PRETTY LITTLE PREY
RUTHLESS RIVALS BOOK ONE - A DARK ENEMIES TO LOVERS COLLEGE ROMANCE |
EMERY SAINT
For my readers
Pretty Little Prey
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Thank you!
About the Author
CONTENTS
Copyright © 2021 Emery Saint All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
Disclaimer: This book is intended for adult readers 18+ due to mature content.
this series contains dark themes of bullying, abuse, lying and detailed sexual situations, and may not be suitable for all readers.
Piracy is a CRIME
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by: Cormar Covers
Cover photography: Sara Eirew Photography Edited by: CG Edits
***Please note:***
This is a Dark M/F Enemies to Lovers College Romance and the FIRST book in a trilogy.
YES, this series may have cliffhangers between books and may deal with sensitive subject matters.
Forallthegirlsouttherewhodoubttheirownstrength.
Youareafuckingqueen.
Don’tletanythingstandinyourway.
Mysisterrunsthecrewthathatesme.
And her #1 rule?
Destroy Emma—by any means necessary. Seems messed up, right? Just wait till you hear the details…
See, our ‘bad blood’ is the result of dear old dad. He couldn’t keep it in his pants, so instead of being faithful to his wife, he had an affair with her best friend, my mom, and they had me.
Ever since, Ashleigh and her mom have made it their mission to ruin me. Which is why I escaped that world when I had the chance. But now, for the next year, we’re forced back into each other’s lives.
Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover the royal fuckfest of my existence.
What’s even worse?
Dillon James—Ashleigh’s boyfriend, and one of my biggest tormentors is still here.
Not only did he make my high school years a living hell, but he matched Ashleigh’s cruelty, prank for prank.
So why the hell is our fiery hate suddenly turning into hate-filled desire?
And what kind crazy b*tch falls for her own predator? Apparently me….
Pretty LittlePrey is the first book in Emery Saint’s debut series, RuthlessRivals;a dark enemies to lovers college romance.
Note: This is the first book in a trilogy and may end in a slight cliffhanger. It also contains dark themes and adult situations. Be advised.
Ashleigh
“That girl is arriving today,” my mother said, entering my room without knocking. She never bothered to ask if she was welcome anywhere, assuming that she always was. “Are you prepared?”
“Yes,” I said, looking around at my room. I’d be losing my sanctuary, sharing with the nobody. But I was ready.
“You remember what’s at stake?” she asked, her voice sharp.
I nodded.
She sniffed. “She can lose the easy way or the hard way, but she will lose. Understand? No daughter of mine will lose a penny to some dirty little bastard.”
I nodded once more. “I understand.”
I watched my mother hold her nose in the air, the way she always did when she had set her mind to something. The wheels behind her eyes started turning as if formulating a plan to restore some legacy the family had. I didn’t get it, of course. I never understood her reasoning for most things. But, I understood my own.
Which meant I had my own plan in mind. Without another word spoken, my mother turned on her heel and left, clicking as she walked down the hallway. I groaned as I lunged for my door and slammed it closed, listening as her footsteps paused just above the stairs. I felt her staring down my door, cursing it for
being so daring as to have the last word in a world where she reigned supreme.
Then, I backtracked to my bed and flopped onto my back.
I expected my life to be turned upside down by the information filtering its way in my direction over the past few days, but I honestly wasn’t. Mom always told me about how Dad was a lying, cheating scumbag. The worst of the worst. The biggest mistake she’d ever made in her life. So, it didn’t shock me one bit that he’d gone out and gotten his dick wet with some floozy in a bar and ended up with an illegitimate child. When the man had been living with us, he had constantly reeked of weed and booze. He always had red eyes and couldn’t quite walk a straight line, unless of course, he knew he was about to head out with the guys. Then, he’d suddenly sober up long enough to fill his system with bullshit again.
I really hated my father.
Nonetheless, I was ready. I felt ready to tackle the latest issue my father’s escapades had caused us. Mom seemed to be holding it together enough to put on a brave face for the world, but I knew that within a few days, the entire city where we lived would be alive with whispers.
I guess that’s what happens when you have an important mother.
He’llneverseeitcoming.
“And she won’t, either,” I murmured to myself.
After listening to Mom finally make her way downstairs, I flipped the lock on my door. I stripped myself of my clothes, leaving a trail from the door to my bathroom before I flicked on the water. Steam filled my favorite room in the house, and I reached for a bundle of eucalyptus to hang just beneath the shower-head. I loved how the steam released the relaxing essence of the sprigs. I adored how it relaxed my body and helped to remind me that there were things in this world worth celebrating, even if my family had singlehandedly become the laughingstock of our entire hometown.
But, as I stood there alone with my own thoughts, a grin crossed my face. Oh, I was ready. I had been born ready. I wouldn’t have been my mother’s daughter if I had been anything less than ready. I
already had a plan in mind. I already knew how to get from point A to point B with the least amount of resistance and fighting because while my mother had always been a headliner while inconveniencing everyone around her, I had always been a line worker. I kept my head down; I kept finding ways to become more efficient in the tactics I used to reach my own goals. And as I washed my hair, drawing in the bold scent of eucalyptus through my nose, only one thought crossed my mind.
I’mready,butwe’lljusthavetoseeifsheis.
YOU WOULDN’T THINK that pulling up to an idyllic country estate, down a road so charmingly lined with trees and clean white fencing, would drop a stone in my gut.
The gray shingled colonial, though large, was not forbidding or imposing. It gave off a feel of subtle luxury, which somehow felt welcoming.
If you didn’t have the memories that I had of it.
Herewegoagain.
I parked in the circular drive and put a trembling hand to my temple. Was I really considering this? Was I really going to do this to myself after all these years? I parked my car and leaned against my seat, allowing myself a few seconds to talk myself out of the insane idea that had brought me here in the first place. But, I knew the only way I’d end up getting out of the car was if I read that email again, just to remind myself of what had set me on this hellish journey in the first place.
So, I looked at the email I still had pulled up on my phone.
MissDonahue,
Ihavecompletedthenecessary arrangementsforyour arrivalon April1st . Dobeprompt.Remember , astipulationofyourfather’swill isthatyouandyoursisterlivetogetherforonefullyear. Thatmeans 365fulldays.Hewasquiteclearonthatcount.
I will bechecking in on you andyour sisterperiodically. As the executor , your fathertrustedme toensure thateverythingproceeds smoothly,andImeantotakethatseriously.
