dropped slightly. She
was stunning.
 His lion growled with hunger, wanting to taste her. He nearly dropped the weight on his foot
because he’d forgotten he was holding it.
Violet walked over toward him, stretching her arms as she did. She stopped next to him, grabbing
some weights. “You know this wasn’t how I was expecting to start my day.”
He stared at her for a moment, taking in her curves and how soft her skin looked. He wanted to
take a bite and see what she’d do. He cleared his throat, trying not to stare at her. She was showing a
lot of skin, and he smelled her lotion. It was hard for him to focus. He hoped he didn’t get a hard-on.
He shook his head, knowing it would be easier for him to focus if he worked out. He could ignore
his need to be against her, or at least, he could try.
“I wanted to apologize for last night,” he said, glancing at her. She looked at him, and her
eyebrows rose slightly.
“Oh?”
He nodded. “I don’t normally behave like that. I wasn’t expecting you to show up, and I don’t do
well with surprises.”
“You must do really well with surprise parties,” she said with a chuckle.
“I don’t,” he said, giving her a smile back. “I am sorry about my behavior. I just have a hard time
focusing on anything but the race. I just keep a one-mind headspace to ensure I’m ready.”
She bit on her lower lip, and he ached to pop it free. He wanted to take it into his mouth and listen
to her moan. He inhaled, clutching his weights tighter.
“I have a lot of things to do before a race. It’s just like every other athlete who has a list of things
before their competition. But since meeting you, I’m finding it hard to focus.”
He put his weights down, wiping a hand over his face. She paused, setting her bells on the ground.
“I want to put a lot of effort into this.” He waved his hand between them. “But I can’t divide my
attention between the race and you. I won’t do well when it comes to the event.”
He took a step toward her. Her heart raced just like his. He knew she had the same ache to be near
him. He swallowed.
“I do want you around, Violet. I’m not saying I don’t. But I can’t have my mind and body out of
whack, unable to work together.”
She bit her lip once more, her eyes snapping away from him. He watched her sigh, and she seated
herself on the bench.
“I can see that,” she whispered to him. “And I get your point. So, it’s fine.”
He tilted his head at her. “You don’t look like it’s fine.”
She shrugged and looked back up at him. “I mean, it sucks, but I understand. I get it. I was the
same way when I was working. I understand needing to put all your focus into something.”
His shoulders relax slightly.
“I used to work events, and I remembered the headache that it caused. The panic and the
frustration when something got in the way. It changes everything, and that’s hard.”
“You’re not in the way,” he added, not wanting her to see it that way.
Violet gave him a soft smile. “I know. My point is I get it. I’m not a racecar driver, but I get it.”
She rubbed her hands together. “You’re on my mind just as much, and if I was in your shoes, I’d find it
hard to focus as well.”
He watched her lick her lips, and he wondered what they tasted like. Did she taste as amazing as
her lotion smelled?
“So, how about until the race, I just tag along and watch? It would do me good to learn a little
more about what you do. I can then be out of the way but in the eye’s view if you need me.”
 He liked her idea. He wouldn’t have to worry about where she was or what she was doing, at
least. It would help his mind focus, and his body would follow.
He tilted his head. “You’d be willing to do that?”
She smiled at him. “Of course. As I said, I should learn more about what you’re doing. It would
do me good.”
He felt grateful. He didn’t expect her to be so open to his needs, and he was happy. She was
willing to hold back while he focused on his racing.
He swallowed, wondering how long that would work. His body ached to be near her, and he
didn’t know how long that would last.
His mind was already thinking of different positions to put her into. He wanted to know so much
more about her. He needed to cool his jets if he wanted this to work.
SIX
 VIOLET

