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Copyright © 2023 by Darcy Fayton

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
 Contents

Welcome to
You may begin, slut. Let us see what you are good for.
1. Grooming Her
2. On the Run
3. Traitor
4. The Night of the Revolution
5. Henrikk’s Son
6. Confession
7. Truth and Love
8. The Locket
9. Blood
10. The Restaurant
11. Teacher and Student
12. Her Love
13. Her Choice
14. Punishment
15. Renegotiation
16. Aftermath
17. The Carrot and the Stick
18. All Over Her Face
19. Back To School
20. On Leash Training
21. Moving In
22. Best Laid Plans
23. The Haxby Hotel
24. Her Virginity
25. Mark’s Conquest
26. Showering Love
27. Whipped
28. Happiness
29. Cake and Love
30. Magic
31. Special Privileges
32. Alpha
33. Tied Together
34. The Nightclub
35. Gloria
36. Engaged
37. Before the Wedding
38. Betrayal
39. Deception
40. The Wedding
41. Pounding Silence
42. Finale
43. The Empress
Epilogue
Afterword
Photo by @tata.lifepages
Darcy Fayton's Books
Acknowledgements and Praise
 Welcome to Plug and Tame! Before you begin, please bear in mind the following:

This dark romance duology was written with the intent of providing escapism. However, it contains elements that may
be triggering for some readers.
Themes explored in both books include: BDSM, D/S, pet play, CNC, dubcon, virginity trope (central to plot),
kidnap, anal play, bondage, plugging, gagging, humiliation, degradation, praise, vampire feeding, grooming, gore,
blade weapon, and scenes involving other characters. This sequel also features breath play, other woman drama (not
cheating), SA (one active scene, not with MMC), and a flashback scene depicting death of children. This list is not
exhaustive; reader discretion is advised.
This is a work of fiction. It is not a BDSM handbook. For useful information on BDSM lifestyle including safe play
practices and health, please reach out to a safe online or local BDSM community.
The story is written in British English with minor exceptions, leading to variations in spelling and expressions (eg.
realise, sceptical, burnt).
Whilst this manuscript has been professionally edited, it is not the final copy. As an indie author, I rely on early
readers to help find any remaining typos/errors. If you notice any issues, please send a screenshot via email or
Instagram.

Follow me on instagram @darcyfaytonauthor

Author website: linktr.ee/darcyfayton
Add it to your Goodreads shelf
Get ready, the spicy adventure continues.
—Darcy
You may begin, slut. Let us see what you are good for.
 CHAPTER 1

Grooming Her

Nathaniel

NATHANIEL STRUGGLED TO CLIMB to his feet. He’d given too much blood yesterday, and it had sapped him of his
strength. His father, Henrikk the Vampire King, had thrown him aside as if he were a ragdoll.
Panic surged through Nathaniel as he watched his father’s brooding figure tower over Kira. She had retreated as far back as
the office wall allowed, trembling as Henrikk held her by the jaw. The King shared Nathaniel’s height, and he forced Kira’s
chin up so they were eye-to-eye, his lip curling in a contemptuous stare that was only rivalled by Kira’s own.
“Say that again,” she growled, her golden eyes flashing dangerously.
“I am not in the habit of repeating myself,” Henrikk warned. His tone was clipped, but he smoothed his voice. “But just this
once…I will make an exception.” His grip tightened on Kira’s face and jaw, his fingernails visibly biting into her face and
causing her to yelp in pain. “I said, kneel for me, slut.” The last word spilt from his mouth with venom.
Nathaniel wished he could shield her from the terrible truth his father had revealed to her: that he, Nathaniel, had been
grooming her to be his father’s whore.
Kira looked horrified, and the hurt look she shot him stabbed him like a knife to the chest, causing the guilt that had been
welling up to pour free. He hadn’t expected to find his father here, and now, it was too late, because the damage was done.
Kira would never forgive him.
Except there was more to the story.
I should have told her when I had the chance.
He’d brought Kira to his office for that very reason—to tell her everything. He’d decided he was done keeping secrets from
her. She was more than a pawn to be moved around on a chessboard. Granted, he was one too, but together, they had a chance
of surviving the trials ahead.
Nathaniel jerked into action, ignoring the pain in his jaw from where his father had struck him as he leapt to his feet. “Get
away from her,” he seethed, advancing on his father.
An icy chill filled the room as the humour left Henrikk’s face. He released Kira with a rough push that sent her stumbling
sideways.
“Watch yourself, boy. Have you forgotten who she belongs to?” He gave a short, harsh cackle. “You might be using her now,
but you know you cannot keep her. It is my offspring she will carry.”
Nathaniel hissed, fangs bared as he leapt at his father, fists drawn. But his father was faster, stronger—always had been—
and he only landed one strike before his father hit him square in the jaw and sent him toppling to the ground.
He landed hard on his back, the wolf pelts that thickly layered the ground doing little to cushion his fall. It knocked the wind
out of him, causing him to wheeze for air. A moment later, he felt the hard press of his father’s shoe on his chest.
“She’s mine, boy. Pull yourself together. I’m prepared to hand you my empire in just a few days’ time. You and Gloria can
rule to your heart’s content. But Kirabelle is mine, now and forever. Remember that.” His shoe pressed down, and Nathaniel
winced as his ribs bent beneath the pressure, threatening to crack. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Nathaniel rasped.
 “Good. Now…” His father removed his foot, and his voice turned pleasant once more. “I will see you at Wintermaw Keep
for your birthday and wedding, where I expect to see Gloria on your arm wearing a veil—and Kirabelle on a leash.”
Nathaniel hardly heard his father. His heart was pounding as he whipped around to look at Kira—but she was gone, the door
to his office left wide open.
“You best go after her,” his father said absently, but Nathaniel was already out the door, running as fast as he could through
the school corridors. He caught a brief glimpse of Kira’s long brown hair whipping round a corner as she descended the grand
staircase.
Nathaniel fought exhaustion as he hurried after her, forcing his legs into long strides. He descended the stairs, clutching at the
bannister for support. He was halfway down when he caught a glimpse of Kira beneath him in the foyer.
“Kira!” he yelled. “Kira, wait!”
She threw a terrified glance up at him before running out of sight.
Cursing under his breath, Nathaniel swung himself over the railing and plummeted down several heart-stopping feet to the
foyer below.
He landed heavily, causing his knees to give out, sending him sprawling across the tiles. He picked himself up and spun
around, ignoring the shocked students near him.
Where is she?
Kira was nowhere in sight, but she’d set off in the direction of the front door.
Of course. Where else would a terrified mouse go?
He hesitated at the large oak doors, however. His Kira was no mouse. She was a wolf and not so easily frightened. And she
was only half wolf. Vampire blood ran in her veins, and she was just as capable of being as calculating as the best of them.
He backtracked and reassessed.
The hall leading to the cafeteria was also here, as were the stairs leading down to the dorms. Surely, Kira hadn’t gone to her
room? There was only one way leading in and out, and down there, she would be a sitting duck.
Except that there was another exit. Not the portal that led to the beach cove—no, the cliffs there were too steep even for a
wolf, and the tiny tropical island was the only landmass for miles around. If Kira had gone there, she would be easy to find.
But there was another exit, one that was hidden in plain sight. Had she figured it out?
As he debated, a voice broke through his thoughts.
“She went that way,” a wolf with black pigtails said, pointing to the cafeteria door.
“Thank you, Chelsea,” Nathaniel said, giving her a small smile and a stare that could have frozen ice, “for eliminating that
option.”
Chelsea went white.
The wolf had lied to protect Kira, but she had lied badly. Feeling confident, he took the door to the dorms and pursued Kira
downstairs.
Nathaniel couldn’t see her on the curved stairwell, but he could hear her hurried footsteps echoing from far below, and he
could sense her fear.
His heart squeezed tightly at the thought that Kira was running from him.
He didn’t have a chance of keeping up, but he pursued her nonetheless. She could not run forever. And he had a vampire’s
careful patience. Sooner or later, he would capture her.
The door to his bedroom was wide open. There was no one inside, but the window was broken, the glass pain smashed from
the inside. Nathaniel peered through the window. Grey clouds overcast the country lane, and the trees were unnaturally still
except for the persistent rain rustling their leaves. Broken glass shards lay in the muddy ground before him, where sure enough,
there were several wolf paw prints.
Kira had figured out that it was a portal.
Clever girl.
He delayed only to collect a few items before climbing through the window into the lane beyond.
There were two sets of paw prints. One for each of Kira’s wolf selves. She was one person, but when she morphed, there
were two wolves. He assumed they each had their own personality, and he longed to meet them. He hoped he would still have
that privilege one day.
He walked at a steady pace, his polished shoes crushing the mud and shrubs. There was no point running, not when Kira had
morphed. He could be as fast as any wolf after drinking blood, but in his current state, he didn’t have a hope of keeping up with
her.
It didn’t matter. He was not in a hurry.
He pursued her with the steady endurance of a wolf, his footsteps slow and relentless through the woods. The black collar
and leash swung by his side, echoing the sickening roll of his stomach.
He was hungry, and he kept his eyes peeled for food to abate his hunger pangs—plants, fungi, small animals. Kira had
offered to let him feed from her last night, an offer that he’d barely been able to resist. An offer that made him ache for her now.
He had a feeling she’d rescinded the invitation.
 CHAPTER 2

