Will you? Won’t you? Don’t you want to know what it’s like?
She did want to know. She would always wish she’d figured out where the music came from if she ignored it. Did it come from a hot man in the woods? Doubtful. Though she appreciated her brain’s mental imagery. She wouldn’t approach the musician unless they looked safe, but she had to know who was playing the flute. Maybe they could help her.
She started to take another step.
Then she remembered how Donovan had been “safe.” Her judgment couldn’t be trusted.
Her step faltered.
Lily glanced back in the direction she’d started and nearly whimpered. She’d been so focused on the music that she’d not paid attention to her surroundings. The sensation of being watched returned as she tuned the song out, but she couldn’t see anyone there. What the hell is going on!
The sensual melody built into an erotic crescendo sliding across her body like silk, reclaiming her undivided attention without fail. She clutched at a branch, her breath hissing out unevenly through clenched teeth, and then Lily found herself slinking toward the music. I can make you feel like that over and over, the notes chimed around her, promising to reward her for her decision. She could almost believe them. Lily wanted to feel that way again. To be lost in it.
Will you? Won’t you? Don’t you want to know what it’s like?
Within the hallucinogenic mirage in front of her, the blond man paused in his playing to study her. Lily suddenly found she wanted to not only meet him, but learn his story as well. He was seduction in flesh, but his expression held a hint of sadness. What would make such a handsome man sad? Does he play his music because he’s lonely?
He returned to his song, eyelids fluttering shut as he poured his soul into the notes.
Let go of your thoughts. Feel! Find me! Fiiiiiiind meeeeee!
Her mind made up, Lily decided she would seek him out. The tune increased tempo as she approached, crashing over her continuously, making her stumble in her haste. As she marched on with determination, she spied a field of wildflowers and tall grass, much like the one her fantasy man had been laying in. The song became frenzied, the volume maximized like she was right next to the source. The musician had to be in the field.
Lily slowed her gait, hesitant, but then tip-toed closer, not wanting to give away her presence despite the music’s strong pull to make herself known. Through the thicket lounged a man with a mane of golden hair. Lily quickly ducked behind a tree and gasped, hand across her chest where she could feel her heart beating rapidly below the surface. The man she’d envisioned was real, but how? How is any of this possible? Had he truly summoned her to him with a song and a promise of seduction?
Lily peeked at him again, and she realized her fantasy man appeared exactly how she’d seen him, except for minor details.
A play of the light produced the shape of a dark, spiraling horn on the side of his head. He moved through his musical machinations and it became obvious the light had nothing to do with it. He had a set of horns clear as day. A pagan headdress of some kind? Perhaps he was part of a cult, and it would be best to sneak away before he noticed her. He played the instrument she’d seen in her mind: a set of flutes of varied length bound together. He blew across the tops of one end, and the sound carried over, welcoming her. Begging her to return the greeting. Guaranteeing pleasure and freedom and bliss and all the things necessary to make her hormones tingle. Almost as though he sensed her presence nearby, he lowered the instrument and sat up straighter, alert. He was poised to act. Except he never glanced in her direction. Instead, he focused on something straight ahead of him, somewhere to her left.
A petite blonde woman wearing a yellow and blue plaid shirt tied off above her navel and the shortest jean shorts ever sewn together—she probably flashed the world her crotch if she bent over—wandered into the clearing. She stared at the man as though in complete awe, and Lily couldn’t blame her. Lily might have been foolish enough to rush over to the fantasy man had the blonde not arrived.
The blonde paused as she took in the sight of the male before her, cocked a hip to the side, and began unbuttoning her plaid shirt. Sashaying toward the man, the woman continued stripping, making Lily wonder if she demonstrated her chosen profession. Then, the man stood up, completely naked, and Lily got a perfect full frontal view. She stuck her lower lip out and nodded subtly to herself in approval. Not bad.
He was glorious.