Violet was charmed beyond belief. She had gone to many gyms before, for the sake of her mental
health, and been surrounded by men who looked like they’d been carved from stone. Women too. The
gym could be an intimidating place for a person who wasn’t comfortable in their own skin. Violet
was an outlier, a woman who could walk into a room crafted to honor the physical form and not feel a
single itch of self-consciousness.
But that had all changed with Franco.
She stood in the elevator, eyeing her pit stains and blooms of perspiration coating her underboobs.
She’d had her hair tied back for the duration of the workout, but some had come loose, fine strings of
raven-black hair hanging in front of her face. She breathed heavily, her generous bust rising and
falling rapidly. But it wasn’t because of the difficulty of the workout.
Franco had not only looked like a Greek god, his shoulders the shape of ripe watermelons and his
traps as thick as finely cut meat slabs, he had acted with humility not only toward his own physique
but in how he had treated her. It was rare for anyone, especially a man of such fame and status, to
admit their wrongdoings and follow through with a repentant act.
His apology had softened her, prying open her vulnerability and sense of forgiveness. It was
strange, but perhaps that went with the entire pull-of-the-fated-mate sensation.
As she lathered her body in the shower, she ruminated on the ease with which Franco lifted nearly
three hundred pounds over his head.
Violet felt intrigued and serene when she dried off and dressed in a casual jean-shaded jumpsuit.
She had packed it without realizing that it looked akin to the jumpsuits the pit operators wore, dipping
into the shallow well of knowledge she had about racing. She combed her wet hair and tied it up into
a neat ponytail, brushing excess strands out of her eyes.
She applied a bit of makeup, admitting to herself that she wanted to stand out, at least a bit, to
capture Franco’s attention. She understood what he had said in the gym; the timing was severely off.
But she wanted to tease him just a little. Her tiger purred at the idea, like holding a fresh piece of
meat outside the lion’s den. She bit her cherry-red lips, considering what might happen.
They met in the lobby, and Violet spotted Franco first. He wore a beige long-sleeve T-shirt with
loose athletic pants … a casual but form-fitted look. He was going to be planning and training, yet he
still managed to look elegant standing there in the unrelenting lights of the reception desk, a dark
shadow of recently shaved stubble peppered over his strong jaw.
Violet held onto her bomber jacket for dear life, clutching at her purse with the other hand.
“Good morning again, I suppose,” she said.
Franco gazed up from his phone, a sparkle passing through the dark sea of his eyes. He slid his
phone into his pocket, then walked toward the exit.
“It’s not far from here. I figured we could walk. The weather isn’t bad today.”
He spoke, facing away from her, passing through the automatic doors and into the neutrally cool
day. He squinted for a moment before placing sunglasses over his eyes.
Violet thought he looked so cool, so smooth, probably without realizing it.
It was just past 7:45 when they strolled across the road to the Eden International Speedway. The
parking lot was vacant beyond a few scattered cars and a handful of event trucks and food delivery. It
was a whole new world for Violet, who observed the thrilled engagement of Franco’s silence as they
passed through the gated entrance.
“Has this always been here?” she blurted out.
Franco shook himself from his daydreaming, gazing down at her as they moved past merchandise
booths and various concession stands.
“For as long as I’ve been driving,” he said, a smile teasing his lips. “They host other motorsports
here and sometimes music festivals.”
Violet nodded along, feeling humbled that he was welcoming her into his world. For the first time
in her life, a part of her felt unworthy and maybe even a little guilty. He was a focused man who had
worked at his art for years before she burst into his life. He had been blunt but delicate with her about
why he couldn’t get involved just yet. It had made sense, yet her body and mind were telling her
another tale entirely.
She had to hold off, though. She had already trusted him enough to give him that space while
hovering inside the world that had been his home for ages.
The sun began to rise just as the clock struck 8:00 a.m. It warmed Violet’s resolve as they moved
through layers of security, passing through the spectator area and into the pit where the drivers would
climb into their carriages.
“We are going to have the meeting immediately,” Franco said as they shuffled past team members
of other drivers. She was still too focused on him, her tiger craving him. “You are welcome to listen
and linger or look around the track if you’d rather.”
Violet smiled at him just as he was looking down at her. Her heart clenched, knowing that his
hazel delights would have sparkled if he had removed his sunglasses.
“Thank you, I appreciate that.”
Violet looked out over the racetrack at the concrete curves and the barbed-wire fence that
separated them. It was a sport she had known about but figured it was meant for overbearing,
testosterone-fueled men who never got over their teenage years. But meeting Franco had said
otherwise, so when she wandered around, she did so with genuine interest.
The sun was blinding, a bright pre-spring white glare that blocked her vision. She didn’t realize
they had approached the pit where his team stood with him as their singular focus.
The car was sitting there, winking in the early morning light, with a member of Franco’s pit team
walking around it diligently with a clipboard. She stopped in her tracks, not realizing that Franco had
noticed her fixation.
He surprised her by placing a hand on her shoulder, heavy and endearing.
“So, what do you think?”
His tone was curious and playful. Violet wrinkled her nose and then cracked her jaw, a facial
movement she usually engaged in when under extreme stress. She looked over the car, noticing the
