Her eyes widened.
Run?
Bastian turned back in the doorway, glancing between them. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed with a feral suspicion that she'd never seen from him before. He extended his arm to her. “Michaela?”
Michaela. Yes. This was for her.
Silvia stepped inside the
Salone
and took the arm he proffered, trying to pretend to herself that this was only to be a selfless fulfillment of another's Death-wish That it was not merely an excuse to do precisely what she wanted. To lie with this manâher best friend's lover.
A gargantuan one-eyed sentry nodded to the four of them and took their coats as they passed through an elegant sitting room. It was dotted with small tables and couches and a throng of ElseWorld creaturesâcentaurs, pixies, fey, Nereid, mermen, and more. Everyone here seemed to be forming alliances and negotiating in preparation for what would happen once they entered the main salon beyond this room.
Silvia had expected the brothers to drop their guard once they arrived, since the threat of human discovery was nonexistent within these walls. However, their tension had only mounted. Their expressions went fierce and watchful as they positioned themselves on all sides of her, forming a masculine fortress around her as they navigated through the room. She soon began to realize why.
She had come here before with Michaela, while in the body of Rico. But those visits had been by daylight when the atmosphere here had been lighthearted and easy. The salon took on an entirely different mood after dark when a full moon was lurking, she discovered. Now an adversarial, carnal mood spiced the surroundings. Every male was carefully guarding his chosen mate, his eye fastened on her or him with single-minded intensity. Those who'd come alone roved, searching hungrily for a potential partner or group willing to include them in their evening's entertainment.
The brothers didn't pause in this anteroom, but instead quickly ushered her on through a red velvet curtain and into the next chamber. The central salon, where they would all pass this special night.
It was a massive, splendid room with a gilded, coffered ceiling that rose three stories high to form a dome. Encircling the vast circumference of the upper floors were rows of balconied seating boxes. Enormous candelabras forged of precious metals were positioned between the boxes, bathing strategic areas of the floor in their radiant glow, while purposely leaving others in shadow. At the salon's center, a carousel turned with mesmerizing slowness. Lacquered dragons, unicorns, and other fantastic creatures pumped up and down upon it, some bearing riders caught in erotic, undulating embraces.
The soft strains of music that emanated from the carousel were punctuated with the occasional
click
of a door opening to admit those who sought privacy in one of the smaller chambers that encircled the salon's main floor. The muffled sounds of laughter, conversation, and moans charged the air each time another door was opened.
Bastian's hand was hot on the small of Silvia's back, guiding her through the room. It was a chivalrous gesture and a territorial one. Her eyes darted around the salon. How soon would all begin? Where would he take her? Would they enter one of those chambers that ringed the expansive main floor?
At least half of them were merely alcoves, she saw; some with curtains at their entrances, and others left open to the main salon so that anyone might view the participants within. The interiors of these rooms had been designed to suit a variety of inclinations. One imitated a verdant, floral garden with a walkway, stone fountains, and wrought-iron benches. And another a hay-filled stable.
There were stark settings containing only one or more platform stages and uncomfortable furniture. Mysterious iron bolts and eyehooks were embedded at intervals in both their walls and ceiling, as well as in strategic locations upon the furnishings. Much of this hardware was threaded with lengths of leather that ended in metal buckles. In one chamber they passed, a woman was securing her own wrists in delicate shackles as her partner looked on.
In contrast, some alcoves were done up as lush boudoirsâone a frilly, girlish bedroom lit in pastel colors, and another with a bed, fainting couch, and upholstered swing, all lit in the garish, titillating scarlets and purples of a bordello.
It seemed that any fantasy one could imagine could be found here in one of these rooms. Any entertainment. She looked at Bastian and found his eyes on her bosom. She put a hand there, and their eyes caught, silver and violet.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“The grotto,” came his stark reply.
Sevin glanced at him, and reading something he did not like in his face, he clasped his arm, drawing their group to a halt. “Let me take Michaela tonight. Luc and I will see to her and return her to you well-satisfied in the morning.”
“What? No!” Silvia objected violently. The shocking suggestion had her mind scrambling to reshape her image of him. She'd become fast friends with Sevin while she'd been in the form of Rico, and therefore had only seen an avuncular side of him. But he was a man, after all. One who shared the same lusty Satyr blood as Bastian. His voice had gone steely now and edgy, and he was gazing at her with his own brand of masculine hunger. And with a touch of concern.
