The Cursed Satyroi: Volume One Collection

by Rebekah Lewis

  “That’s pretty boastful of you,” Lily goaded. “What makes you so special?”

  “I think you know.”

  “Spell it out for me. Is it because you’re a centaur?” Maybe that was the right myth.

  The man threw his head back and laughed. “Is it because I’m hung like a horse, love? I’ll take that as a compliment.” When Lily stared at him blankly, he elaborated. “Centaurs have the upper body of a man and the lower body of a horse. His dangly bits are all stallion and not compatible with human women. Luckily for their race, female centaurs exist. My, er, species, for lack of a better term for it, wasn’t as fortunate.”

  “There are really half-horse people in this world?”

  “They tend to stay hidden. Travel isn’t much of an option since they have a huge ass giving them away.” He motioned to the empty space behind him with one hand as if patting an invisible horse’s rump behind him.

  Lily couldn’t form a response. Hell, she had no coherent thoughts anymore. They were discussing mythological creatures as though they were part of the real world. Time to accept her departure from reality and find a solution to regain it.

  Tall, Blond, and Possibly-Greek strolled over to the chest of drawers and picked up the urn Lily kept glancing at. He turned it around to show her the full artwork. Like many Grecian urns, it portrayed a story through pictures. The images depicted the goatman chasing women, catching the women, and then, hello there, orgy.

  “Are you trying to say you’re that goatman?” Lily asked flatly.

  “Goatman, is it?” He laughed. “The politically correct term is ‘satyr,’ but yes, this was an urn celebrating—or warning, if you ask certain people—my sexual exploits in Ancient Greece. Although, it could also be Calix. Depends on who you ask. The horns are rounded, and the two of us were the only blonds with these horns. However, there were no satyr orgies as trying to find a single lover was enough of a challenge with this form. The story on this urn is greatly exaggerated.”

  Satyr. Pffft.

  “Uh, huh. Right. And why is it ‘satyr’ sounds remarkably like ‘Satan?’”

  “Satan is actually a Hebrew name. The words have no connection, but the representation does. Classical depictions of Satan were given the characteristics Greeks and Romans attributed to their artistic versions of satyrs: goatee, cloven hooves, horns... Fear of us debauching women and running wild caused enough distrust with humans that the stories inspired their idea of the ultimate evil Satan is considered to be. You saw earlier that I’m not red, and I don’t have a pointy tail or pitchfork. And I damn sure don’t smell like brimstone. My name’s Ariston, by the way. In case you don’t want to continue with Goatman.”

  He wanted to be on a first name basis with her? And did his eyes have to be such a pretty shade of sapphire? It distracted her. Hell, he distracted her. Lily couldn’t exude contempt and disinterest in helping him with whatever he needed her for if she repeatedly went gaga over his handsomeness.

  “I don’t recall any Aristons in the myths I read in school. You expect me to believe you’re on that urn? You don’t look a day over seven hundred.” Immortality wasn’t possible. Of course, satyrs didn’t exist either. Scientists would have found them! Uh, huh. Just like they found evidence of Sasquatch and that flying devil thing supposedly living in New Jersey. This is such a load of crock. Dude doesn’t even have horns anymore.

  “Thank you.” His tone lacked amusement. “Most of the legends were lost before written records came into being, and the popular stories taught certain lessons. Pan and Silenus are the satyrs you are more likely to encounter in a textbook; however, their stories were recorded wrong, as many others were. On occasion Orestes is mentioned as satyr even though Agamemnon’s son shared the same name and is more well-known.”

  He appeared to be serious.

  “I’m sure you knew Agamemnon personally,” Lily retorted dryly.

  “Pan met him once or twice.”

  “Okay, this is silly. I get that you’re really into the whole satyr thing, but don’t you think you’re taking it a bit far? Believing you are one, and one that lived during the time of the ancient Greeks as well? Can’t you just let me go on my way now? I won’t tell anyone there is a mentally disturbed man living out here alone?”

  Ariston set the urn back where he’d retrieved it, turned, and then approached the bed where she sat. Lily didn’t realize she’d scooted back until her back pressed against the wall. He placed one hand against headboard and the other on the bed, caging her. “I really didn’t want to do this.”

  Do what? Force himself on me? “Um, then don’t.”

  “There is only one way to prove I am who I say I am. That satyrs are real.”

  Her eyes widened. She told herself she didn’t notice a thrill race down her spine. Snap out of it, Lily! Disgusted by herself for feeling terrified and aroused simultaneously, she could only brace herself for whatever he did next. It was very wrong. The whole situation was wrong, wrong, wrong! “There is really no need to do anything extreme. You’re a satyr. I get it.”