way Franco looked at it while resting his hand on her shoulder, the way a lover looks over their
beloved lying naked in a tangle of sheets after lovemaking.
 The car was smooth and a deep shade of crimson red with bright canary-yellow accents. It had
various sponsors imprinted upon the sides of the car and his number painted in big, bold, black
lettering.
His scent wafted to her as a small gust of wind passed by. Her stomach was coiled, noticing the
presence of that ugly, dead leaves feeling that had rarely shown its presence in her life. Violet was
jealous. Jealous of a damn car.
“It’s … wonderful,” she said, forcing a smile.
Violet was glad that one of the members of the pit team, a woman with short hair pushed back,
came up to him in an outfit similar to what he was wearing. They shook hands and moved to an area
under the awning of the venue to begin the meeting.
Franco gave her a look of approval, which instantly washed away the jealousy. God, she was in
trouble.
She lingered beyond the group, standing in a beam of sunlight near the car as the meeting began.
Various team members clustered under the awning as the man with the clipboard began to speak.
“All right, folks, so we’ve got several things on the agenda before the big race ….”
The man, team members, and Franco, too, spoke in technical jargon that might as well have been
some other language to Violet. She didn’t want to disrespect his passion, so she stood by the car,
walking around it slowly while also gazing out at the racetrack.
The track didn’t look very long, but there were several laps involved. She tried to envision it
while the meeting went on, only Franco’s voice familiar and faint in the distance.
Violet had no idea how long she had been studying the track and the car when she heard someone,
she believed it was the man with the clipboard, say something to Franco and the group. It made her
body freeze.
“Hey, Franco, are you going to introduce us to the new girlfriend?”
Violet was thankful she had been facing away from the group when the question was posed.
Suddenly, everything was acute, the silence of the people, the smashing of her heart inside her chest,
the minuscule blow of dust over the track. She didn’t turn to him because she was terrified of what his
answer would be in relation to how he actually felt.
Somehow, even while not standing near him, she felt his mind and heart stirring. It gave her a
sickly feeling in her stomach.
After a few fat seconds of horrible silence, Franco chuckled a deep and husky guffaw.
“Oh, that’s Violet. She’s my fated mate.”
Violet remained frozen as Franco came to her, slipping his hand under the arm that held onto her
purse for dear life. He guided her toward the group, and her face blushed hotly.
“Everyone, this is Violet Carney.” The way he said her name made her tiger stir. “Violet, this is
the team that helps me win all those races.”
The team before her, a handful of men and women around her age and slightly older, let out an
awkward chuckle as she was presented. Violet lifted a hand and waved, feeling Franco’s grip on her
slowly loosen and slip away.
“It’s nice to meet you all,” she said cheerfully.
They didn’t disapprove of her, she knew that, but they were all in a state of shock. Finally,
someone clapped, and that descended into cheers and proclamations of congratulations.
A few of the members approached her and shook her hand, and Violet was thankful, yet she felt
like she was moving through water. Why had he announced that she was his fated mate? Was he doing
it for her, to reassure her, or did he actually feel that way?
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 A visit to the family of a Tchuktche chief is thus described by one
of Admiral Wrangell’s companions:—
We entered the outer tent, or namet, consisting of tanned
reindeer-skins outstretched on a slender framework. An opening at
the top to give egress to the smoke, and a kettle on the hearth in the
centre, showed that antechamber and kitchen were here
harmoniously blended into one. But where might be the inmates?
Most probably in that large sack made of the finest skins of reindeer
calves, which occupied, near the kettle, the centre of the namet. To
penetrate into this “sanctum sanctorum” of the Tchuktch household,
we raised the loose flap which served as a door, crept on all fours
through the opening, cautiously refastened the flap by tucking it
under the floor-skin, and found ourselves in the polog—that is, the
reception or withdrawing-room. A snug box, no doubt, for a cold
climate, but rather low, as we were unable to stand upright in it; nor
was it quite so well ventilated as a sanitary commissioner would
require, as it had positively no opening for light or air. A suffocating
smoke met us on entering: we rubbed our eyes; and when they had
at length got accustomed to the pungent atmosphere, we perceived,
by the gloomy light of a train-oil lamp, the worthy family sitting on the
floor in a state of almost complete nudity. Without being in the least
embarrassed, Madame Leütt and her daughter received us in their
primitive costume; but to show us that the Tchuktche knew how to
receive company, and to do honour to their guests, they immediately
inserted strings of glass beads in their hair.
Their hospitality equalled their politeness; for, instead of a cold
reception, a hot dish of boiled reindeer flesh, copiously irrigated with
rancid train-oil by the experienced hand of the mistress of the
household, was soon after smoking before them. The culinary taste
of the Russians, however, could not appreciate this work of art, and
the Leütt family were left to do justice to it unaided.
The Tchuktche are polygamous. Their women are regarded as
slaves, but are not badly treated. Most of the Tchuktche have been
baptized, but they cling in secret to their heathen creed, and own the
power of the shamans, or necromancers. They form two great
divisions: the reindeer, or wandering Tchuktche, who call themselves
Tennygk; and the stationary Tchuktche, or Oukilon, who exhibit
affinities with the Eskimos, and subsist by hunting the whale, the
walrus, and the seal. The Oukilon are supposed to number 10,000,
and the Tennygk about 20,000.
 CHAPTER X.
HISTORICAL SKETCH OF ARCTIC DISCOVERY.