Seeming not to hear her refusal, he took her arm and gave his brother an intractable stare. “It's for her own well-being. You know it is.”
Silvia reached out to Bastian, putting a palm on his crisp white shirtfront. “Am I a toy to be passed around without my consent?” she protested. There was only one man here she craved for her own.
Though his expression was a thundercloud of conflicting emotions, his arm came around her waist and his hand squeezed her reassuringly. “She's mine.”
Sevin looked ready to argue further but broke off as Luc stepped close to her. Wordlessly, he raised a hand and gently cupped her breast, touching her nowhere else. Startled, she jumped back, just as Bastian jerked her to him. A low warning issued from deep in his throat. The sound stopped everyone in their tracks. He'd actually growled, like a bear or a wolf! As if he were not a man, but rather some feral animal defending his mate.
“Not tonight.” It was a somewhat obscure pronouncement to her mind, but his brothers seemed to understand his meaning. Riveted, she watched an unspoken communication flash among the trio. Michaela likely understood the nuances of whatever was going on. However, unlike other hosts Silvia had taken, she was keeping secrets, revealing only what she wanted Silvia to know when she wanted her to know it. It was a disturbing realization and left Silvia with the uneasy feeling that at any moment she might step off a cliff and tumble into some unforeseen disaster.
Lucien looked cast adrift by her rejection. His expression plainly indicated that he'd come here on the assumption that he would lie with her. But Bastian offered him no sympathy, and instead wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly, as if to rub his possession of her in his youngest brother's face. It was a long, deep, thrilling kiss that marked her clearly as his. Their lips clung, and their eyes.
“Yes,” she murmured, answering his body's unspoken question. Yes, she wanted him. Only him.
There were other companions on offer for his brothers. At least a half-dozen ElseWorld females had already gathered nearby and were watching the brothers with feminine hunger. When other potential partners drifted near, they were turned away. These women were obviously hoping the Satyr lords might choose partners from among them for the night. One of them sent Sevin a come-hither smile. With a nod, he beckoned her over and signaled that she was to approach Luc with her favors.
But Luc took them all off guard by suddenly stepping closer to Silvia again, this time threading an arm around her in a bold move that dared his eldest brother's displeasure. She felt tension harden Bastian's muscles; then heard Sevin caution him, catching his arm as he made a threatening move toward their youngest brother. “Let him have this much, Bastian.”
Then all she knew was Luc, for he pulled her close, his arm joining Bastian's at the back of her waist as his head bent to hers. His older siblings loomed over them, watching as her hands went to the hard muscles of his arms, unsure. But this youngest brother was not unfamiliar to Michaela, Silvia quickly gathered. And her body responded when he pressed his lips on hers. Luc's kiss was all solemn intensity and impassioned heat. It felt proprietary, as if he believed he had some right to her. As if they'd been lovers.
They had been, she realized suddenly. As he drew back, his eyes were knowing. Her gaze flicked to Sevin and saw a different man than the charming, urbane one she'd come to know. His silver eyes had turned molten and possessive, his body tense with carnal threat. Instinct told her that this was the male animal he would become in the dark, with a woman. In his hot gaze she read the same knowledge she'd seen in Luc's, a knowledge that told her he'd mated this body she now wore.
A full-blown vision abruptly leaped into her mind, plucked from Michaela's memories. It was a frozen tableau of four loversâthe four of
them
âall in various states of undress and locked together in a hedonistic embrace.
Wearing only an unbuttoned tailored shirt, Sevin was sprawled on a rather garish fainting couch, his feet planted wide on the carpet before him. Clad only in her stockings, Michaela knelt up between his thighs, her own legs positioned slightly apart for him, and her fingers forking the delicate folds of her pink feminine nether flesh in invitation. One of his hands was clasped at the curve of her waist, and his other guided the shaft of his immense erection. His eyes watched intently as its fat mushroom head pierced her, beginning its initial penetration.
Directly behind her, Lucien was fully dressed and on his knees. Both of his hands were on her bottom, opening her cheeks for a prick that equaled his brother's in size and that angled from his open trousers, its head nudging at her divide.
