Raine: The Lords of Satyr (15 page)

“Signore Lutz!” Raine growled.

The foreman straightened abruptly and cleared his throat. Noting Raine’s scowl, he wiped his expression clean of any interest in his employer’s woman. He tipped his hat distantly to her. “Yes, signorina, I’m sure you’re right about that.”

Raine picked up her shawl and stepped to the edge of the vat, holding the garment out toward her. Wordlessly he gave it a jerk, indicating that she should join him and let him wrap her in it.

She grinned saucily. “No. You come in. With your big feet, you’d surely stomp the grapes twice as efficiently as I can.”

Signora Tutti giggled, eyeing their byplay from the adjacent vat.

“You think I won’t?” he said.

“And splatter that snowy white shirt?” teased Jordan. “Crumple the line of your trousers? I
know
you won’t.”

Raine turned to the foreman. “Dismiss your workers, Signore Lutz. I wish to have a private word with the signorina.”

The foreman clapped his hands sharply, urging the workers from the room. “You heard Signore Satyr. Go! All of you.”

With a knowing wink at Jordan, Signora Tutti slipped from the vat and made herself scarce as well.

When they were alone, Raine used his mind to lock the doors. Then he began removing his clothing.

“What are you—? But you haven’t bathed,” Jordan protested, holding her hands out as though to stop him. “Signora Tutti scrubbed Jane’s and my legs and feet until they were pink before we were allowed in.”

He ignored her, removing first his boots, then his shirt, then his trousers.

Grasping one of the ropes overhead in one hand, he swung his legs over the side of the vat. Once inside, he dunked himself until he was submerged to the waist. When he rose to stand again, rivulets of deep blue dripped from him, cascading down his flanks, his hips, his thighs, his balls, and his cock.

All the while, his hungry gaze devoured her. From across the pool, Jordan stared at him, her eyes dilating as she realized what he intended.

Juice sloshed in waves, slopping over the edges of the vat as he advanced toward her. Under his feet, the sodden mush squeezed between his toes.

Her voice rose in dismay as he drew nearer. “What are you doing?!”

He stalked her until she was against the far wall of the vat. There, her hands came out to seize the points of his hip bones, keeping him mere inches away.

He let her stay him and stood before her, not yet touching.

“Raise your skirts,” he told her.

Her breath caught. “Yes. All right. But not like this. Let me turn.”

“Not this time.” In a flash, he slicked his hands upward along the outsides of her thighs, lifting her dampened skirts high and flipping their weight over the rim of the vat so the bulk of them hung outside of it.

That part of her that she’d endeavored so hard to keep hidden from him was abruptly exposed.

Completely flustered, she struggled to tug the fabric back down around her. But his hands pinned it on either side of her against the inner rim of the vat, pulling it taut across her abdomen.

He nudged her slippery thighs apart with his own and pressed his juicy groin to hers. For a split second, their thatches nuzzled. Phallus pressed phallus.

“No!” Frantic, she wriggled, sliding in the slush, finding her footing again and trying to shimmy away.

His lips brushed her hair. “It doesn’t matter to me what you grow between your legs,” he murmured.

Instantly, she froze. A terrible quiet fell between them, like the aftermath of a bomb blast.

Her dark eyes crept upward to lock with the silver of his. “You know.”

“Did you really think you could keep it from me?”

“How? How did you know?”

“We’ve lain together,” he hedged.

“Did you know back in Venice?”

He nodded.

“You didn’t say anything. So I thought—” She gave an anguished moan. “I thought—Oh God.” She covered her eyes with her fingers, pushing at him with her other hand. “Move. I want to get out.”

“No.” His voice was low, commanding.

She shook her head, struggling to escape him. To escape her humiliation. “Please, I don’t want you to be—disgusted.”

His heart caught. At that moment, more than anything he wished he knew how to reassure her. To tell her how much he wanted her. To tell her how desirable she was to him. But he didn’t have the gift of expressing his feelings. “I won’t be.”

“So you say.”

His chin nuzzled the top of her head. “Are you ashamed of what you are?”