n the reign of Henry VIII., Dr. Robert Thorne declared that “if he
had facultie to his will, the first thing he would understande,
even to attempt, would be if our seas northwarde be
navigable to the Pole or no.” And it is said that the king, at his
instigation, “sent two fair ships, well-manned and victualled, having
in them divers cunning men, to seek strange regions; and so they set
forth out of the Thames, the 20th day of May, in the nineteenth year
of his reign, which was the year of our Lord 1527.” Of the details of
this expedition, however, we have no record, except that one of the
vessels was wrecked on the coast of Newfoundland.
In 1536, a second Arctic voyage was undertaken by a London
gentleman, named Hore, accompanied by thirty members of the Inns
of Law, and about the same number of adventurers of a lower estate.
They reached Newfoundland, which, according to some authorities,
was discovered by Sebastian Cabot in 1496, and here they suffered
terrible distress; in the extremity of their need being reduced to
cannibalism. After the deaths of a great portion of the crew, the
survivors captured by surprise a French vessel which had arrived on
the coast, and navigated her in safety to England.
But the true history of Arctic Discovery dates, as Mr. Markham
observes, from the day when the veteran navigator, Sebastian
Cabot, explained to young Edward VI. the phenomena of the
variation of the needle. On the same day the aged sailor received a
pension; and immediately afterwards three discovery-ships were
fitted out by the Muscovy Company under his direction. Sir Hugh
Willoughby was appointed to their command, with Richard
Chancellor in the Edward Bonadventure as his second. The latter,
soon after quitting England, was separated from the squadron, and
sailing in a northerly direction, gained at last a spacious harbour on
the Muscovy coast. Sir Hugh’s ship, and her companion, the Bona
Confidentia, were cast away on a desolate part of the Lapland coast,
at the mouth of the river Arzina. They entered the river on September
18, 1563, and remained there for a week; and “seeing the year far
spent, and also very evil weather, as frost, snow, and hail, as though
it had been the deep of winter, they thought it best to winter there.”
But as day followed day, and week followed week, in those grim
solitudes of ice and snow, the brave adventurers perished one by
one; and many months afterwards their bleached bones were
discovered by some Russian fishermen.
In the spring of 1556, Stephen Burrough, afterwards chief pilot of
England, fitted out the “Search-thrift” pinnace, and sailed away for
the remote north. He discovered the strait leading into the sea of
Kara, between Novaia Zemlaia and the island Waigatz; but he made
up his mind to return, because, first, of the north winds, which blew
continually; second, “the great and terrible abundance of ice which
we saw with our eyes;” and third, because the nights waxed dark. He
arrived at Archangel on September 11, wintered there, and returned
to England in the following year.
Twenty years later, on a bright May morning, Queen Elizabeth
waved a farewell to Martin Frobisher and his gallant company, as
they dropped down the Thames in two small barks, the Gabriel and
the Michael, each of thirty tons, together with a pinnace of ten tons.
They gained the shores of Friesland on the 11th of July; and sailing
to the south-west, reached Labrador. Then, striking northward, they
discovered “a great gut, bay, or passage,” which they named
Frobisher Strait (lat. 63° 8’ N.), and fell into the error of supposing
that it connected the Atlantic Ocean with the Pacific. Here they came
into contact with some Eskimos; and Frobisher describes them as
“strange infidels, whose like was never seen, read, nor heard of
before: with long black hair, broad faces and flat noses, and tawny in
colour, wearing seal-skins, the women marked in the face with blue
streaks down the cheeks, and round about the eyes.”
Frobisher’s discoveries produced so great an impression on the
public mind, that in the following year he was placed at the head of a
larger expedition, in the hope that he would throw open to English
enterprise the wealth of “far Cathay.” About the end of May 1577, he
sailed from Gravesend with the Ayde of one hundred tons, the
Gabriel of thirty, and the Michael of thirty, carrying crews of ninety
men in all, besides about thirty merchants, miners, refiners, and
artisans. He returned in September with two hundred tons of what
was supposed to be gold ore, and met with a warm reception. It was
considered almost certain that he had fallen in with some portion of
the Indian coast, and Queen Elizabeth, naming it Meta Incognita,
resolved to establish there a colony. For this purpose, Frobisher was
dispatched with fifteen well-equipped ships, three of which were to
remain for a twelvemonth at the new settlement, while the others,
taking on board a cargo of the precious ore, were to return to
England.
In the third week of June Frobisher arrived at Friesland, of which
he took possession in the queen’s name. Steering for Frobisher
Strait, he found its entrance blocked up with colossal icebergs; and
the bark Dennis, which carried the wooden houses and stores for the