But it was Bastian himself who dominated this scene. He stood before Michaela, alongside Sevin's thigh, with one of his hands cupped at her nape and his silver eyes glinting down at her with a lecherous sort of affection. His broad, muscled chest was bare of any shirt, and his trousers sagged open almost to his knees. Michaela's right hand was lightly braced on his hip and her other encircled his enormous, engorged cock. It rose like some erotic weapon from his dark groin and was of such girth that her fingers did not meet around it. Her lips were wet and parted, her adoring eyes on his handsome face as she prepared to draw him into her mouth, even as she welcomed both of his brothers inside her body.
Silvia glanced at Bastian and blushed at the awareness in his expression. Somehow, he'd guessed her thoughts as easily as his siblings had. Although all three of these men had apparently lain with Michaela, she had only just now confided this information to Silvia.
More warning would have been nice,
Silvia muttered silently.
“Enough,” Bastian threatened, hands fisting when Lucien didn't draw back from her quickly enough to suit.
Luc's eyes flicked to him in challenge. Though his touch had been masculine and confident, it had not affected her in the same melting way Bastian's did. For she loved one man and not the other. “I'm sorry,” she told him, touching her hand to his.
“Don't push matters, Luc,” Sevin murmured. Turning him toward the females who had gathered nearby, he gestured to them. “Choose another.” At his acknowledgment, several of their admirers surrounded him, touching his body familiarly. He owned this salon and had likely bedded many of the women here, Silvia gathered.
A fey female boldly pressed herself against Luc and pulled his head down to hers. He kissed her deeply, but in a way that indicated his mind was elsewhere. And then, like an automaton, he put an arm around her and followed Sevin and the others off toward the wall of chambers.
Bastian's large hand came at Silvia's back, and she instantly forgot his brothers and their women as he turned her, guiding her toward his chosen destination.
12
W
ith grim haste, Bastian directed Michaela behind the carousel and on toward the tall wrought-iron gates he sought just beyond it. Shimmerskinsâservile beings that could be conjured from nothingness only by the Satyrâacted as sentries here, and they stepped aside as he approached, opening the gates. Garbed in severe, tailored black, they trained their eyes straight ahead, careful in their lack of acknowledgment of the comings and goings of their masters.
After he and Silvia passed through the gates, the servants closed and locked them. Seeing this, Silvia glanced at him. He read the question in her eyes:
What goes on here that it must be kept so secure?
He slid a hand up her spine, under the silky fall of her hair, and guided her upward along a deliberately crude stonework path lined with lush vegetation. “Sevin warned you against me tonight,” he told her. “You should have run then if you wanted to.”
“I don't want to run.”
He gave a hollow, mirthless laugh. She didn't know what he would become under the influence of the grape. Not even his brothers knew the whole of it. They all looked up to him, thought him a paragon. But they would think differently if they'd seen him during the years he'd spent his days and nights fornicating, a flagon of wine always in easy reach.
His first taste of
vino
made from the crush of grapes cultivated in the ancient Satyr vineyards had come on his first Calling night. And upon that small, initial taste, he had fallen into an abyss. It had been the week of his eighteenth birthdayâthe same day both of his parents had died of the Sickness. Yet the moon had shown him no compassion. It had been ruthless in calling him to worship that night, requiring that he engage in the ancient carnal rituals dedicated to Bacchus.
Once all was over come dawn, he'd left Italy and his younger brothers, who'd needed him. But the wine had whispered to him that they did not, and had bade him to wander, seeking only pleasure. He'd traveled the continent, visiting ancient sites of every kind and finding his way between the thighs of hundreds of women, on a drinking binge that had lasted four years. It had ended only by accident, when he'd become trapped on a snowy mountaintop in Mongolia for a week without spirits. Thus had he been freed from the wine's spell. He had never touched a drop of liquor since. Until today.
The gentle trickle and splash of waterfalls reached his ears as he led his lamb to sybaritic slaughter along a path that took them ever upward.
“Where are we?” she asked.
He cut his eyes her way, his appetite for her rising at the sight of her slim feminine body and the knowledge that she was his for the night to come. His own body urged him to take her immediately, here in this sumptuous haven. But he must wait for the Change. Only a few minutes more until all would begin.
“It's an island of sorts, which stands remote from the rest of the salon by virtue of the ironwork grate that surrounds it,” he told her. “A private domain strictly for my family's use. One devoted to our god.”