On the Run

Kira

FEAR SPURRED KIRA’S FEET faster as she rushed towards the front doors of Volmasque Academy, her heart thumping in
her chest. She was nearly at the exit when, out of nowhere, the image of the country lane she’d seen outside Nathaniel’s
window appeared in her mind. She’d assumed it was an illusion, her gut feeling told her otherwise. It was literally a window
to another place.
A portal.
And it didn’t lead just anywhere. Subconsciously, she’d recognised the lane with the row of birch trees, but its significance
had only just clicked into place amidst her terror. The lane was not far from where she’d grown up in the cottage with her
foster parents. Her mind jarred to a stop. The old wise wolves were exactly who she needed to be with right now. She was
barely holding it together, her insides churning with turmoil, and she needed their counsel more than ever.
She didn’t have time to contemplate why Nathaniel had a portal in his bedroom that led to the outskirts of Nordokk, not when
he was in hot pursuit, his voice calling her name from some landing above. There were other students about, and she was too
afraid to shift into her wolf form just yet.
Her shoes squeaked on the tiles as she skidded to a halt by the front doors and changed direction, darting towards the dorm
door. She shot down the stairs, hoping Nathaniel hadn’t seen her. Earlier, she’d feared for how weak he was. He’d been so
selfless, saving two unlikely people by giving them his blood: Barbara, an illegal witch hiding in the city, and Susie, Kira’s
closest friend at the academy.
She’d taken it as a proof of his generosity and kind-heartedness—qualities she was no longer sure he had. How could that
same person have been manipulating her all this time? To have sex with her, and toy with her heart, only to betray her?
Vampires are manipulators. Everyone knows that. I know that. I should never have trusted him.
A minute later, Kira was standing outside Nathaniel’s bedroom. This was the last place he would expect her to go. She
smiled grimly as she kicked in the door.
The portal was disguised and bordered by a window frame complete with real glass. She nearly kicked that in as well, but
she didn’t want to risk cutting her leg up. She found a whip in Nathaniel’s chest of interesting taboo items. She shivered at the
feel of the smooth plaited leather, but it was the hard cane handle she was interested in. Perfect for breaking the window.
Although…
The twinkle of a gem had caught her eye by the bedside table. It was one of the plugs Nathaniel had made her wear. This was
the larger of the two, a bulging mushroom-shaped toy made of steel. Its base was decorated with a red, heart-shaped gem that
gleamed in the grey light filtering through the window. She dropped the whip with a clatter and hefted the heavy plug in her
hand.
Even better.
The plug made a satisfying sound as it broke through the glass. Instead of creating a hole like she’d expected, it caused the
entire pane to shatter into tiny fragments.
She morphed into her wolf form, her human form separating into two dark-furred wolves with long vicious fangs. Each wolf
had nine whip-like tails with barbed ends at the tips hidden in tufts of fur. She did not understand why she looked so different
to the other wolves, but Mary and Byron had taught her to keep her true form a secret. To this day, she’d never shown anyone
her wolf forms, not even Nathaniel, although there had been a moment last night when she’d been tempted.
And she’d woken in his arms, aghast to realise she’d morphed while she’d been sleeping. Nathaniel had not seen, but even
so, her life had spun out of control the moment they’d entered his office to find the Vampire King waiting.
Fear coursed through Kira as she tore across the lane and down a steep bank, her paws kicking up dirt and leaves as she
plunged into the dense forest below. The heavy rain pierced the dense canopy, battering the leaves and dripping large droplets
onto her snouts.
She’d bolted the moment Henrikk had revealed his intent to use her for breeding. The knowledge that Nathaniel was
complicit in that scheme made bile burn her throat and her chest ache. Now that Henrikk had set his eyes on her, she would
need to rethink her plan. But right now, all she could think of was Nathaniel’s betrayal.
I thought he was different. I thought… She shook her head. It no longer mattered.
It was all bullshit.
And it serves me right for trusting a vampire.
She increased her pace, trees whipping past her as she tried to leave her mistakes behind her. She had no idea what she was
doing, or where she would even go. All she knew in that instant was that she needed to put as much distance between herself
and the two vampires as possible.
Her first impression upon meeting Henrikk was that he was pure evil. A tyrannical cunt.
But Nathaniel was worse than his father, because he’d lied to her and made her feel like she was special. Fool as she was,
she’d let herself believe that he might actually care about her.
Idiot. Look how that turned out.
If she could have wiped him from her mind, she would have. Instead, her thoughts kept circling back to the horrifying
revelation that he’d been grooming her to be his father’s sex slave. Both father and son were repulsive.
She pushed her limbs to run faster. The last person in the world she wanted to see was Nathaniel. Any romantic inclination
she may have had was dead and buried, even if the pain of his betrayal remained, digging into her like claws. She would not let
him close again. From now on, her heart was cold as stone, her body off limits, her mind and thoughts her own.
Prince fucking Nathaniel could suck a royal dick.
Once Kira had put a quarter of a mile between her and the portal, she lifted her head to the dark clouds and howled. The
sound had a haunting beauty, echoing for at least ten miles with the wind still. There was a small risk that Nathaniel would hear
her, but she doubted he’d tracked her this far. Even if he had, he would never keep up. She was in her element.
Kira howled again, then paused, panting as she waited to hear an answering cry.
A deep, distant howl answered. Her spirits lifted as she recognised Byron. The old wolf’s voice held a gravitas that
commanded respect, and a familiarity that tugged at her heartstrings.
Moving in the direction of the sound, her wolves’ powerful muscles traversed the rocky foothills with ease. The earth was
dry here, and she took comfort knowing that even if Nathaniel tried to follow her, he could not track her without pawprints.
As she climbed higher, a cool breeze picked up, refreshing her as it seeped through her damp fur. By the time she cleared the
steep slope and the ground levelled out, the rain had reduced to a mild drizzle.
Tall cliffs stretched above her, and she wove between large boulders. The smell of charcoal and smoke reached her nostrils
as a campfire outside a cave entrance came into view.
A rush of joy flooded her when she caught sight of her foster parents. Byron had clearly shifted back, because he and Mary
were in human form. Both her wolf selves ran to embrace them, standing up on hind legs with front paws lifted.
Mary was a short woman with short, curly, red hair and a face that was almost perfectly round, whilst she’d always thought
of Byron as a gentle giant—tall and brawny with black, close-cropped hair, a short thick beard, and large calloused hands.
They both looked surprised to see her as they hugged each of her wolf forms.
“Kira, what are you doing here?” Mary asked in astonishment.
Kira’s wolf selves stepped back and blended into each other, forming one wolf as golden light oscillated around them,
growing brighter as she morphed back into a human. She combed her thick, brown hair out of her face with her fingers and
wiped her muddy hands on her pants.
“I had to come,” Kira answered, smiling in relief as she looked at the couple. “And I’m so glad I found you. I’ve missed you
both.”
“We’ve missed you too,” Mary said, licking her thumb and using it to clean a spot on Kira’s cheek. The gesture was tender
and motherly, but Mary’s expression was worried. “But why have you come?”
Kira gave a bitter laugh as she knelt to wash her hands in a water basin. “The reason begins and ends with the jerk the
academy sent to get me,” she said, shaking her wet hands at the fire and causing flying droplets to evaporate with a hiss. “His
name is Nathaniel, and he just so happens to be the fucking Vampire Prince—can you believe it?”
“I can believe it,” Byron murmured.
 “Yes, well…you won’t believe what a royal prick he is, every pun intended.”
Byron and Mary exchanged a look, and Byron rubbed his bearded chin as he turned his concerned eyes to Kira. “And
Nathaniel knows you’re here, does he?”
The smile slowly faded from Kira’s face. She didn’t know what to say to that. Byron’s comment was strange. He’d never
mentioned Nathaniel before, and had not even mentioned the Vampire Prince.
Confusion spread across Kira’s face. “How do you know Nathaniel? You’ve never once mentioned him to me before.”
Byron’s guilty expression made her heart sink a fraction more.
“If Nathaniel hasn’t told you, then I’m afraid it’s not for me to say,” he said.
Kira crossed her arms. “What’s going on?” Why was he acting so stand-offish?
Byron shook his head in silent refusal, even though in all the years she’d known him, he’d always been loath to refuse her
anything. Out of the wolf couple, Mary had always been the strict one.
Desperate for answers, Kira now turned to her. “Mary, why won’t you just talk to me?”
Mary sighed. “Oh Kira, you shouldn’t have come. You were supposed to stay at the academy. We didn’t expect you to
return.”
Kira frowned. “But going to the academy was my idea.” She was struggling to find the words to voice what should have
been obvious: that Mary and Byron had raised her to appreciate a simple life in the countryside. The couple who had once
been guards for the royal wolf household of Wintermaw Keep, but they’d only trained her to fight at her insistence. Mary had
fought her tooth and nail, never truly accepting Kira’s ambitions to fight for reform. Byron had been far more supportive, but
the older she’d gotten, the more he’d tried to talk her out of her plans for revenge. “It was my idea,” she repeated.
Wasn’t it?
Silence.
Kira shook her head in exasperation. “I thought you’d both be happy to see me.”
“We are,” Byron replied.
Mary only pinched her lips and said nothing.
“I…I made sure I wasn’t followed, if that’s what’s bothering you,” Kira said.
Mary buried her round face in her hands. “Oh, Kira…”
Kira frowned. “What’s wrong?”
The woman slowly lifted her head. “You cannot stop what has been started. You cannot run from this.”
“Run from what? Nathaniel? But I just said I made sure I wasn’t followed—”
“He will find you,” Mary said, her voice growing high pitched as she turned to Byron. “She shouldn’t have come back.”
“It’s all right,” Byron soothed her.
Kira watched in disbelief as her foster parents consoled each other. “What the hell is going on? I never said I was running
away from anything, I just…needed to get away and clear my head.”
Right?
She felt foolish as she continued. “I just wanted to see you and hear your advice.”
And some reassurance would be nice.
Byron rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Kira, you know how much I love you, kiddo. I would do anything for you. Mary
and I, we’re both prepared to die for you. But we cannot be the ones you turn to now.”
The words stabbed and twisted. “Why not?”
“Because, you are not ours anymore.”
She was too stunned to speak. Her body turned cold as the last threads of support that had kept her grounded and helped her
survive the academy’s insanity were ripped away. Her voice was thick as she said, “You better not be saying I belong to
Nathaniel.”
No answer.
She changed tack, if only to stop herself from tearing her hair out from sheer frustration. “How do you know him, anyway?”
Byron’s thick brows lowered, and he looked as if he dearly wanted to tell her whatever it was he was holding back.
“You’re my family,” Kira whispered.
“We love you as our daughter, Kira,” Mary said, her cheeks red and streaming with silent tears, “but we cannot be your
parents in this stage of your life. We can only serve you.”
Kira’s head was spinning. None of this made sense. Why were Mary and Byron acting so strange, as if they were different
people—mere shadows of the happy couple who’d raised her? Her entire life was being turned upside down, and she felt lost.
It all felt like a bad dream. It had to be.
She hugged herself as a terrible emptiness set in. “Well…you might not want me as your daughter anymore, but I don’t
belong to him, either.”
Long seconds passed where the only sounds were the crackling of the fire, and her vision grew blurry as heavy tear drops
fell to stain her dusty shoes.
 What was her life worth, if everything that had preceded it was a sham, and the few people she’d depended on were
rejecting her? Horrible suspicions swirled in her mind, and a sense of abandonment began to set in, clawing out her chest and
leaving it hollow.
She jumped when a male voice spoke behind her.
“No, you don’t belong to anyone, Kira.”
She spun around and found herself face to face with Nathaniel. His shoulders were draped in a dashing black cloak that
emphasised his height. Had he not looked so tired, he would have been intimidating.
“Nathaniel?” she asked, trying not to fixate on his eyes, which sparkled like sunlit snow.
“You don’t belong to anyone,” he repeated. “You do, however, belong to the cause, just as we do.” He stepped closer and
took her hand. “And believe me when I say that you are very much wanted.”
Before Kira could snatch her hand back, Nathaniel went down on one knee, lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed it, stealing
the air from her lungs.
 CHAPTER 3