colony, coming in collision with one of these, unfortunately sank.
Then, in a great storm, the fleet was scattered far and wide,—some
of the vessels drifting out to sea, some being driven into the strait;
and when most of them rejoined their admiral, it was found they had
suffered so severely that no help remained but to abandon the
project of a colony. They collected fresh supplies of ore, however,
and then made their way back to England as best they could. Here
they were met with the unwelcome intelligence that the supposed
gold ore contained no gold at all, and was, in truth, mere dross and
refuse.
The dream of a northern passage to Cathay was not to be
dissipated, however, by an occasional misadventure. Even a man of
the keen intellect of Sir Humphrey Gilbert felt persuaded that through
the northern seas lay the shortest route to the treasures of the East;
and having obtained from Queen Elizabeth a patent authorizing him
to undertake north-western discoveries, and to acquire possession of
any lands not inhabited or colonized by Christian princes or their
subjects, he equipped, in 1583, with the help of his friends, a
squadron of five small ships, and sailed from England full of bright
visions and sanguine anticipations. On board his fleet were smiths,
and carpenters, and shipwrights, and masons, and refiners, and
“mineral men;” not to speak of one Stephen Parmenio, a learned
Hungarian, who was bound to chronicle in sonorous Latin all “gests
and things worthy of remembrance.”
Sir Humphrey formed a settlement at Newfoundland; and then,
embarking on board the Squirrel, a little pinnace of ten tons burden,
and taking with him the Golden Hind and the Delight, he proceeded
on a voyage of exploration. Unhappily, the Delight ran ashore on the
shoals near Sable Land, and all her crew except twelve men, and all
her stores, were lost. The disaster determined Sir Humphrey to
return to England; and his companions implored him to embark on
board the Golden Hind, representing that the Squirrel was unfit for so
long a voyage. “I will not forsake,” replied the chivalrous adventurer,
“the brave and free companions with whom I have undergone so
many storms and perils.” Soon after passing the Azores, they were
overtaken by a terrible tempest, in which the tiny pinnace was tossed
about by the waves like a straw. The Golden Hind kept as near her
as the rolling billows permitted; and her captain has left on record
that he could see Sir Humphrey sitting calmly in the stern reading a
book. He was heard to exclaim—“Courage, my lads; we are as near
heaven by sea as by land!” Then night came on, with its shadows
and its silence, and next morning it was perceived that the pinnace
and her gallant freight had gone to swell the sum of the irrecoverable
treasures of the deep.
 THE LOSS OF THE “SQUIRREL.”
But neither Frobisher’s mishap nor Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s
melancholy fate could check that current of English enterprise which
had set in for the North. There was an irresistible attraction in these
remote northern seas and distant mist-shrouded lands, with all their
possibilities of wealth and glory; and Arctic Discovery had already
begun to exercise on the mind of the English people that singular
fascination which the course of centuries has not weakened, which
endures even to the present day. So, in 1585, Sir Adrian Gilbert and
some other gentlemen of Devonshire raised funds sufficient to fit out
a couple of vessels—the Sunshine of fifty, and the Moonshine of
thirty-five tons—for the great work of discovery; and they gave the
command to a veteran mariner and capable navigator, Captain John
Davis, a countryman, or county-man, of their own. Towards the end
of July he reached the west coast of Greenland, and its cheerless
aspect induced him to christen it the “Land of Desolation.” His
intercourse with the Eskimos, however, was of the friendliest
character. Standing away to the north-west, he discovered and
crossed the strait which still bears his name; and to the headland on
its western coast he gave the name of Cape Walsingham. Having
thus opened up, though unwittingly, the great highway to the Polar
Sea, he sailed for England, where he arrived on the 20th of
September.
In his second voyage, in 1586, when, in addition to the Sunshine
and the Moonshine, he had with him the Mermaid of one hundred
and twenty tons, and the North Star pinnace of ten, he retraced his
route of the previous year. The Sunshine and the North Star,
however, he employed in cruising along the east coast of Greenland;
and they ascended, it is said, as high as lat. 80° N.
Davis in his third voyage pushed further to the north, reaching as
far as the bold promontory which he named Cape Sanderson. He
also crossed the great channel afterwards known as Hudson Bay.
The next Englishman who ventured into the frozen seas was one
Captain Waymouth, in 1602; but he added nothing to the scanty
information already acquired. An Englishman, James Hall, was the
chief pilot of an expedition fitted out in 1605 by the King of Denmark,
which explored some portion of the Greenland coast. He made three
successive voyages; but while exhibiting his own courage and
resolution, he contributed nothing to the stores of geographical
knowledge.