I am attaching the further stipulations that must be followed in order to receive your inheritance. You have made it clear thatyou wouldprefer not to followyour father’s finalwishes, but I am sure that he had your and your sister’s best interests at heart. I recommend you go in open-minded, and you will be pleasantly surprised.Remember , oneofthestipulationsisthatyoubothmakea “reasonable effort” in getting along. Any behavior otherwise is groundstodissolveyourinheritance.
Donothesitatetocontactmewithanyquestionsyoumayhave.
Regards,
DonaldCumberland
VanguardInvestmentManagementServices
I read it over and over with the voice in my head getting more British by the second. Mr. Cumberland was one of the most proper people I had ever spoken to in my entire life, and his phone call a few days ago that had resulted in this email had taken me by surprise. And while I had been quick to shrug off his musings in the beginning, the sheer amount of the inheritance with my name on it stopped me dead in my tracks.
My entire life would be solved with the kind of money that was on the table.
I mean, what was a girl to do, anyway? It wasn’t as if I had much help in this world. I had worked odd jobs ever since I had turned sixteen to try to help whoever agreed to keep a roof over my head at that point in my life and living paycheck to paycheck had become the gold standard that paced my life. I lived by the bimonthly pay schedule of most workplaces. I timed my entire life around it: outings with friends, when I could pay bills during certain
times of the month. Hell, I even had my grocery shopping days down on my schedule so I wouldn’t go out and buy things I didn’t need.
And this inheritance could change all of that for me.
Otherstipulations.Ineedtofindthose.
I scrolled quickly through the other stipulations, though I’d read them enough that they felt burned into my brain. Not only did I have to live with my evil bitch of a half-sister who had convinced Mr. Cumberland that she was just the sweetest little thing since fairy princesses… yeah, right—for a year, but we were to share Jack and Jill bedroom suites, complete one bonding activity per week, and have a meal together five times a week.
I was being controlled beyond the grave, as if I didn’t have enough daddy issues already.
MaybeIshouldturnanddriveaway.
No one would have blamed me if I had done such. At least, no one that I knew would have. I had been this man’s dirty little secret for all of my life, and his wife and daughter who was conveniently my age because I guess good old Dad had been busy that year certainly had never thanked me for it. I had spent my entire life simply referring to him as “my dad” rather than using his name because my mother had drilled into me the retribution his family could bring down upon me if they ever found out.
Guesswecan’treallyhidethatnow.
I love my mother, don’t get me wrong. But, I would have never allowed myself to go along with anything so trite and so irresponsible without getting something from it in the process. Then again, I guess this was why she had encouraged me so much to do this. Maybe she thought she could get her hands on some of my inheritance if I could simply stick this out for a little while.
Iwishsomeonetookmeintoconsiderationforonce.
Still, as I sat there with my car heating up in the early spring sunshine, I felt my hands releasing my steering wheel. As much as I knew this would be torture, I had to try to stick this out. I had to try to do this, if for no other reason than for myself. My life wasn’t something to be proud of. Walking around, knowing that I’d never
see my father during Career Day at school and never being able to attend Father-Daughter dances and playdates and never being able to go to him with boy troubles marked my childhood with depressing snippets I’d never forget. It left my mother with a hole in her heart the size of a twelve-pack that, during her younger days, she’d smash while crying at old rom-com reruns on television.
The man had ruined our lives, as far as I was concerned.
And for that, I’d take as much of his money as he had left for me.
“Come on, you can do this,” I murmured to myself.
As my car continued to sit beneath the hot, bubbling sun, I drew in a deep breath. If I was going to do this, I simply had to suck it up and deal with it. So, it was time to go inside and face the reality of my new life.
Until I dug my phone out of my purse to call Mom instead. She picked up without it ringing on my end. “Don’t tell me you’re sitting in front of the front door,” she said instead of a greeting.
I rolled my eyes.
But I should’ve known she’d somehow hear that, too. “Don’t go rolling your eyes, either, Emma Jane.”
“Why am I doing this again, Mom?”
I was ashamed to hear the smallness of my voice. I had spent the past two years far away from Connecticut, reinventing myself into a strong, confident woman instead of the bullied little girl of my past. And yet, after just five minutes here, I could feel myself shrinking.
“You know why you’re doing this, sweetheart,” her voice softened. “You need the money for college. Imagine starting out fresh, no student loans, no debt. Your father can do that for you. It’s just a year. It will pass by in the blink of an eye.”
I sighed, and she took that as a cut to press on. “Go on, sweetheart. Get settled and call me sometime tonight so I know you’re okay.” She paused. “And don’t let them push you. Remember, it’s your house now, too.”
We said our goodbyes, and I reluctantly tucked away my phone. Grabbing my duffel, I slammed my car door and squared my
shoulders as I faced the white, glass-paneled front door. The words my mother said rang in my ears. It was my house now, too. But all I could see was the house it could have been for me. This elegance, this luxury, with the Long Island Sound sparkling blue and inviting in the land behind it, and the sounds of horses moving in the stables nearby, could have been mine.
Instead, this house represented everything my childhood wasn’t. Dad had insisted that he and I see each other and that I go to the same school his non-bastard daughter, Ashleigh, went to, but his wife had put her foot down about much else. She’d fought tooth and nail to keep the child support payments as low as possible, so while Mom and I scraped by on her paltry income as an artist, Ashleigh was living the high life out here.
What if my father had married the right friend? What if this had been my life? I shook my head and tightened my grip on my bag. There was no use in “could have beens.” My life was a good one, aside from the hell that Ashleigh had put me through, which I was now about to face once more.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I muttered aloud, and then I pushed open the front door.
It had been a long time since I’d darkened this doorstep. The ceilings in the front entry rose staggeringly high, with a blue-stucco inlay at the very top. I shut the door quietly and began to wander through.
The house was bright, white-washed with tasteful beige and sandalwood touches. Windows were everywhere, and through each one, you could see the water. Forgetting my anxiety, I walked through to the first window I saw, touching a finger to the glass at the view, when a soft sound startled me.
I jerked around. I was in the dining room but had been so transfixed by the view that I hadn’t noticed someone sitting at the table. The soft sound came again, and I realized it was snoring. Directly behind me, at the head of the table, slumped with her chin against her chest, was Lucille Donohue. Her mass of golden hair curtained her face. On the table in front of her were a crystal
decanter and crystal glass, both empty. I glanced at my watch— 10:00 in the morning—and raised a brow.
As silently as possible, I backed out of the room, holding my breath so I wouldn’t wake her. Every step I took felt like I was trespassing, and now that I was sneaking, it felt even worse. I had almost made it to the threshold when the back of my foot bumped something. I nearly leaped out of my skin, spinning around and coming face to face with my half-sister.