  “I think you’re saying you believe because you’re afraid of admitting it’s true.” He backed up a few paces and removed his shirt. Lily’s traitor of a mouth went dry. The crazy man was ripped. Her brain and body seriously needed to have a meeting about cooperating, because her body was digging what she saw despite the danger involved.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  He unfastened his pants and let them drop. He went commando, and he was semi-erect already. She shouldn’t find that mesmerizing. Not when she was appalled by his lack of boundaries. Yeah, totally appalled right now.

  “Seriously, what are you doing?” she repeated and shrank into the corner of the bed between the headboard and the wall. Her body finally catching up with the cries of warning her brain had been shrieking at it as Ariston hunched over and pulled the ancient-looking flute thing out of his discarded pants’ pocket and tossed it out of the room. Lily didn’t see where it landed due to the distractingly naked man in front of her. A few seconds passed before anything happened, but then it did. A slight ripple passed over his body, kind of like heat causes the air to waver over a paved road in the summer, disappearing as suddenly as it appeared. Where Ariston had looked positively human moments before, he’d become a satyr again, with spiraling horns and cloven hooves. He reached for her, eyes flashing with the intent to do every naughty thing possible to her body.

  Even as her back arched, thrusting her hips toward him, pulled by some magnetic attraction that terrified her worse than he did, Lily screamed.

  ***

  Ariston sighed as he seized the woman’s arm during her admirable attempt to climb over him. At first, he’d thought she’d fling herself against him, had hoped, but then she’d chosen to demonstrate fight or flight. If Ariston had been mortal, her knee to his stomach would have taken him down a peg. He wasn’t though, and he’d been hit in far more sensitive places. With the enhanced healing, it merely stung.

  When he tightened his grip, it was as if the force of her will to run became a physical burden. Her body dropped to the floor, her arm hanging almost lifeless within his grasp. Shuddering, she started to hyperventilate, and then the sobbing started. He let go of her arm and backed away cautiously as she curled into a ball.

  What had happened to his brave nymph from the day before? I happened. This change is my doing. He rubbed a hand over his chest, having no idea how to deal with sobbing women. He’d rarely witnessed his own mother cry.

  “Oh, come on. It’s not contagious,” Ariston bit out, more vehemently than intended, as he concentrated on dressing. He was being a dick, scaring her, pressuring her, not to mention he’d dropped his fucking pants to prove a point. And he’d made her cry. Those tears were his fault.

  Although, she’d been wounded and alone when she’d found him, come to think of it. She kept referring to a boyfriend as well. The last time she’d done so, he’d detected a hitch to her voice. While she’d b
een unconscious, he’d gone back to retrieve his clothing and her discarded backpack with the tent and sleeping bag rolled up and strapped to it.

  No evidence of a man’s campsite anywhere nearby. Why would Brunette have taken her belongings and then traveled on her own? Her reaction could be a combination of his actions combined with previous trauma. Ariston would get to the bottom of it, but first, he needed to show her he wasn’t a threat.

  “You had to see the change happen to my legs. If I’d been wearing pants you would have assumed it a trick of smoke and mirrors. You had to see.” He pushed. It didn’t explain his impulse to remove his shirt too, but he couldn’t go back and start over with his demonstration.

  “I believe you. Please let me go.” The hopeful little squeak in her voice made him feel even worse about keeping her there. He wanted to assure her she could leave and never look back. The impending Satyr Moon reminded him there wasn’t an option. He would grit his teeth and attempt not to let the drop of each tear over the week stab him in the heart as he worked at winning her over.

  “How about getting off of my floor and sitting down so we can have a little chat.” He reached for Brunette and, after a brief hesitation, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. She sniffled a little, but had otherwise calmed herself. His theory that something horrible happened before he met her could very well prove true. Ariston delicately shoved her onto the bed where she landed with a bit of a bounce, drawing his gaze back to her breasts involuntarily. He turned his back to her and took shallow breaths.

  He’d gone nearly a month without sex, longer than he had in years. It would be difficult being around her and not allowing himself to touch her, but he could handle it. He had too. Ariston thought the worst was behind him, but apparently he’d had it easy all along. “Now that I have your attention, and you’ve hopefully moved past the whole denial stage, let’s go over the basic facts.”

  “How about you let me leave, and I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”

  “You already made that offer, several times, and the answer is still no. You’re going to tell me what your name is, or I’m going to start making up little pet names until you do. I can’t keep calling you ‘Brunette’ in my mind.”

  “Like I’d tell you anything.” She crossed her arms and turned her head away. “I don’t have to cooperate with you, and you’re bossy. Well, you would be, wouldn’t you?”