She straightened, her skull bumping the underside of his jaw. “I’m most certainly
not
ashamed, though others have tried to shame me and make me uncertain of what I am.”

How often in his life had he, too, been given cause to wonder what he was—Satyr or Human? He struggled to comfort her now. Though he had no flowery words, he could give her the truth of what he felt.

His lips found the side of her throat, where the warm scent of her was at its most beguiling. “The fact that you’re made with both male and female parts pleases me,” he told her. “I find you more interesting than any other woman I’ve ever met. More attractive. I assure you I desire you just as you are.”

Jordan stilled for a long moment and he felt her weighing his words. Then she sighed against his chest, a sound of something broken beginning to mend. “Oh, Raine,” she whispered, her voice tight with emotion. Raising a palm to cup his cheek, she kissed him.

His hands tightened on her waist, drawing her inexorably closer. His breath became hers and hers became his. Their tongues met, tangled, and mated with slick desperation. Their cocks thickened, prodding each other’s bellies.

His hand wandered lower between them. Hers caught it.

“Let me touch you,” he urged against her lips. “Let me.”

Her grasp convulsed on him, her nails leaving half moons on his skin. But then reluctantly, one by one, her fingers let go.

His hands fell to drag through the slush that surrounded them both. Then his dripping, wine-sluiced fingers rose to work their way between her legs, opening the slit between her testes.

She stood waiting, her heart frozen in her chest.

“Relax,” he whispered at her ear. But she couldn’t.

He fondled her with knowing strokes, pressing between the thickened sacs to find and saw in her inner slickness. The heel of his palm pressed at the base of her phallus with each thrust until her pulse quickened and she began to move on him. With his other hand he scooped more of the rich viscous velvet from the pool and basted the length of her shaft.

And then—for the first time ever—a hand other than her own took her cock in its grasp.

A choked sigh escaped her.

Ever so gently, he began to masturbate her. The fingers of his other hand still worked high between her thighs, shafting her slit to the same rhythm.

Her thighs quivered along his and she shuddered, swaying dizzily.

“Breathe,” he instructed. She took a great gulp of air and opened her eyes to see the rosy head of her prick peeking out from his fist, then disappearing, only to appear again. It was juicy-wet and fatter than she’d ever seen it.

His cock stood at attention, sliding against the inside of his wrist each time his hand pumped her. Without conscious intent she reached and took him in her palm, quickly finding the pace his fist had set on her flesh. Together they worked each other’s rods, slicking them together, then apart. Hands shaped and groped, each learning the terrain of the other’s body.

Passion rose in Raine, hot as a flashfire. He wanted to take her like this, to fuck her here in the sacred nectar of grapes he’d planted, tended, and chosen. Wanted to grind himself into her while they were immersed in the fruits of his labor that were so important to his survival and to that of the two worlds that met on Satyr land.

He lifted her, and her hands rose to grip the hard muscles of his shoulders. His cock, marinated with the pulpy juice that was his lifeblood, found her feminine slit. His big hands cupped the cheeks of her bottom and his splayed thighs took her weight as she wrapped her legs around him. Together, they watched as he pushed into her, in one…Easy. Fluid. Glide.

Emotions roiled in his chest as he sank home. This—their first frontal joining on his land—was a momentous occurrence. She linked her hands behind his neck and arched her throat, moaning her pleasure. She felt so good against him.

Their bodies began to move, swaying together in an ancient carnal dance. The air around them turned humid and sweet with passion.

Her cock bobbed, firm against his belly. Adjusting one hand to take more of her weight, he wrapped her shaft in his fist again, milking it in time with his harsh thrusts inside her.

Jordan drew close and whimpered against his throat, uncertain what to do with the sensations rushing at her. She brushed her lips over his jaw and whispered words of desperate encouragement.

Abruptly, Raine surged inside her with newly fevered need. Somewhere, Nick and Jane were coming together. He felt their ecstasy and it fueled his own. Grape pulp and juice sloshed in high rhythmic waves splashing over the sides of the vat as he rutted her ever more fiercely.

Her cock jerked in his fist. She gave a soft inarticulate cry as it creamed over his fingers.