She smirked at my reaction. “Oh look, the interloper is here,” she drawled, leaning against the doorframe. “I nearly called the police when I saw this trashy nobody sneaking around my house.” She flicked a cold eye up and down me.
I hadn’t seen Ashleigh in two years. Two years without her snarky comments, hateful glares, or not-so-funny pranks. Even in her yoga clothes, she looked amazing. She came by it honestly—her mom somehow managed to look stunning, even slumped and snoring at the dining room table. Ashleigh had the same naturally golden head of hair, long and thick and silky, hair that people paid thousands to try to recreate at the hairdressers’ parlor. She and her mom also shared bright, blue-green eyes. Eyes that I had never particularly enjoyed, as they were ice cold whenever they were turned on me.
I squared my shoulders, though every childhood instinct was screaming at me to run away. “Our house,” I said.
“What was that?” She leaned in closer. “Has little Emmy got something she wants to say?”
I cleared my throat, but my response came out in a stutter. “Ourourhouse,” I said, and her face lit up.
“Y-y-yeah?” she mocked.
My stutter, which had only ever come out around her and her friends, had long been one of her favorite habits to make fun of. In my high school yearbook, she’d somehow managed to convince the staff advisor that putting “Least Likely to Finish a Sentence” as my senior superlative had been an affectionate joke.
Everyone had always believed Ashleigh. She had long ago mastered the innocent act, and nothing I said had ever made a
difference. Not with our teachers, not with our coaches, not even with our dad.
Still, I put on my best smile. “I just need you to show me where my room is.”
Her smile widened. “Well, of course, you do,” she said. “It’s not like you’ve ever been in Daddy’s house before, right? What a shame. Daddy’s dirty little secret only gets to experience luxury now that he’s dead.”
I flinched. Though my relationship with my father had never been perfect, the loss of him was still fresh and painful. No one had expected the heart attack to take him, and at only sixty-one. All those years of philandering, cigars, and rich eating had taken their toll.
“Listen here, Emmy,” she dropped her voice to a hiss. “We may be stuck living this ridiculous fantasy of Dad’s, but don’t you think for one second that you’re entitled to any of this. You have always been trash, a nobody. You’ll walk away with a little bit of money, enough to have a nice little lower-middle-class life. Maybe you’ll make something of yourself in that world, who knows? But don’t start thinking you belong here. You don’t have the money or the breeding. You’re nothing. This is my house, my rightful inheritance, my life. You’ll do well to remember you’re just a poor guest.” With that, her smile clicked back on, bright and beautiful. “Now, let’s take you to your room.”
My leaden feet carried me up the sweeping staircase. I knew there was no point in fighting back. Besides, she was right. I was just the poor relation. The bastard, conceived from a mistake. And fighting back against Ashleigh had never earned me anything but pain. She was a force to be reckoned with, and she never ever gave in.
“Here you are,” she trilled, throwing open a door. She stepped back, allowing me to enter first. I glanced at her suspiciously, but the simple beauty of my new “home” distracted me.
The room was so simply decorated it could almost be called bare. White walls, white bedding, and more pale furniture made the room feel open and airy. But the far wall held what intrigued me most. My
own balcony overlooking the Sound, with huge glass doors and windows besides. The blue outside was a splash of bright color set against the bright cleanliness of the room. I was in love.
“That’s our bathroom,” she pointed to a door on the inner wall, which I knew from Dad’s will was our Jack and Jill shared bathroom. The thought of sharing a bathroom with her for the next year almost killed my vibe, but I tamped it down, tossing my duffel onto the floor beside the bed.
As I did, I noticed something… off. I sniffed. Had the room been closed up? Was it just musty? Then, stepping closer to the bed and sniffing again, I recoiled violently. “My God,” I said, plugging my nose. “What the hell is that smell?”
“Oh good! You found your welcome gift!” She shrieked with laughter, falling into the doorframe.
I ripped back that spotlessly clean, plush white coverlet to reveal mounds of horse manure, smeared and spread across the sheets beneath.
I couldn’t help myself I screamed.
Behind me, Ashleigh was still laughing, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Dillon about this! All his shoveling was worth it!”
I whipped around to face her. “Dillon? You’re still together?”
She nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. “Of course we are.”
My shoulders tightened. Oh,God.DillonJames.
This had just gotten so, so much worse.
Ashleigh came to my side and slung a tan, slender arm around my shoulders. “Oh, Emmy. This year might just end up being fun after all.” She squeezed me tightly to her side, and with a last laugh, left me alone in my fouled, shit-filled, stunningly beautiful bedroom while I wondered why the hell I had even agreed to this in the first place.
THE TRAIL of Ashleigh’s laughter down the hall was quick.
Maybe she was scared that even timid little me would snap and fight back after a prank like this. It didn’t seem like her. She seemed more like her mother, the kind of woman to relish the pain she had caused someone while scraping a notch into her bedpost like some sick fuck. The smell of shit-stained sheets filled my nostrils as someone tossed my bags into my room as if they contained nothing but trash.
And as I teetered on my own two feet, I closed my eyes.
“Dammit,” I groaned.
The weight of my decision, the weight of that inheritance and my future, lay heavy on my shoulders as I gathered the sheets into a ball, pulling all the edges tightly so the thick layers of manure wouldn’t drop out onto the carpet, and carried it downstairs. As careful as I was, I still felt the soft heat of the manure in my hands, and the brown streaks up my arms forced me to fight a violent gag. I moved quickly but carefully, knowing any leavings would be blamed on me.
And as I walked through the behemoth mansion, I tried to memorize where everything was.
I passed by endless amounts of guest bedrooms that looked as if they hadn’t been touched since they bought the place. There was a full kitchen on the floor of our shared space and even a little lounge area right by a wall of nothing but windows. I wanted to scoot over
there and take in the view since I didn’t have much time to study the place from the outside. But, the smell of shit creeping up my skin was enough to push me forward.
The stables were the best place I could think of to leave my little gift, so I beelined straight for the back patio doors.
The place was rich, both in quality and in existence. The marble floors matched the massive marble columns that were strewn throughout the house. Each bedroom, it seemed, had a king-size four-poster bed with silken sheets that probably required drycleaning just to keep them in decent shape. And while it didn’t shock me that I was probably carrying around the only cotton sheet this house had within its smooth, white walls, it didn’t stop me from taking in the glorious artwork on the walls.
Hell, this family even had a couple of original Van Gogh’s hanging up.