There was no discernible band or cord holding the ebony horns on his head. They curled from his temples, arched backward, and then swirled under his ears, hanging above his shoulders where they ended in blunt points. His horns were thickest at the top and framed his gorgeous face like a nature deity’s crown. Did he think he was the King of the Forest or something? Momentarily recalling the lyrics to the Cowardly Lion’s song in The Wizard of Oz, Lily snickered to herself. She couldn’t take the situation seriously, not when she’d evidently lost her hold on sanity.
When Sir Hungalot, champion of mountain nudists everywhere, strode toward the blonde, Lily noticed something strange. Wildflowers kept his feet concealed, but his legs were bent at odd angles when he moved. Below the knee, they bowed slightly back like an animal’s appendage; his calves didn’t retain the straightness of human legs. And they were much hairier near his ankles like he had tufts of fur.
Maybe he’s abnormally hairy and manscapes up top. He didn’t have much hair on his torso, a light smattering of gold dusted his chest, trailing down to his genitals and thighs which weren’t nearly has hairy as his ankles. She blinked. There was something definitely weird about his feet. Was that...was that a hoof?
Nah. Couldn’t be.
But if it was... The way in which his knees bent were in juxtaposition with the incorrect angle of his ankle, which would be necessary to support his bipedal body enough to walk. The physics of it made sense to her, but her only real science knowledge came from watching Discovery Channel. Lily found herself fixated on his movements until she glanced back at his penis—no different than a human male’s—which was very much ready for business as it swayed with his movements. Even with the wrongness of his form, he was glorious, and if she could paint worth a damn, she’d love to depict him on a canvas.
Okay, those really do look like hooves.
It all became very, very clear what was going on. Lily really was delirious after all. And because of her delirium, no harm would result from watching the beast man and the bimbo explore each other’s bodies. Was Lily having a psychotic breakdown and channeling an extreme case scenario of perversion summoned by Donovan’s accusations the day before?
Maybe.
She shrugged off her pack and carefully placed it against the pine tree she’d hidden behind. Hard to spy on figments of her mentally disturbed mind when she was weighed down with reality. Did I just make my backpack a metaphor? I really am nuts.
The man—er, creature?—laid the woman in the wildflowers and she vanished from Lily’s view. The man-beast wasted no time before he dived in face first. And seeing the placement of legs in regard to where his head dipped out of sight, her imagination had no trouble at all in connecting the dots to where he was kissing. Lily wasn’t even remotely aroused by his fervent attack on the woman’s anatomy, nope, not her. Not like the blonde anyway... The noises the woman made were almost inhuman, sort of keening and moaning all at once.
Good. God. She gawked in wide-eyed wonderment. The hell can he do with his tongue to make her produce that sound?
Lily remained immune. The deranged pornography of her hallucination did not turn her on. Nope. Not one little bit. She also did not berate herself for forgetting to pack her vibrator.
She shifted around to the other side of the tree for a better look.
Crack!
Lily stared at the stick snapped beneath her shoe with the same dread she’d imagined a victim of a landmine experienced seconds before it exploded. When she lifted her head, all of her self-assurance tha
t the scene playing out in the tall grass was her imagination died a swift death. The blond man’s gaze caught hold of her like the crosshairs of a hunter’s rifle locking on prey.
She had but one reasonable way to deal with the situation at that point.
Lily ran.
Chapter Three
Not every woman succumbed to Ariston’s satyr song, which was fine. He didn’t particularly care since they were faces without names, willing bodies to ease his lust and make eternity a little more comfortable for a few weeks. If he didn’t have sex with some random woman, the painful arousal would eventually force him to revert back to a mindless creature with one thing on its mind. Ariston never wanted to experience the horrible, painful need at full intensity again.
Most women gave into the melody he played. The song acted as a lure to females, but like any fish dancing around a baited hook, the women had a choice. If they desired the prize bad enough, they’d take a chance, and he’d reel them in. If they were spooked by what was offered, they avoided it. Ariston provided something many were too afraid to seek on their own: guilt free sex with an immortal, the memory of which would remain as if it had only been a dream. They could return to their lives and lovers as though it never happened. No strings. No regret.