We now arrive at a name which deservedly ranks among the

foremost of Arctic explorers—that of Henry Hudson. He contributed
more to our acquaintance with the Polar seas than any one who had
preceded him, and few of his successors have surpassed him in the
extent and thoroughness of his researches.
He first appears, says Mr. Markham, fitting out a little cock-boat
for the Muscovy Company, called the Hopewell (of eighty tons), to
discover a passage by the North Pole. On the 1st of May 1607 he
sailed from Greenwich. “When we consider the means with which he
was provided for the achievement of this great discovery, we are
astonished at the fearless audacity of the attempt. Here was a crew
of twelve men and a boy, in a wretched little craft of eighty tons,
coolly talking of sailing right across the Pole to Japan, and actually
making as careful and judicious a trial of the possibility of doing so
as has ever been effected by the best equipped modern
expeditions.... Imagine this bold seaman sailing from Gravesend,
bound for the North Pole, in a craft about the size of one of the
smallest of modern collier brigs. We can form a good idea of her
general appearance, because three such vessels are delineated on
the chart drawn by Hudson himself. The Hopewell was more like an
old Surat buggalow than anything else that now sails the seas, with
high stern, and low pointed bow; she had no head-sails on her
bowsprit, but, to make up for this, the foremast was stepped chock
forward. There was a cabin under the high and narrow poop, where
Hudson and his little son were accommodated; and the crew were
crowded forward.”
 SHIP OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
Hudson first sighted land beyond the Arctic Circle in lat. 70°. It
was the cold, grim coast of East Greenland. Three degrees further
north a chain of lofty peaks, all bare of snow, rose upon the horizon,
and Hudson’s men noted that the temperature daily increased in
mildness. Steering to the north-east, the great navigator arrived off
the shores of Spitzbergen, where some of his men landed and
picked up various fragments of whalebone, horns of deer, walrus-
teeth, and relics of other animals. To the north-west point of
Spitzbergen he gave the name which it still bears—Hakluyt’s
Headland. At one time he found himself as far north as 81°; and it
seems probable that he discovered the Seven Islands: he remarked
that the sea was in some places green, in others blue; and he says,
“Our green sea we found to be freest from ice, and our azure-blue
sea to be our icy sea;” an observation not confirmed by later
navigators. The greenness was probably due to the presence of
minute organisms.

SCENERY OF JAN MAYEN.

 Having completed a survey of the west coast of Spitzbergen, he
resolved on sailing round the north end of Greenland, which he
supposed to be an island, and returning to England by Davis Strait.
With this view he again examined the sea between Spitzbergen and
Greenland, but from the strong ice-blink along the northern horizon
felt convinced that there was no passage in that direction. After
sighting Spitzbergen, therefore, he determined to return to England;
and on his homeward voyage discovered an island in lat. 71° N.,
which he named Hudson Sutches, and which has since been
improperly named Jan Mayen. The Hopewell arrived in the Thames
on the 15th of September.
The results of this voyage, says Mr. Markham, were very
important, both in a geographical and a commercial point of view.
Hudson had discovered a portion of the east coast of Greenland; he
had examined the edge of the ice between Greenland and
Spitzbergen twice—in June and in the end of July; and he had sailed
to the northward of Spitzbergen until he was stopped by the ice,
reaching almost as high a latitude as Scoresby in 1806, which was
81° 12′ 42″ N. Hudson’s highest latitude by observation was 80° 23’,
but he sailed for two more days in a north-easterly direction. The
practical consequence of his voyage was that his account of the
quantities of whales and sea-horses in the Spitzbergen seas led to
the establishment of a rich and prosperous fishery, which continued
to flourish for two centuries.
In the following year Hudson made a second voyage, in the hope
of discovering a north-eastern passage to China between
Spitzbergen and Novaia Zemlaia. He exhibited his characteristic
resolution, and forced his way to the very gate of the unknown
region, which is still closed against human enterprise by an
impenetrable barrier of ice; but all his efforts proved in vain, and he
returned to Gravesend on the 26th of August.
In 1610, in a vessel of fifty-five tons, he once more entered the
Polar seas, and gained the extreme point of Labrador, which he
named Cape Wolstenholm. Here burst upon him the view of that
magnificent sea which has since been associated with his name; and
there can be no doubt that his enterprise would have anticipated the
discoveries of later navigators, but for the mutiny which broke out
among his crew, and eventually led to his being sent adrift, with nine
faithful companions, in a small open boat. He was never again heard
of.

The spirit of commercial enterprise and the love of maritime

adventure were still strong enough in England to induce the
equipment of further expeditions. In 1612 sailed Captain Button,—
who discovered a stream, and named it Nelson River; where, at a
later date, the Hudson Bay Company planted their first settlement.
Here he wintered. In April 1613, on the breaking up of the ice, he
resumed his work of exploration, and discovered, in lat. 65°, an
island group, which he named Manuel, now known as Mansfield,
Islands. Then he bore away for England, arriving in the Thames
early in September.
Robert Bylot and William Baffin undertook a voyage in 1615. The
latter had had some previous experience of Arctic navigation, which
he turned to advantage in 1616, when he accompanied Bylot on a
second expedition. Their ship, the Discovery, of fifty-five tons,
reached Cape Hope Sanderson, the furthest point attained by Davis,
on the 30th of May; and after meeting with some obstruction from the
ice, proceeded northwards to 72° 45’, where she dropped anchor for
awhile among the Women’s Islands. Baffin kept to the north until he
found ice in 74° 15’ N., and he then ascended Melville Bay, touching
the head of the great basin now known by his name, and sailing
down its western coast. He arrived in Dover Roads on the 30th of
August, after a brilliantly successful voyage, which had opened up
the principal north-west channels into the Arctic Sea.