Daddyalwayshadgoodtaste.
I’d only been invited to this house a few times, yet each time I came around, the place seemed different. The first time I ever recalled coming over, it was for my first-ever Father’s Day barbecue, and he had requested my presence. Back then, the bushes in front of the massive mansion were white rose bushes instead of blood-red ones. The garden that had been out front that he used to pick the vegetables he’d grill on his own had been transplanted elsewhere, completely out of view. The pristine white driveway had been dug up and replaced with a rich black, which gave the façade of the house a sort of depressing gothic vibe.
Needless to say, this place was devoid of any sort of happiness now that Daddy wasn’t around any longer.
However, aside from a few failed playdates with Ashleigh where he hoped we might get along, I had only come for the annual Father’s Day barbecue they threw. And while I knew Ashleigh’s mother had rallied against an open invitation for my mother and me every year, it was quite the event that we both looked forward to attending. They had a party planner that set up things like live entertainment for the afternoon and gift bags that contained thousands of dollars’ worth of goodies for each guest. And while
mine was usually “misplaced” or ridiculously inappropriate, I still enjoyed getting one and sifting through it.
After all, it was sometimes the only gift I got during the entire year—including Christmas.
Plus, there were always multiple guests that came over for the party. One year, over a hundred guests showed up, though most of them showed up to marvel at me. The man of the hour’s bastard child. Despite all of that, though, Father’s Day was the one day a year Daddy wouldn’t budge on having me around, and there was nothing that Lucille—his disgusting wife—could do about it.
And while that really didn’t do much for the relationship between her and me or between her daughter and me, it always made me proud to be of his blood.
Even if only for one day out of the year.
Finally,thedamnbackdoors.
The stables had often been my escape on those days. I’d hide in the stalls, talking to the horses or just sitting in a far corner, the smell of clean hay and sweet grass comforting. The scent drew me in now, calming me down from my first, and likely not even close to worst, encounter with Ashleigh.
The sound of a soft, melodic voice stopped me in my tracks. Not wanting to run into anyone, I edged forward carefully until I could see the side yard connecting to the stable.
I’d figured it was a hired hand or a trainer, but it was much worse. There, in the flesh, was Dillon James. Ashleigh’s boyfriend since they could talk, the tall, dark, brooding, wicked-tongued asshole in the flesh.
Dillon James had made my high school years a living hell. He matched Ashleigh prank for prank, never shying away from humiliating me. Just seeing his side profile now, without even feeling those sharp green eyes on me, set my hands to shaking.
I put an unthinking hand to my brow, swiping a line to my hair. But who was he talking to? I crept closer. What else could I do? I had twenty pounds of horse shit in my hands and nowhere else to take it.
“Hey, girl, nice work today,” his voice carried clearly across the yard, and I realized with a start that he was talking to one of the horses. He put a gentle hand on her nose, and she leaned into it. With a sigh, he rested his forehead against hers, his voice dropping to a sweet murmur so that I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying anymore.
I almost dropped my burden in surprise.
Who was this now? I couldn’t resist moving closer, skirting the edge of the stable so I could get a better look. Could this be—well, what was the opposite of an evil twin? Dillon’s good twin? Because I had never, in all the years I had known him, seen this side of him.
“Who’s a good girl?” His voice was a croon, a sweet song of love.
I recognized the horse, too. That was Bareback. Dad had bought her from a Saudi Arabian dealer a few years back. She was wild, mostly untamed even still. He had named her Bareback because it had been his goal to ride her that way. At the thought, I felt a flash of sadness. He never had made that goal, and now he never would.
I shook the thought away. Bareback was incredibly anxious, even aggressive around people. She liked no one. And yet, there she was, forehead leaned peacefully against Dillon’s. If it weren’t for her distinctive shock of white at the top ridge of her mane and her clipped left ear, I could have assumed it was a different horse, but there was no mistaking Bareback.
Dillon pulled a carrot from his pocket, and with a gentle hand, fed her. Bareback whickered as she took the treat.
In my mind, there were suddenly two competing images of Dillon. The Dillon who had pulled a chair out from under me right as I sat down on the day I dared to wear a mini-skirt to school—so the whole class caught a glimpse of my deeply unsexy day of the week underpants. Or the Dillon who had told the school guidance counselor that I had a sex addiction and wouldn’t stop sexually harassing every boy I met. That had been a fun in-school meeting. Or how about the Dillon who had gotten the whole cross country team to turn against me when I made the JV team sophomore year, and the carpool had left me stranded in a cold, empty field in the middle of nowhere in just my signet and short shorts? It had taken
my mom two hours just to get there, by which time I was blue with cold and sure that a serial killer was stalking me through the corn at the edges of the field.
To put those images against the person in front of me now was jarring. His thick brown hair was tousled and dirty, and tanned, capable hands stroked the face of the most ferocious, people-hating animal I had ever come across. Deep inside, I felt something soften. I mean… I’d be lying if I said that this wasn’t incredibly sexy.
And then a sharp call broke the gentle stillness of the moment.
“Hey, Dill Weed!”
I closed my eyes. Another specter from my fucked up youth. Gerald Lawler, a faithful shadow of Dillon’s, who was always more than willing to participate in any pranks on me, and then laugh, open-mouthed, at my reaction.
At the sound, Bareback let out a small noise of fear and trotted off to the far end of the yard. For a moment, just a moment so brief I might have imagined it, I thought I saw Dillon’s face darken. But just like that, it was gone, as he turned to Gerald to give him a hand slap half-hug, his face changing into the one I recognized from high school.
“G-man! What’s the deal?”
“The deal? I only scored the finest flower straight from the Rockies. This shit is legit,bro. You better get some before I smoke it all.”
“You’ll probably smoke it all anyway.”
Gerald snorted. “I bought it, didn’t I?” He leaned against the fence, kicking one foot back onto the lower rung as he picked his teeth. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
And it was at that moment, as I leaned in once more to see if maybe Dillon’s face hadn’t paled a bit at the question—that the sheets gave out.
With a loud, ripping crack, the sheets I had been holding up in the air for far too long, the sheets weighed down with pounds and pounds of horse shit, let go of their heavy loud. Through the tear, manure leaked onto the ground below me, down my back, my legs, and onto my feet in a richly stinking puddle.
When I tore my eyes away from the mess that was me, it was to look up into two sets of stunned eyes. It was Dillon who recovered first—his bright-green eyes flashing into a bright, mischievous grin.
“Well, well,” he said slowly, his eyes raking me up and down. “If it isn’t little Emmy Jane.”