Traitor

Kira

“HOW DID YOU FIND me?” Kira exclaimed, finally snatching her hand from Nathaniel. The top of her hand still tingled from
his kiss.
“It wasn’t that long ago that I fed on you,” he replied. “It made you easy to track. I was able to sense you—it’s a talent of
mine that was heightened by hunger.”
Kira gaped at him, but she shut her mouth and lifted her chin. “I’m surprised you didn’t drop dead from the journey.”
Mary gasped, but Kira kept her focus on Nathaniel, whose lips twitched with amusement.
“I fed on an animal en route. It was…enough to sustain me.”
“Probably a very small animal,” Kira sneered. “Something slow. You don’t look like you could have caught a deer.”
Nathaniel tilted his head, studying her in a way that reminded her of an owl. His scrutiny made her insides shrivel, but she
held his gaze.
Finally, he said, “It was a hedgehog.”
Kira scoffed, the tension between them easing slightly. “Sounds very appealing.”
Nathaniel’s smile widened, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. His upper lip was curled up, revealing his fangs. “Not as
appealing as you, dear Kira.”
As his meaning sank in, she took a step back. “Forget it. You said you wouldn’t bite me again.”
Nathaniel licked his lips. “At this stage, I don’t have a choice.”
“I thought vampires didn’t need blood to survive.”
“Vampires in my condition don’t chase wolves several kilometres across the country. I must feed now. The alternative would
mean death for me.”
“Death it is,” Kira shrugged, taking another step back. If she could put a little distance between them, it would give her a
chance to morph if the vampire tried anything. It also brought her a step closer towards Byron and Mary. Regardless of how
strange their behaviour, she would not hesitate to defend them. “After grooming me to become your father’s plaything, I think
death is almost too good for you.”
“You haven’t been told everything,” Nathaniel replied. “I was not the only person to groom you.”
Kira felt as if he’d slapped her. “Fuck off.” She glanced at Mary and Byron, who were still stonily silent, before looking
back at Nathaniel. “Who else? Victoria? Felix?” She wracked her brain. “Chelsea?”
Nathaniel shook his head. “No. Someone closer to you.”
She swallowed. “Not Susie?” Please, tell me it wasn’t her. The wolf had become something of a big sister to her.
“Not Susie.”
Kira shrugged helplessly. “Then who?”
“Us.” Byron’s deep voice rasped the word, but he might as well have screamed it for the way it carved a hole in her heart.
“What?” she whispered.
Mary spoke up. “It was us. We were grooming you.” She placed a hand on Byron’s arm to console him.
 What about consoling me? Kira’s head spun. The world had gone mad.
“We were preparing you for the uprising you are to lead,” Mary continued, “And the duties you would face along the way.”
“What. Duties?” Each word felt like a death sentence.
Mary glanced at Nathaniel—she fucking glanced at him for permission to fucking speak—before turning back to her. “Kira,
your duty is to help Nathaniel take his father’s place on the throne—”
“By sucking his father’s cock?” The angry words burst out of her before she could stop them, but she didn’t care. Everyone
else was dancing around the topic as if it were a minor detail, and no one had acknowledged that she’d been kept in the dark
all these years. For her, the worst was still ahead.
“Kira…” Mary began.
“Don’t. Kira. Me,” she snapped, forcing herself to stand still when all she wanted to do was rip Nathaniel’s throat out. Or
sink to her knees in defeat. The only thing holding her together was the desperate hope that this was all some cruel prank.
“Someone tell me what the fuck is going on right this instant, because none of you are making any fucking sense!”
“We’re trying,” Byron said. “We didn’t want you to find out this way.”
“It sounds like you didn’t want me to find out at all! Did you know what Nathaniel’s done to me, Byron? Do you have any
idea that he’s made me wear a…a…” her anger stalled and fizzled out. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her father-figure that
Nathaniel had made her wear an anal plug. It was too humiliating.
But she could tell from Byron’s expression that he already knew. She jabbed an accusatory finger at him, her voice a low
warning growl. “Tell me this is all some sick joke.”
He was the only person she wanted to hear from. He was the person she trusted most in the entire world. Mary had always
treated her warmly, but Byron had more empathy than anyone she knew. Every girl needed a father. And he was hers. Even if he
wasn’t her biological father. He was her person.
Byron grew ashen-faced, his fists clenching as he turned to Nathaniel. But rather than tear the vampire a new one, he
pleaded. “Please, allow me to tell her, Nathaniel.”
Her insides boiled to see the large man with his tail between his legs, taking his orders from the Vampire Prince he was
supposed to hate.
Nathaniel shook his head. “No. It will be better if I show her.”
Kira threw him the middle finger and turned to Byron, her voice rising in pitch as she beseeched him. “Byron, you tried to
talk me out of leading a revolution.”
“I did,” he admitted. “I pitied the road ahead of you. I wanted you to have a peaceful life.”
“Byron, you’ve always had a tender heart,” Mary chimed in.
Kira’s jaw muscles tensed, her teeth growing sore from clenching. She had absolutely nothing to say to Mary, the woman
who had taught her how to bake and hunt in the woods. Nothing at all.
She turned tearful eyes to Byron in one last attempt to find the man she’d looked up to. It was a struggle to speak from the
tight knot in her throat. “The revolution was my idea.”
“No,” Mary said, “It was ours. We prepared you from a young age, telling you stories about the revolution, and the wolves
and vampires involved—”
“I remember,” Kira said tightly, cutting her off. She got the picture, she really did, even if it was actually millions of pictures,
the memories flashing through her mind faster and faster until she felt queasy. She would have to sit down and reflect on her
entire fucking childhood to retroactively identify those tiny moments of betrayal.
Silence.
Everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to speak. Nathaniel hadn’t moved except to fold his arms inside his cloak. Was
he cold? Not that she fucking cared.
“Kira,” Nathaniel began, “Please, come sit down by the fire. Allow me a chance to explain. The plan is so much bigger than
us.”
“Us,” Kira repeated softly. The word encompassed three people she would never in her wildest dreams have imagined
would work together to deceive her: her foster parents, and him.
“You’re part of this, too,” Nathaniel said.
“No,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes with a damp sleeve. “I’m not.”
“Kira, please. Stop.”
She ignored him and took another step back. “Fuck. You.”
“Kira…” Nathaniel warned, his voice growing low and threatening. “Do not run.”
She didn’t reply. There were no insults left inside of her. ‘Fuck you’ really said it all. It was time to leave, and even her wolf
forms could not run fast enough to leave this tumultuous day behind. She spun on her heel, the wolf hairs already sprouting on
her forearms as golden light whirled around her—but she never had the chance to morph.
As fast as lightning, Nathaniel threw something at her—a length of thin rope he’d been hiding beneath his cloak.
The rope covered the distance between them, flying over her head. She shrieked and managed to dodge it, fleeing the
campsite on foot.
She’d been forced to run towards the base of the cliffs. Was she trapped?
Noticing a small cave between two large boulders, she shot towards it with escape firmly in mind.
At the last second, Byron stepped in front of her and she slammed into his chest, reeling from the impact.
Traitor!
Stunned, Kira tried to regain her balance, her vision distorting. A second later, she was running, but a loop of rope flashed
above her, and she wasn’t fast enough this time. It tightened around her neck, constricting her airway. Firm hands seized her
shoulders from behind.
“Do not struggle, or the lasso will tighten,” Nathaniel spoke in her ear, dragging her back against his chest.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she yelled, trying to get away from him as panic set in.
His hold tightened, his fingers digging into her shoulder muscles. “Shh, calm yourself.”
“Let me go!” she screamed, kicking as hard as she could at the air, trying to throw him off balance. She threw her head
around to look at Byron and Mary. “Why aren’t you helping me?!”
“Because, darling, he’s not our enemy,” Mary said gently.
“Well, he’s fucking mine!” she spat.
“We’re just going to have a conversation,” Nathaniel explained, dragging her towards the entrance of the cave.
“I have nothing to say to you, fuckface!”
He ignored her insult. “You can do the listening, then.”
“If you think I’m going to listen to what you have to s-”
Her voice cut off as a firm, rubbery object was forced into her mouth, and as the collar tightened around her neck, she
realised too late that Nathaniel had gagged her.
He appeared in front of her, tugging sharply on a leash, the rope visible for only a second as he tucked it inside his cloak.
He’d removed the rope so quickly she hadn’t even noticed it was gone, and as for the gag, she reacted the only way that made
sense.
She screamed as if her throat was on fire, and even the gag could not quieten the noise.
“You will listen to what I have to tell you,” Nathaniel said, his words eerie like a winter chill as he dragged her into the
cave. “But first, I will take what I need from you.”
Kira threw a desperate glance back at Mary and Byron, but the couple were standing motionless by the fire.
Doing nothing to help her.
She yelled, her words garbled like a madman’s, and she watched in horror as Byron turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to
watch her plight. Sorrow and disbelief built up in her chest, shredding the remaining tissue of her heart.
And then the darkness of the cave swallowed them whole, dousing her rage until the only emotion she had left was stark fear.
Nathaniel took her deeper into its depths until the bright entrance was out of sight.
Kira stopped screaming, partly because the cave amplified her voice in a terrifying echo, and also because she was too busy
trying to suck in air past the gag. But she fought Nathaniel every step of the way, and his laboured breathing made her cling to
the hope that she could overpower him in his weakened state.
She tried to morph, but Nathaniel yanked her hair painfully, interrupting the process.
“Not now, pet,” he said in a ragged voice. “Not now.”
They came to a standstill in the pitch-black, her entire body clammy and paralysed with dread as her heart thumped
sickeningly in her chest.
“I just want to talk,” Nathaniel whispered into her ear, loosening the gag. “Be a good girl and show me how quiet you can
be.”
She gasped for breath as the collar and gag fell away, wheezing and spitting excess saliva out. Her body was shaking, but she
froze as he gently brushed her hair off her shoulder.
“Please,” she whimpered. The word sounded small and useless in the dark void where the only one who heard her was him.
The quiet, meek wolf of her personality took over as the strong one receded. “Please, Nathaniel,” she repeated, “you said you
wouldn’t bite me again.”
“I made no such promise.” His lips grazed her neck as he spoke, sending chills through her. “What I said was that feeding
from you again would represent love.” He dragged his hand through her hair, his fingers snagging the knots as his grip
tightened, forcing her head to tilt back. “And make no mistake, Kira, I might be hungry and an inch from death, but this will
mean something to me…because I am hopelessly, desperately in love with you.”
She couldn’t see him, but she could feel his breath on her throat, and the sensual brush of his lips.
“Forgive me,” he murmured.
Her vision flashed white with hot pain as sharp fangs pierced her skin.
 CHAPTER 4

