Raine: The Lords of Satyr (16 page)

He suspected the Satyr practiced some sort of magic on that land of theirs. They were so secretive. So handsome. The lips of The One He Desired were as sensuous and shapely as a woman’s, but his cock…oh…there had been nothing womanly about that when the bishop had cupped him earlier…

And then, in a sudden flash of memory, he had it! That person with Jane Satyr was La Maschera—the one who was both female and male. The one that had escaped Signore Salerno that night at the theater. The abomination with a cock swinging between its legs. Raine must have stumbled upon it somehow and brought it here all the way from Venice!

Hmm.
He stuck his tongue deep into the throat of the bottle and suctioned it out again with a little
pop!

Salerno no doubt missed his creature. Did he know where it had fled when it departed the theater that rainy night? Oh delicious news.

Leaping to his feet, he abandoned the woods and the festival, leaving the bottles and decorations at his exhibit for whomever might decide to steal them.

When he arrived home, he announced that his bag was to be packed and a carriage readied. He was traveling to Venice.

Then, still clutching the bottle The One He Desired had touched with his beautiful lips, he went to find someone willing to fuck him with it.

J
ordan and her attendant started in surprise as Raine strode into her bedchamber dressed only in a dark brocade night robe.

It was no wonder she was shocked to see him. He’d intentionally made himself scarce of late. She’d probably seen more of Jane and young Emma than she’d seen of him in the weeks since the harvest festival. Enamored of all things botanical, they’d engaged her in their ongoing efforts to affect a cure for the phylloxera. The growing closeness between the sisters pleased him, and he hoped it would soon be time to apprise Jordan of her blood relation to them. However, he had other matters on his mind tonight.

“Leave us,” he instructed the maid. His grim curtness sent the normally placid night servant scurrying. Her vacant eyes widened with a confused sort of concern for her charge as she curtseyed and departed. She’d taken Jordan’s hair down but hadn’t yet managed to get her undressed.

“You scared her,” scolded Jordan. “You know how skittish the night servants are. Why are you acting like this?”

Since last Moonful when they’d assisted her in the wine cellar, Jordan seemed to have taken the existence of the dryad night servants in stride. She’d taken his word for it that all was not right with them and that she mustn’t speak of them to others who’d find them strange.

He pressed the door to the hall closed and turned the lock behind the fleeing maid. Then his silver eyes found Jordan. She stepped back at the raw hunger he couldn’t conceal. The control that was so much a part of him had slipped dangerously.

He stalked her, his tread and words both careful and measured. “I have avoided your bed more often than I’d like since you came here. It was a foolish decision.”

“Yes. I agree wholeheartedly.” She retreated from him, leading him toward her bed.

“One that I’m afraid will prove to your detriment this night.”

Her back hit a tall bedpost and she cocked her head to study him. “I didn’t ask you to avoid me. Or my bed.”

Raine loomed over her. She had a good point. He had only himself to blame for his pent-up need. His large hands grasped her shoulders as though he feared she’d try to escape.

“I was determined not to come to your bed until you agreed to a wedding between us. However, tonight I—can’t—seem—”

Suddenly, his fingers bit into her flesh, bruising it. His eyes dilated, round black moons eclipsing his silver irises to mere halos. Pain contorted his expression. As he convulsed forward into a crouch, one white-knuckled hand clutched at his abdomen while the other groped for support.

She knelt on the carpet. Holding and soothing him, she smoothed his hair back in an effort to see his face. “Raine? What is it? What’s wrong?”

Her eyes held concern and curiosity. He avoided them. It embarrassed him to be brought down in front of her. To have it made so plain to this woman that he was out of control and at the mercy of ancient forces she would find incomprehensible if she knew of them.

Frenzied words escaped his lips, each syllable bitten off. “The Calling,” he gasped. “I promised myself…but I am weak tonight. Knowing you are near, I must have you or be driven mad. I didn’t know it would be so…my only excuse.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked in obvious confusion. “What Calling?”

He shook his head, grimacing. After long moments, he straightened and staggered to his feet. “The pain lessens.” When he stood, his robe parted naturally in a line along his front. In the shadows of the breach, there were two cocks now. Both were hot, sanguine, and roped with thick, blood-rich veins.

Catching the scent of her woman’s slit, his man-cock strained at attention from its nest. A second cock rose above it, this one more suited to breech another tighter sort of entrance in a woman’s body. Beyond the window curtains, the moon waxed full now, urging him toward rut.

Carefully, he folded the fabric closed again and retied the sash so the stiff folds of his robe helped disguise what he was not yet ready to reveal.