It is necessary here to interpolate a few remarks in explanation of

the difficulties which beset the Baffin Bay route of Arctic exploration.
Geographers assert, and the assertion seems confirmed by the
experience of navigators, that a surface-current is constantly flowing
down this bay, and carrying great fleets of icebergs and shoals of
ice-floes into the Atlantic from its southern channels—Lancaster,
Jones, and Smith Sounds. Hence, at the head of the bay there exists
a considerable open and navigable expanse, which extends for
some distance up Lancaster and Smith Sounds during the summer
and early winter, and is known as the “North Water.” But between
this open expanse and Davis Strait lies an immense mass of ice,
averaging from one hundred and seventy to two hundred miles in
width, and blocking up the centre of Baffin Bay, so as to interrupt the
approach to the north-west end. This is known as the “middle pack,”
and consists of some ancient floe-pieces of great thickness, which
may have been brought down from a distant part of the Arctic seas;
of a wide extent of ice accumulated during each winter, about six or
eight feet in thickness; and of the grand and gigantic icebergs which
are so characteristic a feature of the Melville Bay scenery. A very
large quantity of this pack is destroyed in each succeeding summer
by the thaws, or by the swell and warm temperature of the Atlantic
as the ice drifts southward.
It is remarked of the Baffin Bay ice, that it is much lighter than
that found in the Spitzbergen seas. The latter often occurs in single
sheets, solid, transparent, and from twenty to thirty, and even forty,
feet in thickness. In Baffin Bay the average thickness of the floes
does not exceed five or six feet, and eight or ten feet is of very rare
occurrence.
From Baffin’s voyage, in 1616, until 1817, no attempt was made
to force this “middle pack” and enter the North Water; but now the
voyage is made every year, and three routes have been opened up.
The first is called the “North-about Passage,” and lies along the
Greenland coast; the second, or “Middle Passage,” only possible late
in the season, is by entering the drift-ice in the centre of the bay; and
the third, or “Southern Passage,” also only possible late in the
season, along the west side of Baffin Bay. Once in the North Water,
whichever route be attempted, all obstacles to an exploration of the
unknown region may be considered at an end. From Cape York to
Smith Sound the sea is always navigable in the summer months.
It will thus be seen that the great highways to the Pole were
discovered by William Baffin.
Our limits compel us to pass over the voyages of Stephen Bennet
(1603–1610), Jonas Poole (1610–1613), and Captain Luke Fox
(1631). In 1631 the merchants of Bristol despatched Captain
Thomas James, but he made no additions to the discoveries of his
predecessors. And then for nearly two centuries England abandoned
her efforts to open up a communication between the Atlantic and the
Pacific.
In 1818, however, the question of the existence of a North-West
Passage once more occupied the public mind; and the British
Government accordingly fitted out an exploring expedition, the
Isabella and the Alexander, under the command of Captain Ross
and Lieutenant Parry.
They sailed from England on the 18th of April, reached the
southern edge of the Baffin Bay ice on the 2nd of July, and, after a
detention of thirty-eight days, reached the North Water on August
8th. The capes on each side of the mouth of Smith Sound, Ross
named after his two ships; and having accomplished this much, he
affirmed that he saw land against the horizon at a distance of eight
leagues, and then retraced his course, and sailed for England.
The British Government, however, refused to be discouraged by
the failure of an expedition which had obviously been conducted with
an entire absence of vigour and enterprise. They therefore equipped
the Hecla and the Griper, and gave the command to Lieutenant
Parry; who sailed from the Thames on the 5th of May 1819, and on
the 15th of June sighted Cape Farewell. Striking northward, up Davis
Strait and Baffin Bay, he found himself checked by the ice-barrier in
lat. 73° N. A man of dauntless resolution, he came to the
determination of forcing a passage at all hazards; and in seven days,
by the exercise of a strong will, great sagacity, and first-rate
seamanship, he succeeded in carrying his ships through the pack of
ice, which measured eighty miles in breadth.
 He was then able to enter Sir James Lancaster Sound; and up
this noble inlet he proceeded with a fair wind, hopeful of entering the
great Polar Sea. But after advancing a considerable distance, he
was once more met by the frozen powers of the North, and this time
he was forced to own himself vanquished. He accordingly returned
towards the south, discovering Barrow Strait; and, more to the
westward, an inlet which has since figured conspicuously in Arctic
voyages—Wellington Channel. Bathurst Island he also added to the
map; and afterwards he came in sight of Melville Island. On the 4th
of September he attained the meridian of 110° W. long., and thus
became entitled to the Parliamentary grant of £5000. A convenient
harbour in the vicinity was named the “Bay of the Hecla and the
Griper,” and here Lieutenant Parry resolved upon passing the winter.
In the following spring he resumed his adventurous course, and
completed a very careful survey of the shores of Baffin Sea; after
which he repaired to England, and reached the Thames in safety,
with his crews in good health, and his ships in excellent condition,
about the middle of November 1820.