The Night of the Revolution

Kira

THE PAIN OF NATHANIEL’S bite vanished almost immediately, replaced with a warm cloudy feeling that quashed Kira’s
terror and lulled her into a state of calmness. Her muscles relaxed, and she stopped resisting altogether as Nathaniel drank her
blood. His lips and tongue were hot on her neck. Gradually, his grip loosened on her hair, and he wrapped his arm around her
waist and drew her close, holding her tenderly as if they were lovers.
All of a sudden, the words he’d spoken hit her. He was in love with her.
But he’s a vampire.
She would never have believed that Nathaniel was capable of feeling anything other than lust. But then their minds had
touched, and just like the first time when he’d claimed her, a new feeling dawned over her.
Surprise.
Because unlike the first time he’d bitten her, his thoughts were not closed. Instead, the walls were down and gates wide open
as he shared his emotions.
She had expected arrogance and contempt. Instead, she was overwhelmed by affection. It poured from him like sparkling
light, filling the darkness that had consumed them both.
With their minds connected, she noticed other things. Alarm bells rang when she sensed his weakened physical state.
Nathaniel wasn’t simply hungry. He was starving, his body on the verge of collapse as it waited for a sustenance he could not
replenish.
He needs my blood.
Not wants. Not craves. He needs it like the air we breathe.
Her worry for him grew. Nathaniel’s thoughts brushed hers like a gentle caress, his gratitude washing over her as he drank.
“Thank you,” he said, the words tumbling around in her mind.
Kira licked her lips. She wasn’t about to say you’re welcome, but she no longer begrudged him for biting her, not if the true
alternative would have been to let him die.
“Don’t you have some back-up plan when you run low on blood?” she asked.
“Yes. As you can see.”
Kira exhaled through her nostrils. He meant her. “You should stick to hedgehogs next time.”
He laughed, his breath warm on her neck.
She didn’t join in. Despite everything, the thought of losing Nathaniel made her seize up.
If he dies…
“No one is dying today,” he said.
“Stop reading my thoughts,” she snapped, with only a shadow of a growl.
His chest rumbled with a chuckle, and Kira almost smiled, but then the chill of the cave caused her to shiver.
“Cold?” Nathaniel asked, the gentle pull of his hand on her waist inviting her closer.
Reluctantly, Kira settled against him. If they were going to be here a while, she may as well get comfortable. Besides, the
warm press of his body wasn’t so bad compared to the hard cave floor.
He fed from her in silence, the act more intimate than a kiss. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the fact that she was
enjoying it, when logically, she’d been angry at him only a few minutes ago.
Suddenly, Nathaniel stopped drinking and drew his head back. His arms were still looped around her, and their minds
remained connected.
“Why did you stop feeding?” she asked in confusion. She could feel the sharp pangs that raked through Nathaniel. He was
still so hungry.
“I took only what I needed.”
Kira could sense his guilt through their bond as he continued.
“Usually, I do not drink blood that is not given freely.”
“Lucky me,” she said sarcastically. “But you may as well finish what you started.”
Nathaniel’s amusement rolled over her. “Such a tempting offer.”
His response was casual, but there was real hunger behind it, raw and edged with nausea. He was trying to mask it from her,
but she could sense it.
Her worry deepened. “What will happen to you?”
“I will rest a while. Then I will go forage for something. But first, I need to talk to you now.”
“Most people just talk normally, you know. Without the blood sucking.”
“Most people are not us. And this way, I can show you what happened the night of the Revolution, and the role I played.”
“Why now?”
“Because I should have told you sooner. You deserve to know about your past.”
“My past?” Did that mean he knew who her parents were?
“I must warn you, it may be difficult for you to witness the events of that night.”
He waited for her assent.
She nodded. “Show me.”
Dark smoke of midnight blue filled her vision. It swirled thickly before parting to reveal a fortified castle silhouetted against
a starless sky. She was standing at the edge of a forest with Nathaniel, her view of the castle partially blocked by tall trees.
“Wintermaw Keep,” Kira murmured. “I’ve never seen it with my own eyes. At least, I don’t remember it.”
“It’s a mercy that you have no memories of that night,” Nathaniel said. “And I am sorry you have to relive it now.”
Before she could respond, several dark figures emerged from the shadows of the trees. Henrikk was there, his blond hair
gleaming in the moonlight. He smoothed his sharp moustache as he regarded the Keep with a smile.
Kira drew a sharp breath and stumbled away from Henrikk. Had she truly been here, she might have stumbled over the tree
roots. As it was, she drifted through them like a ghost.
Nathaniel took her hand and drew her close. “They can’t see or hear us. It’s just a memory.”
Henrikk addressed the ranks of cloaked vampires, his voice a commanding hiss. “I can taste victory.”
Kira noticed a young man standing behind Henrikk. She did a double take. He was in his mid-teens, and his stature and facial
features were strikingly similar to Henrikk’s.
Nathaniel.
It was obviously him. She could tell from his furrowed brows and the tense set of his jaw that he did not seem to share his
father’s anticipation.
The real Nathaniel leant close to her. “Let’s skip ahead. Brace yourself.”
Blue smoke descended upon them again, and when it cleared, they were inside a corridor with a high vaulted ceiling. Elegant
carpet runners stretched from one end to the other, and the walls were lined with doors and tapestries. Two guards were
stationed before each door.
“The east wing, where the royal family’s living quarters are,” Nathaniel said, stopping before a white door with
mouldings. “This is where the children slept.” He peered at her with concern. “We can skip this part if you wish. What
happened is…very disturbing. I don’t think you would ever be able to erase it from your mind.”
Kira chewed her lip. She had a general idea what would happen next. “It’s better that I know.”
“Very well,” Nathaniel nodded. Before entering the room, he gestured at the guards. “They both fought bravely. This one on
the right nearly killed me.”
“Oh.” There were no words she could say to that. She stared at the soldiers with respect, her heart aching as she tried to
comprehend that they were about to die.
The guards tensed as a distant commotion sounded from far away. People were yelling, and there was a loud crash that made
the guards draw their weapons.
Nathaniel grimaced, causing deep lines that she’d never noticed before to appear on his face. “I’ll be arriving soon.”
It took her a moment to realise he meant his younger self. “If ‘you’ weren’t here yet, how can you remember what the
corridor looked like before you showed up?”
 “Because the corridor is how the guard remembered it.”
Realisation dropped like a lead weight in her stomach. “You drank the guard’s blood.”
“Not merely drank.” Shame flooded their bond like a dam had burst, and Nathaniel tried frantically to hold it back from her.
“I drained him, and his final memories were transferred to me. It is something that can happen. They are a curse, a
reminder that I carry with me always.”
Despondency overcame her. She felt sorry for the guard’s death, but she also felt sorry for Nathaniel, whose guilt seeped out
of him like poison.
He exhaled sorrowfully. “Come. I want you to see them before…before I arrived.”
Nathaniel pushed the door open, but his hand and body passed right through it as he strode inside. Kira followed, unsettled
by the way her own body passed through the wood as if it were nothing.
Inside was a nursery decorated in creams, pale blues, and pinks. One side of the room was lined with lavish beds. They
were empty, their almost-pristine state suggesting they were rarely used. Some of the pillows had been chewed, the feather
stuffing strewn across the floor amidst baby toys and dog bones.
The children—or pups—were all sleeping together by the fire on a large square mattress. They were all in wolf form, some
curled up with their snouts hidden behind their tails, others stretched out on their backs with the golden glow of the fire
warming their tummies.
The seven pups looked to be four or five years old. They were still young, their tan-coloured fur and dappled white spots.
Each had a cluster of fluffy tails—the nine tail puppies she’d seen mounted on Nathaniel’s office wall were all here, alive in
the flesh.
“Alive only in memory,” Nathaniel said sadly. “They were the offspring of King Bakker and his first wife, nine tails
Queen Hannah. How it would have pained her to know what became of her children.”
Back in the cave, Nathaniel’s grip had tightened so much it hurt, his mounting dread adding to hers. Kira squeezed his hand
back, silently consoling him when, perhaps, she should have condemned him.
It was only then that she noticed something peculiar in the memory: there were nine more puppies. They were nestled in
amongst the tan-coloured one, but they were much smaller and with dark fur. Their appearance was distinctly wolf-like, and yet
eerily different. Long, sabre teeth protruded from their snouts, and they had large claws like a lion. Each pup had nine whip-
like tails with tufts of fur on the tips.
“They’re like little versions of me,” Kira thought.
“Not ‘like’,” Nathaniel corrected. “They are you. All nine of them.”
“Me?” Kira felt her stomach tighten. She moved to get a better look at the pups, treading lightly even though she knew they
couldn’t hear her.
“Yes, you. What you see are your nine selves.”
She was shocked that there were nine.
She was even more shocked that Nathaniel knew about her true form. That’s what he’s implying, isn’t it?
Her heart lurched, and had she not felt his gentle thoughts now, she might have bolted from the cave. But he calmed her, and
she became sure of one thing amidst her confusion; he had no intention of harming her.
She eyed one of the hybrid pups, whose snout was resting on a bone, his ears pricked as if he heard a disturbance. “How
long have you known?”
“I’ve always known,” Nathaniel said quietly.
“This morning, in your bedroom. When I shifted by accident, you saw me.”
“I did. But I already knew.”
Her throat went dry. “It can’t be me.” Those nine dark-furred pups couldn’t possibly be her. She only had two wolf forms,
whereas… “There are nine of them…” she began.
“Yes. Only two survived the night.”
She swallowed hard, her gaze roaming over the pups sleeping peacefully. The children of the Wolf King and Wolf Queen—
her half brothers and sisters with the light-coloured fur—and the dark ones that were her, nine pups that made up one person.
All the pups’ eyes were shut as they slept, unaware of the fate awaiting them.
All except one. The dark-furred pup whose ears had pricked now opened her eyes, and she lifted her snout from the bone and
scented the air.
Kira’s heart jolted as she recognised that part of her—the one who was feisty and wary of strangers.
“Perhaps, we best skip this part,” Nathaniel said quietly.
Dark smoke billowed at the edges of Kira’s vision, but she seized Nathaniel’s arm, her hand passing right through in the
dreamlike state even though she gripped his shirt in the cave.
“Wait,” she said, her gaze fixed on the awake pup. The pup was now on all four paws, pulling the dark ear of another one to
rouse her.
The second pup lifted her head blearily, blinking sleepy eyes. Kira immediately recognised her as the shy, sensitive one.
Another random document with
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heard nothing of him for ages, and everybody knows that if you lose sight
of your husband or your wife for seven years, you can marry again."