With a strangled shout, he wrapped both hands around her ass, drove himself impossibly deep, and erupted.

She came as a woman then, too, arching into her second release and clasping her knees tight to his sides. He bucked her hard with each ejaculation, wringing spurts of scalding lava from his cock. Her inner walls sucked at him, beguiling his cum. They kissed, their breath rough and gasping.

Later, when his heart had slowed, Raine rested his chin on the top of her head and gazed across the room with unseeing eyes. Her inner walls still spasmed around him and her own cock’s jism was slick between their bellies. He stroked her hair, enjoying its softness.

The pool turned calmer, until it only lapped at them. Outside the vat room, voices rose and fell. Until this moment he hadn’t noticed them.

Jordan was truly his now, whether she realized it or not. Having mated her on Satyr land, he’d initiated the bespelling that would keep her from harm in all the years to come. With each successive coupling, the bond between them would strengthen. Ancient forces that protected his land and all who dwelled within would weave more securely around her.

She slumped against him, her forehead on his chest. “Signora Tutti and Signore Lutz will be quite annoyed. I’m afraid we’ve definitely ruined their vat.”

“I don’t care,” he murmured. “My brothers and I have grapes enough to fill hundreds more like it.”

“I don’t care either,” she whispered, finding his mouth with hers. She caressed the sides of his face, his throat, and his nape with her hands. “That was good, Raine. I’ve never come with my male and female parts at the same time. In fact, it was better than good. Like bathing in honey, eating chocolate, and kissing all at the same time.”

He laughed and loosened his hold on her until she slowly slid to stand on her feet again. At last her nipples pulsed the telltale hue of the Faerie in the presence of her mate. The color reminded him of a soft wine-dipped rose, and it was so pale she didn’t seem to notice it.

She splashed her fingers in the juice. “What do you do with all these grapes next, after they’re crushed?”

“This particular vat will be unusable in the future, its juice thrown out.”

“But normally.”

“They’ll be fermented for eight to ten days. We make sure to taste all vats regularly to broaden our understanding of the long-term characteristics of each plot.” His warm, wet hands lifted to cup her breasts and his thumbs brushed over her nipples. “You’ll have to marry me, you know.”

Her heart lurched, wishing. But she knew it couldn’t be. She rose on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the chin. “No, I don’t know.”

He frowned. “Those workers are all aware of why I dismissed them from this room earlier. Your reputation will be in tatters after today, if nuptials are not announced.”

“Now you’re really ruining the vat. In fact you’re ruining the whole vat experience.” She gave him a little push, which didn’t budge him.

“Jordan…”

“No!” she said, her frustration turning to anger. “Leave it. You don’t truly know me. If you did, you wouldn’t want to wed me. I’m happy to warm your bed without marriage. But a husband has too strong a hold over a wife. I don’t want another man—I mean, any man—to ever gain such a hold over me.”

Hoping to forestall further argument, she grasped his shoulders and lifted herself, wrapping her legs around his waist again.

His hands rose to support her thighs. His prick was still hard and long, still wet with a mingling of their desire and juices from the pool.

“You know of course that if we wish to continue with this sort of activity, society requires a wedding,” he told her.

She rested one hand on the vat’s rim for leverage, took his cock in her other fist, and then backed her hips away long enough to lead him to her slit. Their eyes caught.

“Society seems quite distant at the moment.” She pushed forward and his crown widened her.

“Jordan—” he warned, his voice rough.

“Yes?” she asked innocently.

Sensation welled up in him, and he pushed inside her, deep, content to shelve his arguments for the moment.

Then he began to fuck her. Not with the heat of carnal hellfire as he had moments ago, but with the slow sensual rhythm of a lazy autumn afternoon. And he felt something gentle stir inside him. Something born of the heady scent of Faerie, the distant sound of revelry, and a strange sort of wanting for this woman. This woman with both Human and ElseWorld blood in her veins, who it was preordained would become his wife.

O
utside the vat rooms, Raine left Jordan’s side, having a business appointment with another vintner he’d only just remembered in time. She smiled to herself, wondering if the other man would dare question Raine regarding the strange color of his hands. Thanks to their time in the vats, they were now a bluish tinge below his crisp white cuffs.