“I must take my ease within your body tonight,” he announced grimly. “Do you understand?”

Jordan nodded. “You wish to have concupiscent relations with me,” she said like a schoolgirl reciting a lesson.

He raised a brow at her calm attitude. “You’re willing then?”

Her smile blazed and she threw her arms around his waist. “Thank God. You’ve been so distant lately. I thought you no longer wanted me, now that you’ve considered the truth of what my skirts contain.”

Raine laughed hollowly, his arms automatically encircling her. Between them his pricks twitched, yearning to taste her. He rubbed a hand over her back, searching her dress for the most expedient way to exit her from it. He needed to touch skin. But he was too needy and she wasn’t ready. Better to let her keep her clothes for the moment.

“Bacchus, I should have taken you before this night…this is not the way…but I must. I only hope you will forgive me when it is done.”

She drew back and her black eyes twinkled at him. “You sound quite desperate to have me. I like that.”

He only grunted. She had no idea what was to come.

Taking her arm, he tugged her into his chamber. He felt himself growing frantic. Attempting to regain some semblance of self-control, he sat on the edge of his bed. He withdrew a slim metallic cylinder from his pocket and placed it in her palm, hoping she didn’t notice how his hand shook.

“Take this key. Go to the lacquered cabinet in the corner and open it while I can still let you. Take the elixir you find there and pour yourself a glass of it. Then come back to me.”

She twirled the shaft of the ornate pewter key between a finger and thumb, her eyes brimming with questions.

“Make haste!” he added, waving her away when she hesitated.

Jordan hurried to the cabinet to do his bidding. Ramming the key into the lock, she fiddled a moment to align pewter teeth with pins, darting concerned glances at him all the while. After a bit, the lock gave a
snick
and the door creaked open. Inside there was a single shelf upon which sat a dark decanter and a jeweled goblet.

She removed the bottle and squinted at the markings on its throat, finding the ancient language indecipherable. She unstoppered it, sniffing. “Is it a medicine of some sort?”

He laughed darkly. “Yes, medicine.”

“Then surely you must be the one to take it.” Removing the goblet, she splashed the decanter’s ruby-colored contents into it and brought it to him.

Perched on the edge of the bed, he watched her with a predatory expression.

She sat beside him and put the glass to his lips, wanting to soothe whatever was the cause of his suffering. “Here, take some,” she coaxed.

He turned his jaw from her. “No, Jordan. I partook of a similar brew earlier this evening with Nick. If you truly wish to help me, you must be the one to drink it.”

“But—”

“Now. Quickly. ’Tis Moonful.”

Glancing toward the window, Jordan glimpsed the harvest moon. Perfectly round, it clung to the breast of night’s velvet cloak like a shining orange pendant.

She looked back at him, unsure. “Can you promise me you aren’t ill?”

The moon chose that precise moment to slant a veil of light across his cheek. His fingers gripped the mattress, nearly ripping it.

“Just do as I ask. Drink. Please.” He exhaled the last word on a hiss.

“I’m drinking, I’m drinking.” She put the goblet to her lips and tilted it. Over the rim, she studied him in confusion.

His loss of control was so unlike him that it was likely frightening her. But she’d seen nothing yet.

Her expression pursed. The elixir was as smooth as silk, but it tasted different to every individual. She obviously didn’t like it. A moment later, she set it aside half-finished.

“More,” he urged.

“Ugh!” But she lifted the drink again and managed to get most of it down.

They sat there then, side by side on the edge of his bed, silent for the moment. She sent him a sidelong glance and took his hand in hers, toying with it where it rested on her thigh.

“What are we waiting for?” she asked softly.

“Just wait,” he breathed.

Slowly, he sensed the Change come over her. The elixir was designed to bring it about in both of them. The brew he’d taken earlier had sharpened his need. Its spirits were zinging through her system now, warming her and calling her toward lust.

Beside him, she shifted and pressed her knees together as though trying to capture some sensation high between them. He scented her burgeoning arousal. It was almost time.

His gaze slid sideways to graze her. “How do you feel?”

“Good. I feel good. Does it seem overly warm in here to you?” She fanned herself with one hand. With the other, she plucked at the neckline of her gown, offering him tantalizing glimpses of the breasts that swelled beneath.

He groaned helplessly and pulled her to stand. “Remove your gown.”

Her hands dutifully slid to the clasps at her bodice. The lethargy stealing over her made her slow and clumsy. She slipped two of them from their hooks, then a third. Then, appearing to tire of their purpose, her hands fell away.

“Undress,” he pleaded with the last of his good intentions.

“Help me,” she teased, shooting him a coquettish glance from beneath the fringe of her lashes.