THE “HECLA” AND “FURY” WINTERING AT WINTER ISLAND.

 Having done so much and so well, it was natural that Captain
Parry should again be selected for employment in the Arctic seas in
the following year. He hoisted his flag in his old ship, the Hecla, and
was accompanied by the Fury; both vessels being equipped in the
most liberal manner. He sailed from the Nore on the 8th of May
1821; he returned to the Shetland Islands on the 10th of October
1823. In the interval, a period of seven-and-twenty months, he
discovered the Duke of York Bay, the numerous inlets which break
up the northern coast-line of the American continent, Winter Island,
the islands of Anatoak and Ooght, the Strait of the Fury and Hecla,
Melville Peninsula, and Cockburn Island. During their winter sojourn
on Winter Island, the English crews were surprised by a visit from a
party of Eskimos, whose settlement Captain Parry visited in his turn.
He found it an establishment of five huts, with canoes, sledges,
dogs, and above sixty men, women, and children, as regularly, and,
to all appearance, as permanently fixed as if they had occupied the
same spot the whole winter. “If the first view,” says Parry, “of the
exterior of this little village was such as to create astonishment, that
feeling was in no small degree heightened on accepting the invitation
soon given us to enter these extraordinary houses, in the
construction of which we observed that not a single material was
used but snow and ice. After creeping through two low passages,
having each its arched doorway, we came to a small circular
apartment, of which the roof was a perfect arched dome. From this
three doorways, also arched, and of larger dimensions than the
outward ones, led into as many inhabited apartments—one on each
side, and the other facing us as we entered. The interior of these
presented a scene no less novel than interesting: the women were
seated on the beds at the sides of the huts, each having her little
fireplace or lamp, with all her domestic utensils about her. The
children crept behind their mothers, and the dogs shrank past us in
dismay. The construction of this inhabited part of the hut was similar
to that of the outer apartment,—being a dome, formed by separate
blocks of snow laid with great regularity and no small art, each being
cut into the shape requisite to form a substantial arch, from seven to
eight feet high in the centre, and having no support whatever but
what this principle of building supplies. Sufficient light was admitted
into these curious edifices by a circular window of ice, neatly fitted
into the roof of each apartment.”
In 1824–25 Captain Parry undertook a third voyage, but with less
than his usual success. The Fury was driven ashore by the pressure
of the pack-ice, and so damaged, that Parry found it needful to
abandon her, and remove her crew and stores to the Hecla.

THE “FURY” ABANDONED BY PARRY—1824.

Sir John Parry’s fourth and last expedition, in 1827, was
characterized by his bold attempt to cross the icy sea in light boats
and sledges; resorting to the former when his progress was
interrupted by pools of water, and to the latter in traversing the
unbroken surface of the ice-fields. He was soon compelled, however,
to abandon the sledges, on account of the hummocks and
irregularities of the ice.
We agree with Mr. Cooley, that voluntarily to undertake the toil
and brave the danger of such an expedition, required a zeal little
short of enthusiasm. When the travellers reached a water-way, they
were obliged to launch their boats and embark. On reaching the
opposite side, their boats were then to be dragged, frequently up
steep and perilous cliffs, their lading being first removed. By this
laborious process, persevered in with little intermission, they
contrived to accomplish eight miles in five days. They travelled only
during the night, by which means they were less incommoded with
snow-blindness; they found the ice more firm and consistent; and
had the great advantage of lying down to sleep during the warmer
portion of the twenty-four hours. Shortly after sunset they took their
breakfast; then they laboured for a few hours before taking their
principal meal. A little after midnight, towards sunrise, they halted as
if for the night, smoked their pipes, looked over the icy desert in the
direction in which the journey was to be resumed; and then,
wrapping themselves in their furs, lay down to rest. Advancing as far
north as 82° 40’, they were then compelled by the drifting of the
snow-fields to retrace their steps. They regained their ships on the
21st of August, and sailed for England.

We must now go back a few years. In May 1819, an overland

expedition was despatched to ascertain the exact position of the
Coppermine River, to descend it to its mouth, and to explore the
coast of the Arctic Sea on either hand. The command was given to
Lieutenant Franklin, who was accompanied by Dr. Richardson the
naturalist, by Messrs. Hood and Back, two English midshipmen, and
two picked seamen. The expedition was spread over a period of two
years and a half, and the narrative of what was accomplished and