Melville considered. Evidently Mrs. Sinclair was an ignorant sort of

woman, and, as a rule, it is only ignorant people who can be influenced by
fear. At any rate, he could try to frighten her into telling him the facts, and it
would be his own fault only if he could not turn them to his own advantage.
His part as accessory after the fact could be explained easily enough if the
occasion should ever arise.

"I know there are people who labour under that delusion," he said, "but
it is a delusion. Marriage once contracted is binding until it is dissolved by
death or decree, and while Sir Geoffrey could, doubtless, get a decree now
in the Divorce Court, it could only be after your conviction at the Old
Bailey."

He spoke icily and deliberately, and his words had the desired effect.
Mrs. Sinclair's eyes dilated, and, although she retained her self-command,
her bosom rose and fell quickly, betraying the emotion within her, and the
emotion was fear. Melville was satisfied. He turned to her with a pleasant,
sympathetic smile which might have inspired confidence in the heart of the
most suspicious.

"Tell me all about it, Lavender," he said gently. "Naked truth is always a
little bit shocking. I suppose that is why you only get it in savage countries.
But it is the naked truth that you have committed bigamy, and it looks to me
uncommonly as if you contemplated doing it again. Tell me all about it. I
don't suppose you have one disinterested adviser among all the people you
know, and this is certainly a case where two heads are better than one. I
won't give you away. What are the facts?"

His frankness completely took her in, as completely as his definition of

her offence had satisfied her. She sat down in a chair, nervously beating a
tattoo upon its arms with her plump fingers, and every now and then
stealing a glance at Melville from underneath her lashes.

"I can't believe you are right," she said, "but perhaps I may as well tell
you what did happen. I know I can trust you if—if I was wrong."
 "Implicitly," Melville murmured.

"Well," she said hesitatingly, punctuating her story with little pauses as
if in doubt how much detail to fill in. "I was very young and—and pretty,
and desperately poor when I met your uncle, and he was—rather old, and
well-to-do and very kind. And I married him. I thought everything would be
comfortable, don't you know. But I couldn't stand it. He wanted to have me
educated, and I wanted to go about and see life. It was like trying to boil a
tea-kettle over a volcano. We had most frightful quarrels, and very soon I
made up my mind to leave him. And one day I just walked out of the house
and never went back."

The way she summarised what must have been a tragedy was pathetic,
and Melville was able to imagine what that home must have been like when
it was the theatre of such a conflict between passionate youth and
determined middle age.

"Where did you go to?" he asked.

"A girl I knew had lately married, and I went to her. Her husband was
manager of an old-fashioned hotel on the South Coast, and they gave me a
home. I was useful to them, so there was no obligation on either side. I
stayed there a long time, and it was there that I met Mr. Sinclair."

"Did you never hear of Sir Geoffrey?"

"Never. After I marched out of his house that morning I was frightened,
and at least two years went by before I dared to ask anything about him. He
had left the house we lived in and disappeared too. He may have tried to
trace me, but a child is very easily lost, and I was only a child. Anyhow, he
never found me. And when a long time afterwards Mr. Sinclair asked me to
marry him, I thought that I was free, and finally I consented. I knew I had
no claim upon Sir Geoffrey, and I honestly believed he had none on me. Are
you sure I was not free?"

"Quite sure," Melville answered. "Tell me the rest."

 "We were married, and got along all right, and he died," she replied. "It
was just like hundreds of other marriages, I suppose. I don't know that I
loved him particularly, but I was a pretty good wife, and he left me
comfortably provided for, and—and that is the end of the story."

She gave vent to a defiant little laugh, and looked at Melville.

"Those are the facts," she said. "Now, if you are right and I was wrong,
tell me the position."

"Honestly, it's a very unpleasant one," Melville answered. "You see, Sir
Geoffrey being alive at the time, your marriage with Mr. Sinclair was quite
invalid. Sir Geoffrey could divorce you on the facts and you would have no
claim on him for alimony; and, on the other hand, you would forfeit all the
income you derive from Mr. Sinclair's estate as his widow, which legally, of
course, you are not."

There was an interval, during which the minds of both worked quickly.

"What am I to do about Sir Ross?" Mrs. Sinclair asked presently. "I

suppose I shall have to say that, for reasons that have just come to my
knowledge, I can't marry him, or something of the sort. But he is dreadfully
inquisitive; and, besides, any man would want something more definite than
that."