As were his feet. She’d wanted to giggle when he’d come out of the vat and she’d seen them. He’d pointed out that her feet looked the same. And they did. Dyed by the juice, they both looked almost as if they wore—stockings.
Blue stockings.
Precisely as the second part of her dream had foretold. A chill washed over her as she realized the significance of the dyeing, and she tucked her own similarly dyed hands under her wrap.

Now that the second phase of her dream had been fulfilled, the third would come. The snake. If Raine knew of her peculiar foresight, would he fear it? How foolishly he’d claimed he wanted to take her to wife, heedless of her warnings that he knew nothing of the real her.

She wouldn’t wed him, but she wanted to keep what she had here with him as long as she could. To do so, she must bury her past so thoroughly that it never again came to light. Raine thought he was the only man to ever discover what her skirts held. He assumed she’d grown up in such skirts and that she’d lived her life first as a girl and then as a woman.

What would he think if he knew she’d once run wild in the streets of Venice flaunting the Austrians edict that Carnivale was to be disbanded? What would he think if he knew she’d formerly ridden astride, kissed another woman, and spent her nights drinking and gambling among loutish male companions?

What would he think if he learned his newest lover had once been a man?

Peeking from the vat rooms, she glanced one way and then the other, hoping to slip out and make her way up the hillside to the estate without being intercepted.

Seeing no one about, she dashed out. But her luck didn’t hold. A woman stood in her path, just ahead. She was a stranger. A beautiful one, wearing a refined gown of gored mauve silk that perfectly matched the feathers in her hat. Jordan wondered if she could pretend not to see her and simply pass by without speaking. She ducked her head.

“Signorina Alessandro?” the woman inquired in a hesitant voice. Her expression betrayed doubt that Jordan could possibly be the person she sought.

Having grown accustomed to the false surname she’d supplied to Raine back in Venice, Jordan reluctantly paused. “Yes?”

Up close, the woman was even more beautiful than she’d seemed at first. Her skin was pure and creamy, her dark auburn tresses artfully arranged, her gown pristine and unwrinkled. Beside her, Jordan felt disastrously unkempt. She patted her hair and the hat she’d replaced on it without the use of a mirror, wondering precisely how bedraggled she appeared.

The woman drew nearer. “You’re Raine’s fiancée?” she inquired in modulated tones.

“What? No! We’re only friends. Acquaintances really.”

“Friends,” the woman echoed. A confused frown creased her perfect brow. “But you’re staying with him at his home, are you not?”

Jordan stiffened. “I’m not sure that’s any of your concern. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She lifted her stained skirts and went to sweep by the other woman, attempting to affect a haughty disdain.

But the woman stepped to block her path, gripping her forearm with urgent fingers. Her face drew nearer. “He’s a handsome man. Wealthy. Virile. I was fooled once, too.”

At close range, Jordan observed a rather unnerving wildness in the depths of the woman’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

Manicured fingernails marred Jordan’s skin. “I married him,” the woman hissed. “But I regretted it. Don’t make the same mistake.”

This beautiful creature had been Raine’s wife? Jordan felt dowdier than ever.

“Ah! I see you two have met,” said a tart voice. From out of nowhere, Jane had come upon them. Jordan had rarely been so glad to see another person arrive.

The other woman took no notice of Jane, but only tucked Jordan’s bluish hand between her own scratchy lace-encased ones. “Heed what I say. Don’t marry him. He’s a spawn of the devil, I tell you.”

Jordan snatched her hand away. “Raine’s no such thing. I shall wed him if I please and I shall tell him to sue you for libel, or slander, or whatever, if you continue to spread such gossip.”

“Take your wicked lies elsewhere, Natalia,” said Jane, giving the other woman a gentle push. “Or better yet, swallow them forever.”

Raine’s former wife fled Jane’s touch. “Don’t come near me!” she shrieked. “I know what you do with them when the moon comes. How can you stay with the one who’s their leader?” She clasped the golden cross at her throat. “Repent before it is too late! Repent!”