“It’s Emma,” I said, through gritted teeth.
Yes, my name was Emma Jane—a holdover of my mother’s life in Mississippi before she moved out of BFE and met Lucille and my father. And yes, she still had the syrupy accent of a Southern belle, an accent that I had unfortunately gained through her and my early years spent living with my grandparents down on the Mississippi River. Those were the good years, the years without Ashleigh. They were also the years without my dad. Life’s all about give and take, isn’t it?
Even with years of schooling my accent so that it could barely be heard—though it came roaring back with a vengeance if I talked to my mom or her parents or was drinking—even by denying my background, my heritage, my family, vehemently every day of my high school life, it had haunted me. To Ashleigh and Dillon and their cadre of friends—which was basically anyone who was anyone in the rich echelon of Connecticut—I’d be Emmy Jane. Screw up, klutz, embarrassment… not one of “us.”
“Emmy Jane!” Gerald shrieked, looking as if Christmas had just come early. “And here we thought you’d moved on from us forever!” He affected a twangy, idiotic mockery of a Southern accent.
Dillon’s nose scrunched as he took in my appearance. “And what’s happened here? Had a little mishap, have you, Emmy?”
“It wouldn’t be Emmy if there weren’t a mishap, would it?” Gerald laughed. “What on earth did you get into, girl?”
I looked down at myself, sweating, caked in horse manure, and holding the ruins of what would have been the nicest sheets I’d ever slept on. And suddenly, it was too much. The hundreds of miles between me and the new, shiny life I’d built for myself, the return of the villains of my childhood, the prospect of another year spent this way, the literal shit that was covering me—they combined in a hot flush of intense mortification and regret. A liquid feeling rose in my
throat, and suddenly, without warning, without the ability to stop it, tears were streaming down my face.
It was horrible. I wasn’t even crying! And yet, here I was, redfaced, shaking, tears dripping thick and heavy down my cheeks onto my shoulders.
If I thought that this might gain me some sympathy from the two hellions in front of me, I didn’t know what true bullies were like. If anything, like a pack of jackals, it only offered out the scent of blood and told them the time to kill was now.
Dillon, in a movement too smooth to be natural, leaned forward and sniffed dramatically. “Is that shityou’re covered in, Emmy?”
Gerald danced forward, his face alight with malicious glee. “It is shit, Dillon! It is!” In his joy, he reverted back to what I believed was his third-grade self, a parroting jester who only lived to repeat what everyone else told him was okay, someone who never had a unique thought of his own.
Dillon smiled slowly at Gerald, keeping those sharp eyes on me. “Ah, well, it’s pretty appropriate, isn’t it, G?”
Gerald cackled, already laughing at the joke that had not even yet been said. “Why?”
“Our Emmy came from shit, didn’t she? And so she’s less than shit. She’s lower than the shit that’s on her right at this moment.”
The two exploded into a booming, heaving laughter. Gerald actually bent over at his side and slapped his knee.
It was the icing on the cake of the terrible day. Choking on a sob, I turned and fled back toward the house, leaving behind the crumpled heap of manure-heavy blankets right where they had fallen.
And as I fled, damned if I didn’t see Ashleigh stretched out on a lounger in her string bikini and four-figure sunglasses, sipping a cocktail and thoroughly enjoying a scene she couldn’t have scripted better herself.
Against my better judgment, I stopped for a moment in front of her, my chest heaving. I wanted nothing more than to smear the vestiges of manure in my hands across her smug, bitchy face, or at least to flick her off.
As if reading my mind, she lifted her phone with a little wiggle of her perfectly plucked brows. “Ah, ah, ah, Emmy. Wouldn’t want Mr. Cumberland to get a video of any discretions, would we?”
With a strangled shriek, I turned and ran, up to the relative safety of my room, knowing full well that for the next year, nowhere would be safe.
LUCKILY, I’d contained most of the mess so that my new room was relatively shit-free.
I flung open my balcony doors and the windows that sat beside them, allowing the fresh air inside to rid the fragrant stench that had filled my room. Hopefully, it would be gone by tonight so that I didn’t have to pull sheets off the bed and sleep in the damn tub in the bathroom because I sure as hell wouldn’t sleep anywhere that smelled like horse shit.
And after rooting around for a little while, I found more blankets folded in the top dresser drawer, so I pulled those out to change the sheets myself.
Which meant I only had myself to clean down.
I poked my head into the bathroom I’d be sharing with Ashleigh, and no surprise, it was a disaster. Mascara dotted the mirror, there was toothpaste in the sink and somehow all over the faucet as well, and the counters were littered with various skincare and makeup products. Something that looked a bit too much like Cheeto dust was sprinkled across the black-and-white marble flooring—probably due to Ashleigh dusting away her crow’s feet from scowling so fucking much—and the far wall held a door to a smaller room with the shower.
And while something in my gut told me I wouldn’t be seeing the last of a mess like this, at least the coast was clear.
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Propontis, 179.
Proto-Alpines, 135; language of, 235; physical characters of, 135.
Proto-Aryan language, 67, 233, 242; and Alpines, 237; Nordic origin of, 61.
Proto-Mediterranean Race, 132; descended from the Neolithic, 149–150.
Proto-Nordics, 224, 233; in Russia, 64, 170.
Proto-Slavic language, Aryan character of, 143.
Proto-Teutonic race, 169.
Provençal, 244; Provençal language, 244.
Provençals, 156.
Provence, 23; Mediterraneans in, 156.
Prussia, Spartan culture of, 161.
Prussian, Old (Borussian), language, 212, 242.
Prussians, ethnic origin of, 72.
Punic Wars, 217.
Punjab, the, 257; entrance of Aryans into, 258; decline of Nordics in, 261.
Puritans, 55.
Pyrenees, caverns of, 115.
Quebec Frenchmen, 81.
Race, 3, 4; Aryan, 3; Caucasian, 3; Celtic, 3; Indo-Germanic, 3; Latin, 3; adjustment to habitat of, 93; characters, 13 et seq.; consciousness, 4, 57, 60, 90; in Germany, 57; in Sweden, 57; in the United States, 86; degeneration, 39–43, 109; determination, 15, 19, 24, 28; disharmonic combinations of, 14, 28, 35, 110; distinguished from language and nationality, 34; effect of democracy on, 5; feeling, 222; importance of, 98–100; physical basis of, 13–16; positions of the three main races in Roman times, 131; resistance to foreign invasion, 71; selection, 46, 50, 54, 55, 215; versus species and subspecies, 22.