"What more definite reason can you give?" Melville enquired.

"I shall have to tell him about Sir Geoffrey," she answered.

Melville immediately foresaw the objection to this. Sir Ross Buchanan

would almost certainly do his best to get to the bottom of the whole thing;
he would go to Fairbridge, with the result that Sir Geoffrey would learn
where his wife was living and in what comfort; the funds he had been
giving to Melville for her assistance would be withdrawn, and Melville
would thus be thrown upon his own resources once again.

"That will not do at all," he said decisively; "it would be most

dangerous. Sir Ross must remain in ignorance of the whole affair. Why, just
think! If this reached Sir Geoffrey's ears he would prosecute you for bigamy
at once and obtain a divorce; you would lose the whole of your present
income, and Sir Ross would certainly never make you his wife. No; this
must remain a secret between you and me."

"I don't want to tell him," Lavender admitted. "He knew Mr. Sinclair
personally, but even if Sir Geoffrey were dead I should not care for him to
know that I'd been married twice already. That is why I've never explained
how you are related to me, not because I thought there was any harm in
what I'd done. Can we really keep it to ourselves, Melville?"

"Certainly," he answered. "You've proved that you can keep a secret,

which is more than most women can do, and you may rely upon me. I am as
safe as the bank."

"Sir Ross is so jealous of you," Mrs. Sinclair said. "He told me to-day
that I must choose between you, and went off in a huff because I would not
order you out of the house."

"I daresay it's just as well," Melville said indifferently; "you may be
glad of a day or two to think things over in. There's no blinking the fact that
this is serious. When Sir Ross turns up again let me know, and don't do
anything without consulting me."

"I think you are right," Mrs. Sinclair said. "For the present I will say
nothing to him about it, and if any difficulty arises—I mean, if he presses
me to marry him at once, or anything of that sort—I will come to you for
advice."

"We will leave it like that," Melville assented. "For the present things
can go on as they are. Above all, don't get frightened and lose your head."

"I'm very grateful to you, Melville," Mrs. Sinclair murmured; her words
were at once an expression of gratitude and an appeal, for, in sober truth,
she was very frightened already. It was as if the solid ground had suddenly
opened, and as if a bottomless pit were yawning before her feet.

Melville took her hands in his.

 "That's all right," he said, smiling kindly at her. "Show your gratitude by
playing the game like a sportsman. If there is any way out of the mess I'll
find it for you. Keep a stout heart. Good-bye."

He walked away from the house apparently absorbed in thought, but

when he was out of sight he fairly rubbed his hands.

"It's like a bally game of chess," he said with glee, "and the chess-
board's like Tom Tiddler's ground; there's gold and silver for me on every
bally square simply waiting to be picked up. Just now it's Sir Geoffrey
sending me to the assistance of the queen, who's in a tight place: starving, if
you please, on about a thousand a year; and if for any reason that source of
revenue dries up, the queen can be driven into the arms of Sir Ross. More
bigamy, unless Sir Geoffrey is translated to another sphere, and if he is it
won't matter very much to me. If my polygamous aunt marries Sir Ross
Buchanan at all I shall be able to draw a very respectable percentage of her
annual income. Oh, these knights and ladies!"

But indoors, Lavender Sinclair, with a very white face, sat thinking,
thinking, thinking, and the only thought which was really clear before her
mind was how fortunate it was that she had met Melville Ashley when she
did. In him, at any rate, she possessed one loyal friend on whom she could
rely.

CHAPTER X.

LIGHT COME, LIGHT GO.

Lucille's forebodings were justified by the event. Days passed by and

Sir Ross Buchanan neither wrote nor called; but while the maid was filled
with real concern at this interruption in a love story of which she had been
so sympathetic an eye-witness, her mistress regarded it with indifference. At
first she even hailed it as a relief, for it did away with all possibility of her
being called upon to give explanations for what she saw must be the
definite postponement of her marriage with him. She lost no time in
verifying Melville's statement about the invalidity of her marriage with Mr.
Sinclair, and the more she considered her position the uneasier she grew.
She was afraid to take a legal opinion upon it, and to her fear of losing the
income she derived from a charge upon Mr. Sinclair's estate was added
terror of the pains and penalties to which, in her ignorance of all legal
matters, she thought her bigamous marriage had rendered her liable. That
she had acted in good faith at the time afforded her but little consolation.
She had done something punishable by law, and she was in terror of anyone
else finding it out.

In Melville's discretion she had perfect confidence; it never occurred to

her that the danger might lie upon his side. Why she should feel such
security in the case of the only man who had any knowledge of her offence
she would have been at a loss to explain. Anything like self-analysis was
quite foreign to her temperament; probably she recognised in Melville
Ashley some fellowship of nature and of habit, none the less real because
undefinable. And yet in spite of this fellowship there was this vast
difference between them, that he was a bad man, entirely unprincipled and
utterly selfish, while she was not a bad woman. Her terribly ill-assorted
marriage as a child with Sir Geoffrey Holt had been too great a tax upon her
uncurbed nature, and she had put an end to it in the summary, reckless way
that any savage child would do; yet had it been possible for that strange
couple to bear and forbear with each other, a little time might have worked
what then seemed a miracle, and the story of their lives might have been
very different.

While, however, Lavender Sinclair regarded Sir Ross's temporary

defection with equanimity, being indeed convinced that it was only
temporary, and that when she chose she could whistle him back to her side,
she felt that Melville Ashley's attendance was daily growing more
necessary to her. To women of the type to which she belonged, the
companionship of men is indispensable. But Melville, too, absented himself
from The Vale. As a matter of fact, he was playing for big stakes, and had
no intention of losing the game from any failure to give it due
consideration.

His return from Monte Carlo and the few days of absolute
impecuniosity, culminating in his so nearly executed idea of suicide, had
marked a period in his career. Up to that moment he had drifted along in a
happy-go-lucky fashion, enjoying himself when in funds, existing somehow
when he was hard up, but always contriving in an irresponsible way to have
what he called a pretty good time. But that night when he looked death
squarely in the face had altered him. He vowed that such necessity should
not arise again, and his evil genius had come to his assistance by placing
him in possession of Sir Geoffrey Holt's old secret. In concocting the story
of Mrs. Sinclair's destitution, Melville had not aimed solely at getting a
single sum of money from his uncle. He determined to secure an annual
subsidy to be paid to him on her behalf, and the negotiations were beset
with difficulty.

At first Sir Geoffrey was in favour of the straightforward, common-

sensible policy of a point-blank refusal to part with a shilling except to
Lady Holt herself. He utterly distrusted Melville, and scouted the idea of
appointing him his almoner. But the old man's pride was a factor in the
problem which the young one had not under-estimated. He could not bring
himself to face what he regarded as a scandal, although in all essential
particulars it was only he who had been wronged. Thus Melville had only to
reiterate his intention of observing his promise to Mrs. Sinclair not to betray
her whereabouts, and take precautions against being shadowed by any
emissaries from his uncle, and he could afford to wait until Sir Geoffrey
should decide. As a matter of fact he had decided to submit to what was
nothing less than blackmail, and was endeavouring to make arrangements
for the payment to his wife of an income of four hundred pounds a year, to
be given quarterly to Melville until it could be given direct to Lady Holt,
and to take such precautions as the circumstances allowed against the whole
of the subsidy being misappropriated by Melville for his own purposes.

But until the matter had been completed and put upon such a basis as to
seem tolerably secure, Melville felt that his constant attendance upon his
uncle was at least expedient. So his visits to Fairbridge became more
frequent than they had been for several years past, and their effect upon the
two establishments at the Manor House and The Grange was very marked.
No hawk can take up his quarters in a dove-cote without causing a
commotion in the farmyard, and this was what happened now.

Ralph was moody and suspicious; he avoided his brother as much as he

could, and recognised his existence only so much as was inevitable if he
would not be actually rude to his uncle's guest. Sir Geoffrey was always
studiously polite to Melville, but on most occasions shut himself up in his
library to commune with his own thoughts, and denied access to everyone,
not excepting Gwendolen. She, indeed, was in the most invidious position
of all, for her mother liked Melville, and made much of him, thinking that
he was a rather misunderstood young man whose latent merits it only
required a little sympathy and affection to evoke. And his music was
superb. He kept his Amati at The Grange, and whenever opportunity
offered would play to the accompaniment of Gwendolen, herself a musician
of no mean order. The girl was divided between two emotions. Her love for
Ralph would have kept her ever by his side to the sacrifice of everything
and everybody else, but, since Melville's reappearance, Ralph was
preoccupied and taciturn, avoiding The Grange when, as so often happened,
his brother was there. On those many occasions Gwendolen was obliged to
remain at home, and her devotion to her duty was always rewarded by
hearing Melville play. His bow was a magician's wand, drawing music from
the violin that stole into Gwendolen's heart and held her very soul spell-
bound.

"No man can be bad who plays as divinely as he does," she often
thought, and Melville, noting the rapt expression on her face and the
moisture in her glorious eyes, would play as he had never played before,
until the silence that followed the dying away of the last note was broken by
an involuntary sigh from all who had the privilege of listening.