Except there was regret—Ariston regretted every underhanded method he used to get laid, but such was the life of the satyr. It wasn’t like he could form a relationship and expect someone not to be freaked out when the man they’d gone on a date with sprouted horns in the bedroom and clopped around like the devil himself with cloven hooves. No, he’d stopped caring about the right and wrong of it long ago, after he gave up hoping for a way to escape his fate.
Hope was a fantasy. It led one to believe there was a chance, a cure. Salvation. But there were only so many decades, centuries even, one could live through before hope became a myth. The nymphs had all vanished despite what Daphne promised all those years ago. Ariston had roamed the Earth twenty times over. His salvation didn’t exist.
He had taken to seclusion, using the magic of his panpipes when he needed female interaction. Before the Arcadians learned to produce the human glamour they used during the daytime, they’d learned to use the song to fool wanton women into seeing what they wanted to when they looked at them. It wasn’t foolproof, and not every woman rushed into their arms. Some women stayed true to their husbands, and others refused to give into their own desires. However, some did, and it saved Ariston from a lot of trouble. It kept him from becoming what the curse wanted him to be—what he refused to be.
A blonde woman emerged from the forest, and he heaved a sigh of relief despite the contradictory knot forming in his gut from dread. Though he wasn’t in human form, the blonde saw only what she wished. If Ariston appeared to her as a satyr and she approached him anyway, well then, that was her kink to bear.
And bare she did, smiling as she did so.
Ariston slid his panpipes into the holster he’d made for them and set it atop the ranger uniform he’d folded up beside the tree when he’d undressed. He’d held back a little over three weeks this time, but the closer the eclipse came, the more agitated he grew. He’d go through the motions as he always did—bring her pleasure, take his own, and send her back to her campsite. Ariston received little from these experiences aside from a brief amount of satisfaction and the knowledge he wouldn’t be a danger as long as he had sex sometime within the next few weeks. If he waited much longer, the curse would cloud his judgment until he lost control.
Before Ariston could dwell on his lack of excitement, he had the blonde beneath him, yet he had no desire to savor his time with her. What he did with her wasn’t for enjoyment, but out of necessity. It sickened him. His body trembled, proof he was wearing himself thin in regard to his restraint. He wanted to shove the woman away. Gods, what is wrong with me? Can I even risk holding out longer? He was pretty sure he’d be rougher than usual with her, and not wanting to hurt her, Ariston delved between her thighs to prepare her with a muffled curse of his own.
Crack!
Even over the female’s exuberant mewling, the disruption effectively killed whatever bit of ambition Ariston had mustered up to get through the act. He tried to ignore the over-eager hands tugging his hair while he focused on his surroundings. If anyone else was present in the area, Ariston could be at risk of being discovered. His gaze flicked back to his panpipes, and he calculated the amount of time it would take to reach them and play the song to produce human glamour. Exposure risked not only himself, but would cost him his home. Since he was fond of the old ranger cabin he’d moved into, he didn’t want to move on yet. A safe refuge for a satyr wasn’t as easy to come by in the new day and age.
Ariston ran his hand over his mouth and squinted, continuing to scan the area the sound had originated from. There! She was tall and lithe, with dark brown, possibly even black, hair pulled back from her face and shoulders. Her eyes were wide as she gawked at him.
“Why did you stop,” Blonde whined, leaning up and snaking a hand between them to stroke his shaft. Ariston barely heard her and brushed her hand away. His sex drive reared back to life as he continued his staring contest with his audience, but he didn’t want Blonde’s hands on him. Brunette hijacked his attention, and if anyone should put their hands on him, it was her. Curiously, every ounce of anger he’d harbored while alone with Blonde melted away. He actually wanted the new girl. The need was there, as always, but he wanted her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d willingly wished to lie with a woman, as the lack of choice tainted the whole act for him.