Raine snarled low in his throat. He turned her around and ripped at the fastenings, tearing the dress off her in his haste. Spying a letter opener on her writing desk, he grabbed it and sliced the strings of her corset.

In dazed surprise she looked down at the lovely gown and corset that now lay in rags at her feet.

“I’ll buy you another gown. And another corset,” Raine promised, hoping to head off any rebuke that might require a time-consuming discussion he could ill afford. “A dozen more. Just make haste onto my bed. I beg you.”

Jordan’s eyes widened, but she did as he asked, climbing onto his mattress wearing only her chemise.

Raine devoured the sight of the delectable creature awaiting him on his bed. Her golden skin contrasted with the darkness of his bedcovering, the darkness of his soul. She’d sat with her knees together and folded tight, with her feet tucked beneath her rear. She’d turned her back to him, still reluctant to showcase those parts of her that made her so unusual. But her choice of position suited his purposes just now.

His robe hit the ground. Naked, he joined her on the bed, kneeling behind her. Lifting the chemise high over her head, he tossed it away. The fur of his thighs bristled against her softness as he forked his legs around hers. He moved close until his cocks prodded her lower back.

Low between them he lightly kissed her puckered anus with the pad of a forefinger. “I’m going to come inside you here,” he whispered at her ear. “With my cock.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. He read the worry that pushed its way through the effects of the ancient elixir. “Will it hurt?”

“It may prove uncomfortable, at least at first. But I’m told that the presence of an object in the rear ring often intensifies the pleasurable sensation of contractions during a woman’s orgasm.”

She smiled at his clinical description. “Then by all means.”

The Calling was usually a serious, carnal business, so he was surprised to find himself returning her smile. He lifted her hips, so she stood on her knees, then aligned the crowns of his shafts to her openings, preparing to link with her.

Abruptly, he checked. “Cream. Damn. What am I thinking? Don’t move.”

Leaping from his bed, he dashed to her room and located a squat jar of cream on her dressing table. Unscrewing the lid, he gazed at the thick, milky substance within. At the bottles and boxes on the table. At the varied feminine things Jordan had accumulated since coming to his home.

The smell of Faerie glamour wafted to him. The scent was sweetness tempered with spice, the smell of fresh autumn and pale sunlight. It surrounded him, permeating her room and belongings.

He lifted his silver gaze to the mirror that hung on the wall.

And saw himself.

Saw how horribly changed he was physically. Saw the soft down of sepia fur that now covered his legs from thigh to ankle. The fur not of a man, but of an animal. Having sprouted with the onset of the Calling, it would not disappear until the coming of dawn.

Though he wanted to turn away, he forced himself to look. To see himself for the half-beast, half-Human he was. To see the huge vein-roped man-penis jutting from his dark thatch, its blood-purpled head straining in search of quim. And to see its twin, a second ruddy penis angling high from his pelvis only three finger spans above it.

It was the nature of the Satyr and he had experienced such changes before—at least a dozen times each year. But he’d always avoided looking at himself when he was this way. This was how his first wife had seen him. As Jordan would.

His eyes wandered over the jars and vials on her dressing table, the cushion she’d sewn for the chair, the embroidery project she’d tossed in a basket nearby. Like her, everything here was feminine and delicate. Fragile.

Tonight he might hurt her. At a certain point, he might not be able to stop himself from taking her again and again, whether she was willing or not. It was a horrifying thought.

Had it been some last shred of decency in him that had made him come in here, he wondered. After all, he had salve of his own, in his room. At times, he resorted to using it to masturbate himself the multiple times necessary to assuage his nightly need. It was makeshift, but at least he hurt no one. Disgusted no one. Used no one, save himself. Maybe fate was offering him a second chance to regain his self-control before he made a terrific mistake.

If he could bring himself to climax a half-dozen times or so here in her room, perhaps he could take the edge off. It was not too late to summon Shimmerskins to relieve him if that didn’t work. What was one more such night spent with only his hand and conjured women for comfort? After a modicum of satiation, he might even be able to make his way to the glen to continue his fucking. The farther he got from Jordan, the better.

He scooped cream from her jar. Half sitting on the dressing table, he gripped his fevered cocks, one in each hand. His brothers’ pricks were slipping inside their women even now. Nick would be with Jane in the sacred glen under the full moon. Lyon would be secreted somewhere in Paris more than likely taking Shimmerskins under him, unless he’d already found Feydon’s third daughter. The rise in his brothers’ desire sent a new, sharp hunger churning in his gut. All too soon his brothers would be in full-blown rut. Gods help him then.