Race mixture, 18, 34, 60, 77, 85, 116, 262; among the Gauls, 145; among the Normans, 208; among the Turks, 237; among the Umbrians, 145; and civilization, 214–216; in North Africa, 151; in South Africa, 80; in the Argentine, 78; in Brazil, 78; in Britain, 248; in Canada, 81; in Europe, 261–262; in Germany, 135;
in Greece, 161; in Jamaica, 76; in large cities, 92; in Macedon, 161; in Mexico, 76; in the Roman Empire, 71; in Rome, 154, 220; in Russia, 174; in Spain, 192; in Switzerland, 135; in the United States, 77, 82–94; in Venezuela, 76; in Tunis, 158; of Alpines and Celts, 177; of Alpines and Nordics, 151; of Alpines and Mediterraneans, 151; of Ainus and Mongols, 225; of Belgæ and Teutonic tribes, 248; of Celts and Mediterraneans, 177; of Goidels and Mediterraneans, 248; of Mediterraneans and Dravidians and Negroids, 150; of Nordics and Negroes, 82; of late Nordics and Paleoliths, 149; of Slavs and Illyrians, 153, 190.
Race supplanting, 77, 46–48, 110.
Races, European distribution of during the Neolithic, 123; in Europe, 131; laws of distribution of, 37; evolution of through selection, 37 et seq.
Racial, aptitudes, 226–232; of Alpines, 138–139, 146; of Negroes, 77, 109; of Normans, 207–208; elements of the Great War, 187; resistance of acclimated populations, 71; types, intellectual and moral differences of, 206. Raphael, 215.
Ravenna, surrender of, 189.
Recapitulation of development in infants, 30.
Reformation, the, 191, 210, 228; in England, 10.
Regiments, German, composition of, 142.
Religion, 64; nationalities founded on, 57, 58.
Renaissance, 215, 231.
Republic, a true, 7, 8.
Resurgence of types, 15; of Alpines in Europe, 146–147, 184, 190–191, 196, 210; of Iberians in Scotland, 249; of Mediterraneans, 190, 196; in England, 83, 208.
Revolution, 6; French, 6, 16, 191, 196, 197; German, 87.
Revolutionary Wars, 197.
Riss glaciation, 105, 133.
Riss-Würm, 105; interglacial, 133.
Robenhausian culture, 132; Period, 121; Upper, 122, 265.
Rollo, 263.
Romaic language, origin of, 243.
Roman, abandonment of Britain, 200; aristocracy, 217; busts, 154; church, 53, 85; Empire, 10, 71–72, 142, 176, 179–182, 187, 217–222; component states of, 183;
fall of, 221; Eastern Empire, 165–166; population of, 216, 220; slaves in, 216; Western Empire, re-established, 182; ideals, 153; occupation of Britain, effect of, ethnically, 200; provinces, Teutonized, 191; Republic, 71, 154, 217, 219; State, ancient civilization of, 153, 216; stature, 154; stock, extinction of, 51.
Romance tongues, 61, 238, 244.
Romans, 68, 156, 174–176, 193, 194, 216–221, 246; decline of, 217–222; features of, 154; in Britain, 200, 250; in France, 63; in Spain, 156; a modified race in Gaul, 69; stature of, 154.
Romansch language, 244.
Rome, 11, 52, 61, 70, 92, 130, 154, 157, 158, 165, 179, 180, 191, 195, 215–221, 245, 251; Alpines, Nordics and Mediterraneans in, 130, 153, 154; change of race in, 218–220; change of religion in, 219; early struggles in, 154; in Dacia, 245; language of, 61, 70; Northern qualities of, 153–154; race mixture in, 154, 220; slaves in, 71, 100, 216, 218–220; stormed by Brennus, 157.
Rough Stone Age, see Paleolithic.
Round Barrows, 137–138, 163, 247, 267;
brachycephalic survivals of, 163–164.
Round skulls, absence of in Britain, 249. See also physical characters of the Alpines, Armenoids, etc.
Rumania, 59, 245; Alpines in, 65; Mediterraneans in, 153.
Rumanian language, 244–246; origin of, 244–245; distribution of, 245.
Rumanians, 21, 145; and Christianity, 65; descent of, 244–246; Latin language of, 244–246.
Russia, 38, 143, 253; Alans and Goths in, 66; Alpines in, 44, 131, 136, 142–144, 147; Anaryan survivals in, 235, 243; Asiatic types in, 144; Baltic provinces of, Nordic, 212; blondness in, 190; Bulgars from, 145; burial mounds or kurgans in, 172; changes in racial predominance in, 142–144, 147; dolichocephaly in, 190; early Nordics in, 124, 131, 142; Esthonians in, 236; Finns in, 236; Gauls in, 174; grasslands and steppes of, 240, 253–254, 257; language in, 235–236, 243; Livs in, 236; Mongols in, 65, 142; Muscovite expansion in, 65; Nordic substratum in, 64, 142; Nordics in, 170, 188, 213–214, 231; organized by Sweden, 180; race mixture in, 174;
races in, 142; Saxons in, 201; Slavs or Alpines in, 64, 131, 142; Slavic dialects in, 143; Slavic future of, 147; stature in, 190; Swedes in, 211; Varangians in, 177; water connections across, 170.
Russian brachycephaly, 136–137; settlements of Siberia, 78.
Russians and Christianity, 65.
Ruthenia, 245; Slavs in, 143.
Sacæ, 173, 214, 216, 254 (see Massagetæ); date of separation from Persia, 258; evidence of conquests of, 261; identified with the Wu-Suns, 260; in India, 257–258; language of, 259; physical characters of, 259, 261.
Sahara, the, 33, 44; Mediterraneans in, 151–152.
St. Bartholomew, Massacre of, 196.
Sakai, 149.
Sangre Azul, derivation of the term, 192. Sanskrit, 148, 243, 255, 257–258, 261; introduction of into India, 173, 216. See Old Sanskrit.
Santa Fé Trail, 40.
Sardinia, 29; Mediterraneans in, 152;
Mycenæan culture of, 164.
Sardinian, the, 28; stature of, 28.
Sarmatians, 143, 245, 269, 272.
Satem group of Aryan languages, 256.
Saviour, the, blondness of, 230.
Savoy, Alpines in, 146.
Savoyard, 21, 23.
Saxon blood of American settlers, 83; in Normandy and Scotland, 208; Saxon type, 40.