Jane sighed in disgust. “Take yourself off or I shall tell my husband of your lies. I assure you he will not be pleased to hear of them.”

The other woman’s eyes widened in fear and she fell back a few steps. Continuing her diatribe, she scurried down the hill and away from Jane’s threat. “Don’t take him to husband, Signorina Alessandro. You’ll regret it, I tell you!”

Jane turned her back on the fleeing woman and took Jordan’s arm. “Let’s go, shall we?”

Jordan considered Raine’s ex-wife’s disappearing figure a moment more, then allowed Jane to lead her away. They headed uphill, along the winding, sun-dappled lane that would take them to their homes inside the gates of the Satyr domain.

In the aftermath of the other woman’s accusations, the ensuing silence between them seemed uncomfortably loud. “How long ago were they married?” Jordan asked, breaking it.

“Two years. But for a very short time. I hope you don’t take her advice to heart. Believe me when I say Raine is a good man.”

“But what happened between them?”

“I’m not the best one to tell it, since it all happened before I came here. But as I understand the situation, Natalia was incapable of passion. She spurned Raine’s lovemaking, as she likely would have spurned that of any man she’d wed. When she left him one night, she spread gossip that damaged his reputation. It has given him an abhorrence of being the subject of wagging tongues. He feels he brought shame to the Satyr name and subjected his brothers to dangerous rumors.”

“Dangerous?”

Jane’s eyes dodged hers. “There are secrets in this family that aren’t mine to tell you. Raine will share them in his own good time if you stay. He’s a wonderful, loving man. I hope you’ll give him the chance he deserves.”

The true question was, did she dare give herself a chance with him? His reputation had already suffered because of one wife. If he only knew how it could suffer if society found out
she
had once lived as a
he,
he’d quickly cease his pleas for a marriage between them.

“I’m only here for a while,” Jordan told her. “I intend nothing permanent.”

Jane hesitated, then squeezed her hand and said in a companionable voice, “Well, we shall endeavor to enjoy our time together, however long it is. My younger sister Emma is quite anxious to make your acquaintance as well. We shall both be pleased to welcome you at our house for a visit, and very soon. We’re involved in the most interesting botanical experiments!”

Together, the two women chatted their way to the gates, unaware they were being watched.

Having finished his business appointment, Raine made to depart the festival when he found himself standing before a splendid exhibit—by far the finest at the small harvest celebration. Every attention had been paid to detail—from the carpet, which had been set on the ground to delineate the bounds of the exhibit, to the swags of velvet overhead, which shaded it from the pale sun.

A display of wine had been set on a linen-draped table to serve as an offering for those who wished to partake. He was considering whether to bother sampling it, when someone bumped into him, quite literally.

“Oh, pardone! Pardone!” The bishop dusted his hands over Raine’s thighs and crotch as though to brush away any damage. He’d orchestrated his timing well, making certain to fall against his quarry in such a way that his fingers would fondle his genitals in a move that would appear quite unintentional.

“Unhand me, man!” Raine told him, pushing him away.

The bishop backed off, well satisfied to have gotten a feel of The One He Desired, as he’d begun to privately call this man. Why, he wouldn’t wash his hands for the next month!

“Lord Satyr! Welcome to the exhibit of the Church of Santa Maria Del Gorla. Such another amazing coincidence finding you again!” he effused, clapping his very happy hands.

Raine stared blankly at him, but the bishop’s spirits refused to be crushed by his lack of recognition.

“We met in Venice at the recent conference on phylloxera,” he said by way of a reminder. “Fascinating, was it not? We should meet again one evening to further discuss our efforts at combating that insidious pest.”

Raine shifted from one foot to the other.

Sensing he was losing his audience, the bishop rushed on. “Earlier I sampled a vintage at the Satyr Vineyard exhibit. Such perfection! On the palate the flavors explode in a fusion of rich passionate fruit and well-integrated flavors. Such a fine texture! And the aromas!” He kissed his fingers.

Raine shifted again.

The bishop’s conversational pace increased. “Now, in exchange, you must try some of my grape.” Popping a cork on one of his best, he handed Raine the entire bottle.