The path ended at an idyllic, lush clearing, surrounded by dense plantings of ElseWorld flowers, wine grapes, and other vegetation. At its center stood a lovely grotto, which was formed in the shape of an amphitheater. Its far side rose to form a shallow cave thirty feet high and wide. Thousands upon thousands of shells had been set in its cement, forming a mosaic of erotic scenes in which the gods visited themselves upon mortals. Around its rim were carved fanciful animals and lurid beasts. This paradise was Sevin's doing and he often spent his Callings here. But tonight, Bastian had claimed it for himself, needing this walled confinement to house what he would become.
Already he felt his abdomen cramp, his skin prickle. A light down of hair would soon cover his haunches and extend lower along his legs almost to his ankles. Yet another feature of the insatiable beast he would become. He stopped beside the pool, which ironically enough was devoted to Bacchus, the Roman God of Wine. His god, who would watch over the proceedings tonight and relish in his labors here.
Bastian's eyes went to the altar set in the low wall at the front of the shallow pool, and the sight of it honed his need, twisting desire toward lecherous obsession. This was an altar the Satyr had employed since ancient times to celebrate their nuptial nights and other Callings like this one. It had been brought here from an ElseWorld temple. And it was here he would cleave his body to Michaela's, just as legions of his kind had mated their lovers over centuries past. He wasn't sure why it had seemed so crucial to him that he bring her here now, when he never had before. But something about her was different tonight, and from the moment he'd seen her rise from the street, he'd thought only of fucking her here. Of loving her here, before his family's god.
Drawn by his addiction, he glanced her way again and saw a flash of brilliant red-gold overlay her dark hair. Instantly, it was gone. What the hells?
Her brows rose. “What's wrong?”
He shook his head. “The wine . . . it's affecting me.” Wine alone was enough to strengthen his sexual appetites beyond what Michaela was accustomed to. But the color that painted her now was pushing him over the edge of some ambit into new territory where carnal delights far more intense than he'd ever pursued beckoned, and where he could not trust himself to curb any lecherous impulse.
Gods, when will the moon come!
He had to do something to take the edge off of his lust or he would start too early with her. Ripping open his vest, he put her hands on his shirtfront, wanting her touch. Then he watched his own hands move restlessly over her clothing, shaping her hips, ribs, breasts.
“Still?” she said in belated response to his comment, as her hands began to wander over his chest. “But I thought . . . its effects seem to have lessened.”
“I meant when the Change comes. The wine I drank earlier will make things between us . . . different . . . than you're used to with me.”
Her hands stilled and her gaze tilted up to his, vaguely alarmed. “Why? You and your brothers drink an elixir made from your family's wine grapes prior to every Moonful. All the Satyr do.”
He took her shoulders, slipping his fingers under the fabric of her gown there. “I'm different from my brothers. I cannot tolerate spirits. Haven't you ever wondered why I only drink from the decanter in my study?”
She nodded, looking strangely furtive, as if she hadn't known this and had only just now learned it from his lips. Yet, he knew that wasn't the case.
He pushed the shoulders of her gown aside and they relaxed down her arms, causing her bodice to gape. Her head bent and white teeth tugged at her lower lip as she watched him fondle the voluptuous curves he'd revealed. “That decanter contains a brew that substitutes for wineâone made especially for me,” he went on, only half paying attention to his own words. “I never told you because it wasn't necessary. But now . . . you should know that as the night progresses, I'll become more . . .” He bent to cover the peak of a breast with his hot mouth, drawing strongly on her. Her lashes lowered and her head lolled back, her fingers fisting in his shirt.
Had she always tasted so sweet, so desirable? He pulled away, enjoying the sight of her nipples, wet and erect from his mouth. The color that tinged her had only become more intense since he'd held her. A primitive surge of ownership washed over him, and within his trousers, his cock ached for her. He gritted his teeth. Perhaps touching her like this when he couldn't yet take her under him wasn't such a good idea after all.
“Yes? You'll become more . . . ?” she prompted.
“More territorial . . . insatiable . . . even bestial,” he finished roughly. He released her and ran a hand through his hair. “Hells, I don't know what else.”
She put a hand on his arm and he looked at her. “I won't leave you,” she promised. “No matter what happens. Iâ”
Now, thought Silvia. Now was the time to tell him. To grant Michaela's Deathwish. To confess her love. Now. She licked her lips, gazing at him with the hearts of two women in her eyes. “Bastian, Iâ”
Suddenly, she heard a rumble overhead and looked up to see a crack forming in the salon's high domed ceiling. “What's happening?”