Saxons, 69, 73, 141–142, 145, 177, 180, 195, 206; in Britain, 248–249; in Brittany, 251–252; in England, 200–201; in France, 201; in Hungary, 201; in Italy, 201; in Russia, 201; invaders, 201; invasions of, 200–201, 252, 270; origin of, 200; ravage Normandy, 251–252.
Saxony, 73, 200–201.
Scandinavia, brunets in, 151; centre of radiation of the Teutons, 168; character of the population of, 169; first Nordics in, 117, 124, 169; first occupation of by human beings, 169; introduction of bronze into, 128; megaliths in, 155; Mediterraneans never in, 150–151; Neolithic culture in, 117, 122; Nordics in, 117, 124, 188, 210.
Scandinavian blood in Normandy and Scotland, 208; place names in Scotland, 249; states, 4, 20, 60.
Scandinavians, 61, 68; hairiness of, 224.
Schleswig, 58, 73.
Sclaveni, 141.
Scotch, 29; brunet type of, 150; red hair of, 175; stature of, 28, 29.
Scotch borders, 40; Highlanders, 62.
Scotch-Irish in America, 84.
Scotland, 40, 69; Angles in, 203; blond elements in, 63; blonds mixed with brunets in, 202; brunetness in, 153, 204; Brythonic elements in, 203; Gaelic area in, 249; Goidelic element in, 201, 203; Goidelic speech in, 200; Goidels invade from Ireland, 250; Iberian substratum in, 201; language in, 204, 249–250; Mediterraneans in, 153, 203; Neanderthal type in, 107; Nordic type in, 249; Nordics in, 188; Norse pirates in, 200, 203; racial elements in, 203–204, 208; resurgence of types in, especially the Iberian, 249; Scandinavian place names in, 249.
Scots, 28.
Scottish Highlands, language of, 247.
Scythians, 66, 214, 257.
Selection, 37, 46–55, 215, 225; by elimination of the unfit, 50–54; in Colonial times, 92; in colonies, 93; in tenements and factories, 92; practical measures in, 46–55; through alcoholism, 55; through disease, 54–55; through social environment, 46.
Seljukian Turks, 237.
Semitic language, 239; race, 147.
Senegambian regions, Mediterraneans in, 151.
Senlac Hill, 120.
Serbian national revival, 58.
Serbs, 53, 143; and Christianity, 65; in Bulgaria, 145.
Serfs and serfdom, 10.
Servile wars in Rome, 217.
Ship-building, 165, 199.
Siberia, Russian settlements of, 78.
Siberian tundras, 65.
Sicily, Alpines in, 128, 140; Mediterraneans in, 158; Normans in, 207.
Sidon, 126, 165.
Sikhs, 261.
Silesia, 72, 260.
Sinai Peninsula, mines of, 125.
Singalese, 258.
Siwalik Hills, fossil deposits of, 101.
Skin color and quality, 27–28.
Skull shape, 13, 15, 17, 19, 139, 226; among immigrants, 17; antiquity of distinction between long and round, 23, 24; as a race character, 151; of the Ainus, 224; African, 23; American Indian, 23; Asiatic, 22; Cro-Magnon, 110; European, 19–21; Neanderthal, 107; best method of determining race, 19–24; see also Brachycephaly, Dolichocephaly, Mesaticephaly, and the physical characters of the various races.
Slave trade, 79.
Slavery, 8–11, 42, 86.
Slaves, 9–11, 16; in Italy, 218; in Rome, 71, 100, 216, 218, 220; source of, 82, 200.
Slavic Alpines in Germany, 72; homeland, 245; languages, 141–145, 238–237, 244–245; Proto-Slavic, 143; race, 64, 72; as an Alpine race, 64, 131.
Slavs, 63, 64, 124, 172, 190; of Alpine race, 64, 131; area of distribution of, 143; expansion of, 272; in Austria, 141;
in the Balkans, 153; eastern Europe, 65; eastern Germany, 141–142; Greece, 65; Middle Ages, 65; Poland, 142; Russia, 214; mixed with Illyrians, 153, 190; northern and southern, 143.
Slovaks, 91, 143.
Social environment, 46.
Social wars in Rome, 217.
Socialism, 12, 79.
Socrates, 227.
Sogdiana, 254.
Solutrean Period, 105, 111–113; culture of and the Brünn-Předmost race, 114, 132; and the Cro-Magnon race, 132.
Sorb, 142.
South Africa, 79, 80; Dutch and English in, 80.
South America, 61, 73, 75, 76, 78.
Southern States of America, 71, 99; brunets in, 84; Mediterranean element in, 44, 45; Nordic type in, 83, 84; “poor whites” of, 39, 40; race consciousness in, 86.
Southerners, effect of climate on, 39–43.
Spain, 115, 149, 176, 202; Alpines in, 140; Arabic spoken in, 156; Arabs in, 156;
aristocracy of, 192; Basques in, 140; blondness in, 192; bow and arrow of the Azilians in, 115; cause of the collapse of, 193; caverns in, 112; Celtic language in, 155, 234; decline of the Nordic element in, 193; elimination of genius producing classes in, 53; Gauls in, 174, 192; Gothic language in, 156; Goths in, 192; Latin language in, 156; Mediterraneans in, 123, 149, 152, 155–156; megaliths in, 155; Moorish conquest of, 181; Moors in, 156; Nordics in, 155–156, 174, 192–193, 269; Phœnician language in, 156; Phœnicians in, 126, 156; racial change in, 192; Romans in, 156; Teutons in, 180; tin mines in, 126; types in, 156; Vandals in, 192; Visigoths in, 180, 192.
Spaniards or Spanish (modern), 53, 68; (ancient), 68; in Mexico, 17; and Nordics, 73; in the Philippines, 78; related to the Berbers, 152.
Spanish conquistadores, 76, 193; infantry, 193; Inquisition in selection, 53; Spanish Main, 44; islands and coasts of, 76;
Spanish-American War, 74.
Sparta, 160, 162.
Spartans, 160, 164; and Dinaric race, 164; physical character of, 164.
Specializations, racial, recent, 27, 18, 24.
Species, significance of the term, 21, 22.
Stature, 13, 28–30, 35; affected by war, 197–198; of the Romans, 154; in Albania, 190; in France, 198; in Illyria and the Tyrol, 190; in the Scottish Highlands, 28–29, 203; in Sardinia, 28–29.
Sterilization of the unfit, 51, 52.
Stoicism, 221.
Stone weapons in England, 120–121. For Stone Ages see Neolithic and Paleolithic.
Styria, 183; Alpines in, 210; Nordics in, 210.
Suevi, 156, 177, 181, 270; in Portugal, 180, 192.