He closed his eyes, imagining how the scenario would go. In a moment, the new girl would saunter into the clearing and join them. He’d play a quick tune to dispel Blonde, removing her from the equation, and then focus solely on Brunette. He’d take his time with her, wringing out every ounce of pleasure from her he could, and perhaps finally, finally, enjoy having sex again. She looked like she could use a nice, hard f—
Ariston opened his eyes as Brunette turned and fled like a frightened doe.
“Fuck!”
“Yes, please!” Blonde held her arms out and made “gimme” hands at him. Seriously? There wasn’t time to deal with her properly. Brunette could have taken pictures and be sending them to a news source as he sat there mindlessly reeling from shock. It only took one mortal spotting a satyr to cause a panic, and she could have other people with her.
Sex could wait for another time because if Brunette was going to expose him, Ariston would have to stop her. Of course, when he caught her red-handed, he’d have to punish her for spying. He popped to his feet, liking that plan, and raced to recover his panpipes in case he’d need them. Blonde pouted and sat up as well. Fuck. I forgot about her already.
“Um...you didn’t finish.” For such a pretty face she had a snotty little voice. Full of haughty entitlement and a spoiled upbringing. Ariston disliked being with her kind of female. Even when he satisfied them, they seemed displeased.
“Let me play you a song. It will set the mood.” He forced a smile as he slid the instrument out of the holster and raised it to his lips.
“I’m already in the mood. I was right there when you decided to stop. Right. There. It’s plain rude to back out now!”
Ignoring her, Ariston expelled quick puffs of air along the shoots, relieved when the melody to displace reality with dream memory took hold of her. Blonde’s eyes glazed over and she stood, collecting her clothing and quickly dressed while muttering obscenities which varied between insulting him and wishing foul things to be done to his genitals. She wandered off, returning to wherever her camp had been. Hopefully it would stick. Ariston didn’t have time to babysit her to be positive it had. He felt a little guilty he didn’t bring her to release, so he played a few more quick notes...and Blonde faltered in her onward march with a moan. Good for her.
Time for the chase. Ariston grinned as he turned his back on Blonde, wishing her a silent good riddance. Brunette didn’t
know it yet, but she just became the most interesting thing to happen to him in years. He strapped the holster over one shoulder and across his chest much like one did to carry and conceal a gun, snapping his panpipes securely inside it. His clothing he could come back for later, as dressing would waste more valuable seconds.
Ariston regretted that decision after he took off in pursuit, realizing his nudity would only make Brunette more cautious of him when he caught her. It wasn’t ancient times anymore where a naked satyr was, well, startling, but expected. These days it would make him not only a freak, but a pervert of the highest degree. He hadn’t been in human glamour when she spied on him, so altering his appearance seemed the least important detail in Brunette’s arrival. How had she found him without following his song into the clearing and into his hands—or had she? Only one way to find out.
Her trail ended up easy enough to follow. Brunette wasn’t exactly making it challenging for him with the obvious tracks through the wet mud. She’d left her camping gear behind, which gave him pause. Is she alone then?
He shook his head and chuckled. She wouldn’t be alone long. Ariston would have his hands on her in no time, and he was almost disappointed. Almost. Perhaps the exhilaration of the cat and mouse game was what he’d needed to suppress his lust. Though once he caught Brunette...
The sound of heaving breaths slowed him down. Gently, he parted the long fanned leaves of a wild fern aside, and his nostrils flared in triumph. Around the bend, Brunette hunched over with her hands on her knees, recovering from her haste to escape. Foolish female. From behind the foliage, Ariston allowed himself a full perusal of his prize. She wore her dark hair pulled into a braid which hung halfway down her back and had moderate sized breasts encased in a white T-shirt. Beautifully sculpted hips and a gorgeous ass flared out from a petite waist, and her toned legs flaunted their perfection beneath the hem of khaki shorts. Ariston could stand there fantasizing for hours about what he would find if he peeled the layers off; instead, he made his move.
The Cursed Satyroi: Volume One Collection Page 31