“Sorry, I seemed to have dropped my glass during our recent encounter,” Raine told him.

The bishop waved his hands. “No need for a glass. Take it from the bottle and tell me your opinion.”

As Raine took the offering and lifted it to his lips, the bishop’s pudgy fingers anxiously steepled under his plump chin. He had imagined this very moment countless times over the past year. Had imagined the praise The One He Desired would soon heap upon his efforts. Had fantasized that after tasting this wine, Raine would recognize his superlative expertise and that he would sling an arm around him and offer to escort him throughout the festival so that they might test the other less worthy offerings and discuss them.

Liquid trickled from the bottle’s throat and Raine swished it in his mouth. Something caught his attention and he halted mid-swish. Transfixed, he stared into the distance over the bishop’s head. Then he spit the wine into the grass and wordlessly returned the bottle.

The bishop clasped it to his chest and rose on tiptoe, awaiting his glowing conclusion.

“I have decided to wed,” Raine announced without preamble.

To the bishop, his statement was as shocking and unwelcome as a heart attack. The wine bottle slipped from his fingers, thunking to the carpet. Where had this horrible notion come from? He followed Raine’s gaze and found it lay upon two women walking together in the lane leading upward toward the gate to his estate. One was the wife of the eldest Satyr. And the other he didn’t know. But whomever she was, the bishop didn’t like the hungry expression on his companion’s face when he gazed her way.

At the bishop’s feet, the contents of his bottle bled away as did his hopes in Raine’s direction. He knelt to mop it up with his handkerchief. Normally he’d leave this menial work to servants. But in his despair, he hardly knew what he did.

Raine bent and set the bottle upright, stemming the tide.

“Well?” he asked. “Will you see to the bans?”

The bishop gathered his wits and the bottle and stood, pursing his lips in disapproval. “You’re divorced. The Church will not recognize a second marriage.”

Raine flicked his fingers in an innately Italian gesture. “A hefty donation will persuade them to think differently. It always does. Now will you post the bans or shall I seek out another official?”

The bishop’s expression tightened. “Very well. You may bring your fiancée in to speak with me. Unfortunately my schedule is rather full. Perhaps next month?”

“You may not speak with her at all,” Raine instructed. “I don’t wish her to know bans are being posted. Not yet.”

“But this is highly irregular—” the bishop protested.

Raine’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re unwilling, I will make alternate arrangements.”

“No! No! I’ll do it. Of course I will. You only took me by surprise with your request.”

Another vintner arrived, capturing Raine’s attention. “Keep me apprised,” he told the bishop. With that, he abandoned the church’s exhibit entirely.

The bishop glowered at the woman on the hill, his heart as eaten with jealously as his cock was eaten with disease. He had to get a look at her. Now. Without delay.

Taking only the bottle from which The One He Desired had so recently drunk, he abandoned his booth. Then he huffed and puffed his way up the lane after Raine’s sister-in-law and the other one.

Darting off the path into the woods, he sought to gain ground. The women were in no hurry and he quickly passed them without them being aware. He hid behind an outcropping of rocks and waited ahead of them.

When they came into view, he very nearly gasped. Why, the one that The One He Desired had chosen to wed was as ragged as a quayside whore! Her features were comely enough. But her dress and manner were appalling! What in God’s name had attracted him to her? What was so special about her?

What was so
familiar?

Frowning, he chewed the flesh of his inner cheek between his molars, searching his memory for where he’d seen her before. The two women disappeared inside the gates. But still he sat, pondering. The sun dipped lower, pinkening the landscape. Below him, the festivities continued, becoming raucous as more revelers arrived and more wine flowed.

He swirled his tongue over the lip of the bottle from which The One He Desired had so recently drunk. Had he enjoyed the brew? He’d never said. The bishop’s talent was highly regarded, though he knew he was thought to be something of a copycat. It was true that he had no ideas of his own, but he was a brilliant mimic. With each particular brew, he’d tried to copy the Satyr lords’ offering of the previous year. But always, something was missing. Some indefinable ingredient.