Sumer, 119, 147; language of, 239.
Susa, 147; language of, 239.
Swabians, 141.
Sweden, 52, 59, 176, 194, 211; centre of Nordic purity, 168, 170; colonizes Finland, 211;
colonizes Russia, 211; cradle of Teutonic branch of the Nordics, 124, 177; bronze introduced into, 137; first Nordics in, 117; intellectual anæmia of, 210; Kitchen Middens in, 123; Nordic race in, 117, 124, 135–136, 168–170, 210–211; race consciousness in, 57; saves Protestantism, 210; unity of race in, 169.
Swedes, 23; organization of Russia by, 180; Russification of, 58.
Swiss, 135; blondness of, 136; Swiss Lake Dwellers, 121, 127.
Switzerland, 121, 127, 183; Alpines in, 44, 135, 141; Lake Dwellings in, 139; mercenaries in, 135; Nordics in, 135; race mixture in, 135.
Sylla, 217.
Synthetic languages, 165, 216, 233, 237, 239–240, 243.
Syr Darya, 119.
Syria, hellenized, 220; round skull invasion of, 140.
Syrians, 16, 91.
Taal dialect, 80.
Tamahu, blondness of, 223.
Tardenoisian Period, 115, 117, 132.
Tatars, 139, 144.
Tchouds, language of, 236.
Tennessee, 39, 40.
Terramara Period, 122, 127, 266.
Terramara settlements, bronze in, 127; copper in, 122; human remains in, 122.
Teutoburgiana forest, 154.
Teutonic, as a term, 231–232; branch of the Nordic race, 20, 61, 62, 72, 124, 131, 139, 146, 168–170, 210, 211, 231, 232, 248; expansion of, 270, 271; invaders of Gaul, 69; invasions, 63, 69, 179–184, 189, 194–196; languages of, 61, 139, 249–251; duration of Teutonic language in Gaul, 182; Teutonic tribes mixed with the Belgæ, 248; speech in the British Isles, 249–250; Proto-Teutonics, 169.
Teutons, 72, 141–142, 144, 173–174, 176–177, 189, 194–196; division of in the Great War, 184; physical characters of, 175; route of expansion of, 174.
Thebes, 162.
Thessaly, 245.
Thibet, 22, 134.
Thirty Years’ War, 184–187, 198.
Thrace, Nordics in, 214; early inhabitants of, 246; Gauls in, 225.
Thracian language, 130, 256; origin of, 243.
Tin, 126–127.
Tin Isles of Ultima Thule, 127.
Titian, 215.
Tokharian language, 260–261.
Tools, 102–104, 112, 120–121, 123, 126, 129, 155.
Tours, battle of, 181.
Trade routes, 119, 123–125.
Trajan, 244.
Transylvania, Rumanian language in, 245; Vlachs in, 246.
Trapping, 122.
Trinitarian faith of the Franks, 181.
Tripoli, round skull invasion of, 140.
Trojans, 159.
Troy, siege of, 159.
Tunis, Alpines in, 128, 140, 158; bronze in, 128; race mixture in, 158.
Turcomans, 238; or Turkomans, 21.
Turkestan, 254, 257; Nomads of, 259; Tokharian language in, 261.
Turki or Turks, 100, 144–145, 166, 237, 238, 254; language of, 237–238; race mixture among, 237.
Tuscan language, 244.
Tyre, 126, 165.
Tyrol, the, 30, 36, 129; Alpines in, 141, 210; Dinaric race in, 138;
Nordics in, 200; stature in, 190.
Tyrolese, 135; physical character of, 190.
Tyrrhenians, 157.
Ugrian language, 243.
Ukraine, 213.
Ultima Thule, 126.
Umbrian language, 130, 234, 244.
Umbrians, 145, 157, 160, 173, 244, 269.
Unit characters, 13, 14, 30, 31; intermixture of, 14; unchanging, 15–18, 139.
Unitarian faith of the barbarians, 181.
United States of America, affected by immigration, 89 et seq.; as a European colony, racially, 83, 84; German and Irish immigrants in, 84, 86; Indian element in, 87; Negroes of, 16, 40, 65, 76, 82, 85, 87, 99; Nordic blood in the colonies, 83–85; race consciousness in, 86; Nordics in, 81; in the world war, 187; see also America.
Upper Neolithic, 121.
Upper Paleolithic, 100, 105, 108, 113, 132; close of, 115.
Upper Robenhausian, 122.
Ural mountains, 65, 213.
Ural-Altaic speech, 236.
Urmia, Lake, 253.
Ussher, Archbishop, 4.
Vagrancy, 10.
Valais, 178.
Vandal kingdom, destruction of, 181; conquests, 223.
Vandals, 73, 142, 145, 156, 176–177, 181, 195, 223, 270; in Africa, 180; in Spain, 176–177, 192.
Varangians, 177, 189.
Varus, 154.
Vassalage, 9.
Vedas, 257–259.
Veddahs, 149.
Venethi, 141, 143, 245.
Veneto, 183.
Venezuela, population of, 76.
Venice, Nordic aristocracy of, 189.
Vikings, 129, 177, 206–207, 210, 211, 249, 271; in America, 211, 249; see also Norse pirates.
Villein, 10.
Virginia, 84.
Visigoths, 156, 176, 195, 270; in Gaul, 180; in Spain, 180, 192; kingdom of destroyed, 181.
Vlachs, 178, 245–246.
Volga river, 145.
Voluntary childlessness, 217.
Volunteer armies, 198.
Wahlstatt, battle of, 260.
Wales, Celtic language in, 63; Cymric language in, 205, 248; derivation of the name, 178; Goidelic language in, 205; Mediterraneans in, 63, 153, 203; Nordics in, 203; racial elements and survivals in, 204–205.
Wallachia, Little and Great, 246.
Wallachian, 178.
Walloons, 57, 140, 178, 195; language of, 244.
War and racial elements, 91; effect of on populations, 183–187, 191–193, 196–198, 216, 231; Great World War, 73, 74, 168, 186, 187, 191, 230–232.
Wars, European, 56, 191, 198, 230–232; losses from, 185, 196–198; Nordic element in, 73, 74, 231; of the Roses, 191; Punic, 217; Servile, 217; Social, 217.
Wealth, privilege of, 6.
Weapons, 103, 113–115, 120–121, 126–130, 155, 159, 200.
Welsh, 62, 63, 177–178; in Britain, 248; Round Barrow survivals among, 164.
Wends, 72, 141–143, 236, 269, 272; increase of in east Germany, 184.