Thus it was that Melville forsook The Vale in favour of The Grange.
But at last his business came to a satisfactory conclusion, and, provided
with what he hoped and believed would be the first of a series of cheques,
he returned in jubilant mood to town.
 Invitations in plenty poured upon him, and he devoted himself to
enjoyment. But with the possession of money returned the old insatiable
desire for excitement that had always been his bane. All his good
resolutions proved to be straws in the wind. Races and suppers and cards
once more became the order of his days and nights, and among the set that
lives—and dies—by its wits Melville resumed his place as leader. Like all
confirmed gamblers, his faith in his star revived, and he could not believe
that fortune would ever desert him finally. When things were at their
blackest the goddess had given the kaleidoscope a turn and dazzled his eyes
by the blaze of colours in the glass before him.

Thus it was with particular pleasure that he accepted an invitation to

make one of a party at a great race meeting, and spick and span in new
apparel, with glasses slung across his shoulder, he joined the coach at
Hatchett's, and, sanguine as ever, mounted to his seat. His information was
exclusive, the banknotes in his pocket book were new and crisp, and would
be multiplied tenfold when he got back to town. A light rain in the early
morning had laid the dust, and the roads were in perfect condition; high
overhead thin wisps of clouds were blown swiftly across a grey-blue sky,
betokening a breeze that would temper the heat of the summer day. With a
jest upon every lip, and a plenitude of coppers for all the children shouting
by the roadside, the party drove away.

But when the sun was setting behind them, and the team of bays was
swinging into London, the smile upon Melville's face, in common with the
others, was replaced by a look of utter dejection. The horses which,
according to his information, were to do such wonderful things had, without
exception, failed to fulfil his expectations; in every single race his fancy had
gone down, not even succeeding in getting into a place; conversation was
monosyllabic upon the coach; the guard proclaimed its coming by
melancholy toots upon his horn instead of by selections adapted from "The
Washington Post" and "The Flowers that bloom in the Spring"; there were
no pennies for the children, no Japanese lanterns swinging from the seats.
The whole party was sick and sorry. Melville finished the day, according to
the programme, with dinner at his host's flat and a modest game of cards,
yet even at that nobody seemed to win. And when, after a final flutter at
petit-paquet and a tumbler of champagne, Melville let himself into his own
chambers in the small hours of the morning, very little was left of the
considerable sum with which he had left Fairbridge such a short time
before.

CHAPTER XI.

MRS. SINCLAIR PAYS A VISIT.

Melville's absence from The Vale occurring thus simultaneously with

Sir Ross Buchanan's defection made the time hang heavy on Mrs. Sinclair's
hands, and, her other visitors being few, she suddenly found herself
deprived of all companionship. It was not long before this solitude became
intolerable to her, and as her repeated little notes to Melville remained
without an answer she determined to go to call on him in person. He, of
course, had duly received these several communications, but as none of
them contained the news which he desired—that Sir Ross had resumed his
visits—he did not think that any good purpose would be served by
prosecuting his attentions to his aunt.

As a consequence of his disaster at the races he was obliged to

economise again. For breakfast, followed by luncheon at his club or some
good restaurant, he substituted a meal which would in France be termed
déjeûner, but which he significantly labelled "brunch," as being neither the
one thing nor the other, although compact of both. Then in the afternoon he
lounged by the Achilles Statue, and played billiards if chance threw in his
way any acquaintance with kindred tastes but less skill than his own. And in
the evening he would dine alone at some one of the many cheap restaurants
in Soho, or have a chop in solitude at home. The life was all right in a way,
but aimless and not to his taste. Yet even he could not bring himself to make
fresh demands upon his uncle until a more reasonable period had elapsed.
 It was after one of these purposeless saunters in the Park that he went
back to his rooms. The day had been very hot, and, after letting down the
sun-blinds, Melville threw himself upon the sofa and idly blew rings of
smoke into the still air. A pile of illustrated papers lay within reach, syphons
and decanters stood upon a table at his elbow, and he was just falling into a
doze when he heard a woman's voice, and in another moment his valet
opened the outer door with his master-key and ushered Mrs. Sinclair in.

Melville jumped to his feet and greeted her effusively, checking her
mixture of apologies and reproaches with admirable tact.

"It was a case of Mahomet and the mountain," she said. "You didn't
come and didn't answer my letters—I never thought you could be so
abominably rude, Melville—and I wanted to see you, so there was no help
for it but to disregard proprieties and come here. Why don't you marry some
charming girl, so that I can call without being compromised or
compromising you? You would be a delightful husband."

"So I have been explaining," Melville answered, "but the charming girl
has the bad taste to prefer somebody else. Get some tea, Jervis, and some
strawberries and things."

Mrs. Sinclair settled herself in a comfortable chair, with her back to the
light, and took stock of her surroundings.

"I wonder how it is that bachelors always have such delightful quarters?
This room is an effective answer to the old sneer that no place can be quite
comfortable without a woman's touch."

"Perhaps I'm a bit effeminate in my tastes," Melville replied. "Lots of

musical Johnnies are, you know. How is Sir Ross Buchanan?"

He switched off the conversation from trifles to essentials with perfect

ease, and Mrs. Sinclair showed no resentment.

"He hasn't been near me since the day you saw him," she answered.
"That is the principal reason why I've called now. Sir Ross hasn't been to
see me, nor have you, and I'm being bored to death. Why have you stopped
away, Melville?"

"I've had some business to attend to," he said, "and it didn't turn up
trumps. And now I'm a sick man—broke, and generally down on my luck."

"All the more reason for you to avoid your own company," she retorted.
"Moping's no use to anybody. Come and dine with me to-night?"

"Delighted," said Melville, but without enthusiasm.

"I'll get a box somewhere, and we'll pretend we're going the pace. My
show, you know," she added, thinking that the expense might be
inconvenient to him.

Melville liked the little touch of camaraderie.

"You're a good sort, Lavender," he said approvingly. "What a pity you

and Sir Geoffrey couldn't run together in double harness!"

A slight frown crossed her brow.

"If you mourn over the pity of everything you'll die of compassion," she
remarked, "and that's a silly sort of end for any man to come to. How is Sir
Geoffrey? Have you seen him lately?"

"No," said Melville, "but I am going to Fairbridge to-morrow."

"Take me," said Mrs. Sinclair impulsively.

"My dear Lavender!" Melville said aghast; "what on earth will you want
me to do next?"

He was not only astonished but alarmed at the suggestion, for nothing
could be devised more fraught with danger to his own schemes. Yet he did
not know what a woman of Lavender's temperament might not be capable
of doing. On her part, it is true, Mrs. Sinclair had made the suggestion on
the spur of the moment, but, having once made it, she was fascinated by it.
Possibly, unrecognised by herself, there was in her heart some remorse for
the injury she had done Sir Geoffrey, some hunger to set eyes once more
upon the man who, if old enough to be her father, had nevertheless been her
husband; at all events, she insisted.

"Why should I not go?"

"You would save yourself an unpleasant interview if you gave yourself

up to the police at once," Melville answered; "but, of course, you are not
serious. Fancy putting your head in the lion's mouth like that!" and he
laughed.

Mrs. Sinclair looked at him gravely.

"I've been doing nothing but think for a week," she said, "and, do you
know, I'm really not sure that it would not be the best thing for me to go to
Sir Geoffrey and tell him all about it. I don't believe he would prosecute me
or even apply for a divorce. Of course, I should have to come to terms with
the Sinclair lot, and Sir Geoffrey might have to see me through any
difficulty with them. But if I did that, he's just the sort of man to take care
that I should be no worse off afterwards than I was before. He always
respected people who did the square thing. And as for the rest, he knows
that if he fed me I'm not the sort of reptile to sting his bosom."

Melville grew more and more anxious, for this mood was a difficult one
to combat. He affected to consider the point sympathetically.

"You may be right," he replied; "but that's not the Sir Geoffrey whom I
know. He has always been most generous to me, but I've never seen the soft
side of the man. He does respect people who do the square thing, but, on the
other hand, he never forgives those who don't. And he's as proud as
Lucifer."

"I know," said Lavender, and flushed.

Melville noted her heightened colour and drew confidence from it.

"After you left him, Lavender—that morning—all those years ago——"

 "Yes?" she said, as Melville seemed to hesitate.

"Well, how do you suppose he took it?"

"I can't possibly tell," she replied impatiently, and Melville drove his
advantage further home; he would work upon her imagination as much as
he could.

"I can picture him so clearly," Melville said meditatively. "At first he
was angry—frightfully angry, and only thought of how he would punish
you when you came back. Then, as you stayed away, he began—more to
save his own honour than for any other reason—to invent explanations of
your absence, but all the time he was raging at having been made a fool of
by the child whom he had honoured by marrying. Then he began to search
for you, at first with the idea of saving you from going to the devil, but
afterwards with the different idea that he might be able to divorce you and
put an end to the whole miserable business. But years went by and you
never came back, and the little nine days' wonder was forgotten and he
inherited the title, and now he not only hopes but believes that you are dead.
And if you crop up again you'll hurt him in his pride ten thousand times
more than you did when you left him, because then he was nobody in
particular, and now he's a baronet and the best part of a millionaire, with a
big position and heaps of friends, all of whom suppose him to be unmarried.
You will be his dead past rising up like a ghost and ruining him, and he will
never forgive you. Sir Geoffrey never does forgive. No, Lavender, you will
have to pay for what you've done; pay to the uttermost farthing!"

There was silence for some moments, and then the tension was broken
by the valet bringing in the tea-things, which he placed by Mrs. Sinclair.
Melville rose and heaped some strawberries on a plate, flanking them with
wafer-biscuits.