Bastian stepped back from her and dropped his arms to his sides, then spoke in an ominous monotone. “It begins.”
Above them, the domed ceiling continued to split down a single central line, its two halves retracting to reveal a second outer dome, this one of paned glass. Bastian moved to the far side of the clearing and was staring downward. She went to him and put a hand on his back, wanting to lend comfort. From this vantage point, the grotto overlooked much of the salon below. As they watched, every door and every curtain there opened. No matter what their state of dress or undress, every creature in the salon ventured out into the central room, gazing skyward.
A collective gasp sounded as the moon finally rewarded them. Slipping from behind a cloud, it suddenly bathed them all in a glorious blue-white light. And every face lifted to it, celebrating its arrival. Arms raised and murmurs infused the air, all to welcome the coming of the moon.
Even Silvia was affected, for ancient ElseWorld blood pumped in Michaela's veins and in her own. But the Satyr were well-known to be far more affected by this event than any other being from their distant world. She watched Bastian, enthralled. His face was upturned now, and he wore a rapturous expression as he gloried in the moon's embrace. Standing there in the Calling's grip, he looked as powerfully built and as strikingly handsome as any god she'd ever beheld.
As the divine lunar light bathed him, Bastian felt the familiar cramps seize cruelly in his taut belly. Every muscle in his body contorted and twitched. An upsurge of lust filled his cock, hardening it to rock. And still he stood there, his face raised to the moon, letting it happen. Letting the ecstasy of it wash over him.
From all around him came groans of excitement, delight, pleasure, and pain. They rose in a wondrous cacophony from every corner of the salon, as every breed of ElseWorld creature changed physically in its own wayâin the way the ancients had decreed it must.
His belly knotted under a sudden knife-sharp, barbaric twist. A ragged groan erupted from his throat and he went down on one knee. His face became a grimace of sublime and terrible agony. One hand fumbled at the fastenings of his trousers and his other yanked out his shirttails. All else was forgotten, as thisâthe last physical Change of the Calling nightâoccurred.
Long moments later, all was complete. He was a freakish creature now of the kind that populated humans' erotic nightmares. A bizarre anomaly they only whispered about, and that in some periods of history they had hunted and captured for their private harems and menageries. One that in this century, they brushed off as only myth and rumor.
He touched himself, drawing two fingers upward along the underside of a shaft of newly awakened flesh. Rounding the plump, glossy head of this prodigious length, he found and smeared the pearl of pre-cum at its slit. And he shuddered. Moonful had gifted him with this new shaft of bone and sinewâthis second cock ripped from his own flesh. After a single ejaculation, it would be gone again, only to reappear with the next full moon. But for now, it extended high and hard from his pelvis and was of a length and girth identical to that of the cock that was rooted just an inch or so below it, in his dark thatch. Both craved the sanctuary of a female body.
Michaela. His eyes found her, and for an instant, he saw another's image imprinted over her once again. That of a woman with clear sky-blue eyes and wild, red-gold hair. His lust surged tenfold. Candles flickered around her, and the fog rising from the pool clung to her, misting her with hundreds of tiny, perfect jewels. And then it was Michaela again, with her dark, silky hair and violet pansy eyes.
He got to his feet in one lithe move. Her eyes dropped to his groin. Though his trousers hung open, his shirttails hid his erections for the moment. He stared at her, his silver gaze unwavering, predatory. The beast within him lurked dangerously close to the surface.
“Come here,” he growled.
Silvia's heart pounded with a thrilling, terrifying sort of anticipation. She had no personal experience of carnal matters with men. And judging by the glint in Bastian's eye, this was not destined to be a calm introduction. Her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat and she swallowed against a tremor of fear.
Over the years, she'd taken courtesans, concubines, and wives among her hosts. Yet she had always managed to elude the wiles of their men. By now, her skills at subterfuge when it came to dodging her hosts' concupiscent obligations were wellhoned. But tonight, she would not employ these wiles against Bastian.
Tonight, you will be all he requires. You will accommodate him in his pleasure.
The words of her dearest friend's bespelling resounded in her head. Michaela wanted her here. Wanted this. In truth, Silvia wanted it as well.
No Moonful had ever roused her passions so strongly. Before, she'd passed all such nights in quiet contemplation as she'd been taught in the temple. What was different tonight? Was it this place? Was it the presence of Bastian and Michaela, and her love for them both that urged her to lie with him?