"It's a nice little world as it is," he said, as if carrying on some trivial

conversation begun before the servant came into the room. "People ought
always to enjoy things as they are. That's not only good philosophy, but a
much easier one to put into practice than is commonly supposed."
 He drank the tea that Mrs. Sinclair gave him, and waited until the valet
noiselessly disappeared.

"Well?" he said interrogatively.

"I suppose you are right, as usual," she answered, with some reluctance,
and Melville breathed more freely. "I suppose it would be madness to
confess. But can't I go with you to-morrow, all the same? You can take me
on the river and leave me somewhere while you go to the house. I promise
not to get in your way."

Melville did not care about the idea, but having carried the point that
was most important, thought it might be politic to conciliate the woman
upon whose docility so much depended.

"I will take you with pleasure," he said cordially. "We will get a boat at
Shipton's, near the old lock, and row up stream to the Manor House. I will
leave you somewhere near there, and after I've seen Sir Geoffrey we will
drift down in time to catch a train at St. Martin's Hill."

"I'll take a luncheon basket," Mrs. Sinclair said, her usual cheerfulness
returning, "and we'll make a picnic of it."

But when Melville had put her into a cab and regained his cosy room,
he shook his head doubtfully.

"I don't like it a little bit," he said moodily. "Fancy my piloting that
good lady up to Fairbridge of all places in the world! It would be just my
luck if Ralph and Gwen were punting and spotted us, and Lavender gave
the show away. Or Sir Geoffrey even might see her, attired in the latest
thing in river costumes and looking as fit as a fiddle, when he fondly
imagines she's dying of consumption in a garret in Hampstead. It's a jolly
sight too dangerous to please yours truly. I hope to goodness it will rain cats
and dogs!"
 CHAPTER XII.

A PICNIC.

In spite of Melville's hope that rain might come to prevent the proposed
excursion up the river, the following day dawned bright and sunny, and as
he stood by the front door waiting for Mrs. Sinclair, who was to call for him
on her way to Waterloo, he was conscious of the joy of mere existence that
comes to men sometimes.

Punctual to the minute Mrs. Sinclair arrived, and before long the pair
were at the boathouse by St. Martin's Lock. The boatman was apologetic;
there was a regatta six miles up stream at Longbridge, and he could only
offer Melville the choice between a Canadian canoe and a rather heavy
boat; all his other boats were engaged for the whole day.

Mrs. Sinclair laughed.

"You'll have to work for once," she said. "I'm so sorry, but I cannot row
at all, and I'm not going to trust myself, and my frock, and my luncheon to
that canoe. We'll have the boat, please."

"Can you steer?" Melville asked.

"Not a little bit," she answered cheerfully; "it doesn't matter, does it?"

"There'll be a rare pack higher up," the boatman said to Melville, "but
perhaps you'll not be going so far as Longbridge? If you do, and get into the
crush, unship your rudder altogether. That'll be better than running any risks
of being run into by any launches."

So the luncheon basket was transferred to the boat, and with easy
strokes Melville sculled slowly up the stream.

"Better not try to steer at all," he remarked, as they zigzagged from one
bank to the other. "Keep the lines by you in case I want your help, but while
we have the river to ourselves I can manage better alone. Just tell me if
there's anything coming down. So:" he fastened the rudder lines loosely on
to the arms of Mrs. Sinclair's seat, and she, with a sigh of satisfaction,
opened her parasol and resigned herself to the delicious spirit of idleness
which makes a day up the river so enjoyable.

Nor could Melville fail to be glad that they had come; he possessed the
faculty of getting the last ounce of pleasure out of whatever he had in hand,
and a tête-à-tête with a charming and sympathetic woman in a boat on a
summer's day was peculiarly to his taste. He resolutely put out of his mind
all idea of possible complications if she should chance to be seen by Sir
Geoffrey, and determined only to enjoy himself.

So he pulled indolently along, keeping under the shady bank, and

lingering sometimes to pull a few wild flowers or to let his companion
snatch at the round heads of the yellow lilies that seemed to evade her grasp
with such intelligent skill; she insisted upon exploring every creek, however
narrow, and the morning passed in laughing idleness.

In one of these little creeks, about a mile below Fairbridge, they found
an ideal spot for luncheon, and, making the boat secure to the gnarled roots
of a willow, Melville unstrapped the basket and carried it ashore. Mrs.
Sinclair laid the cloth upon a level space of turf, while Melville spread the
cushions from the boat to form easy couches for them. He surveyed the
preparations with much satisfaction.

"You are a perfect hostess, Lavender. Chicken, and rolls, and, as I live, a
salad! How has that lettuce kept so cool, I wonder?"

"As I have, by the simple process of doing nothing," she replied. "Stand
that Moselle in the water, Melville, unless your thirst won't allow you to
wait."

"I don't wonder the basket was so heavy," he remarked, as he obeyed

her. "You've brought a full-blown luncheon—and trimmings. Silver spoons,
by gad!"

"Well, you don't want to use tin ones just because you're eating out of
doors, do you?"
 "There are other things," he argued; "white metal, for instance. What is
white metal?"

"I haven't the least idea," she said. "Mix the salad, and don't ask
Mangnall's questions. The oil and vinegar are in those little screw-stoppered
bottles."

"If you're ever hard up you can start a business to cater for picnic
parties," Melville suggested; "Lavinie et Cie.," or something of that sort;
"salads a specialite;" and you can patent a luncheon basket full of cunning
little dodges like a dressing-case. Are you sure the salt isn't in your tooth-
powder bottle now?"

"Quite sure," Lavender answered. "Fall to, good sir, fall to."

The al-fresco luncheon was a great success, and was supplemented by

an early cup of tea, and afterwards Melville lay upon his back smoking
cigarettes, while Lavender threw crumbs of bread to the fish that swarmed
by the boat, and fought and leaped over each other in greedy haste to make
the most of their unexpected treat.

It was very quiet in this creek, which was separated from the main
stream by a tongue of land covered with trees and dense undergrowth. Upon
the bank where Lavender and Melville reclined, ground ivy and white nettle
grew in profusion, while willow-wort and meadow-sweet overhung the
stream, and marsh marigolds flung back the sunlight from their glorious
blooms; behind them flowering grasses and tufted rushes waved in
luxuriance, and behind again there rose a screen of willows, flanked by
silver birch and tapering poplars.

The place and the hour alike seemed to be pointed out for the exchange
of tender confidences and happy day-dreams, but for the man, at any rate,
the soft emotions had no charm. In the temple where money is enshrined as
a god there is no welcome, and, indeed, no room, for love, and Melville
Ashley's heart was such a temple. His interview with his uncle was
impending, and the best use to which he could put this peaceful interval was
to ascertain how Lavender Sinclair's own affairs were progressing.
 He broke the silence which had fallen upon them.

"What is happening about Sir Ross Buchanan?"

Mrs. Sinclair threw the last handful of crumbs to the ravenous fish and
leaned back with a weary sigh.

"Can't we forget everything horrid today?" she entreated.

"I can't," Melville answered; "besides, the real object of this trip is my
visit to Sir Geoffrey, and—well, one thought leads to another, you know.
Have you heard from Sir Ross?"

"I told you yesterday I hadn't," she replied; "but didn't we settle all this
the other day? It was arranged that I should tell you anything he said when
he said it, and in the meantime do nothing at all."

"I know," Melville said; "but a lot can happen in a few days. One thinks,
for instance."

"Oh, yes! one thinks!" Mrs. Sinclair assented.

She seemed reluctant to pursue the subject, and Melville thought it

might be well to give her a lead. As a general rule he refrained from making
direct statements or asking direct questions, for anything straight-forward
was foreign to his nature, but in the present instance the objection was
lessened by his knowledge of his companion's story.

"Well, I've been thinking," he said, "and, among other things, thinking
that perhaps you ought to meet Sir Ross half way."

"What do you mean?"

"Half way about me," Melville answered, avoiding her direct look. "If
he objects so violently to my coming to your house I can be less constant in
my attendance, and you won't be any worse off than you were before you
wrote to me. I shall be, of course," he added politely, "but that is my
misfortune. You needn't tell Sir Ross in so many words that you have
ordered me off your premises, but he will think you have done so, and
everything will be—as you were, don't you know."

He rolled a cigarette delicately between his long fingers, focussing all

his attention upon the operation.

"That is impossible," she said coldly. "Sir Ross only presumed to dictate
because he understood that I was engaged to him."

"Quite so," said Melville.

"Of course it's impossible that I should marry him now."

"Why?" Melville enquired calmly.

"Why?" she echoed in astonishment. "You told me yourself that my

marriage with Mr. Sinclair was invalid because Sir Geoffrey was alive, and
yet you ask me why I can't marry Sir Ross! I wronged one man—in
ignorance—but I have no intention of wronging another deliberately. I may
as well say, once and for all, that if Sir Ross applies to me again I shall tell
him that our engagement is finally broken off."

"Why be so heroic?" Melville said. "Millionaire baronets don't grow on

blackberry bushes."

"If they did I wouldn't pick them off, now that you have enlightened
me," Mrs. Sinclair answered. "I'm not that sort."

"Sir Ross is an enormously rich man," Melville protested, "and is worth

keeping; and, in addition, Sir Geoffrey is a very old man, which is another
argument in favour of a less drastic policy than the one that you suggest."

"You seem very keen on my becoming Lady Buchanan."

"I am," said Melville. "Candidly, I think you will make a frightful
mistake if you break off the engagement, when a little temporising would
save the situation."