  Ariston blinked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, nothing. I’m guessing you were probably the origin of the whole ‘stubborn as a goat’ adage.” She resumed her defiance, staring out the window that was right above the foot of the bed rather than making eye contact.

  Says the one refusing to tell me her name. He had only so much patience, and it was running out fast.

  “That’s incredibly rude. I didn’t look at you and say, ‘Oh, you have a full lower lip, so you must be great at oral sex,’ did I? You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Don’t assume you know more about me than you do.”

  Her cheeks turned crimson as she held a hand up to her lip, brushing it lightly with her fingers. Ariston nearly groaned, but he was saved from making a fool out of himself as she recovered her wits and shot back, “But accosting me while you’re naked was the epitome of perfect manners?” She arched a dark eyebrow at him.

  “That’s fair, but if you keep on with the goat jokes I’m going to come up with some ‘adages’ for you so beyond chauvinistic you’ll want to puncture your own ear drums. I have been around for a long time, meaning I can get real creative.” He could have left it at that, should have, but then he added, “I’m not part-goat, damn it.”

  Why did she vex him so much? Everything he said or did seemed to dig him deeper into the hole he slowly buried himself in. Either he made her cry or freaked her out. Where was the common ground?

  She looked him up and down, arching a brow at his change of demeanor. Something about the bulge in his pants seemed to convince her he’d make good on the threat of producing really offensive comments. It didn’t matter if he’d been quite cordial in the past; as he’d said, she didn’t know him. She had no idea he’d never been intentionally vulgar.

  You dropped your pants in front of her. Idiot. It doesn’t get much more vulgar than that.

  “Fine.” She actually rolled her eyes at him. The cheeks were splotchy from tears as she wiped them dry and resumed her defiant posturing, acting like she hadn’t broken down moments before. Ariston wouldn’t dare hold it against her.

  “Didn’t mean to get your panties in a twist—oh, wait. You aren’t wearing any. Before you start calling me something insulting, my name is Lily.” She frowned, “What kind of a name is Ariston, anyway? Sounds like a label on an aerosol can.”

  Ariston snorted. She didn’t want him to insult her. Ha. “If you’re cranky and needing some stress relief, we can continue this conversation later. Your disposition will be a lot better by then.” He took pleasure in watching her haughty expression slip into a silent, indignant annoyance. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he was momentarily glad there wasn’t anything near her she could use as a weapon. In any case, Ariston was the cranky one, and they both knew it. His comment received the desired effect of putting a stop to Lily’s snide comments about satyrs, goats, and his name though.

  If he really wanted to be a jerk, he’d remark on how a water nymph named after a pond flower was coincidental. The only thing preventing him was he highly doubted she knew about nymphs in general, let alone how it affected her. At the moment, he came close to blurting it out and stomping away in frustration. If he hadn’t already made a huge ass of himself, he may have done it. Considering what it took to prove he was a satyr, making her believe she was a nymph wouldn’t be something she’d enjoy.

  Ariston occupied himself by retrieving his panpipes from the living room. Afterward, he dragged a wooden chair from the dining table back to the bedroom. He sat in it backward, facing Lily, and crossed his arms over the back.

  “You don’t have to be frightened of me. I don’t believe in withholding the truth, so I’m going to be straight with you. Despite the fact it may be difficult to come to terms with, I can’t have sex with you even if I wanted to.” He played a quick tune with his panpipes to return his human glamour as he waited for his words to sink in, wondering if there had been any other way to phrase what he’d said without sounding less weird. Or like I had sexual anxiety issues.

  “Um...I have no idea why you think I would have trouble coming to terms with that. Quite full of yourself, aren’t you?” Wait…what?

  “Come again?”

  “You said you couldn’t have sex with me even if you wanted to, and, first of all, thanks for making it sound like it would be a great chore, asshole. Secondly, you started the sentence by implying I wouldn’t be able to cope with it.”

  He closed his eyes and counted backward from ten. “That wasn’t what I meant. I wanted you to know I wasn’t going to have sex with you. Not that I didn’t want to. Because, I do.” He shifted in the chair. “Badly.”

  Lily twiddled her thumbs together in clasped hands. “So why won’t I be able to handle that. I’m a chick. I deal with creepers leering at me all the time.”

  I’m a leering creeper now. Great. “There is something I need to tell you, and it’s a delicate issue. It’s why it is essential you know I’m not a horrible person.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following...”

  Ariston focused on using his thumbnail to poke at a splinter on the chair back as he continued, “More specifically, I can do just about anything else I want to do to you as long as we don’t have intercourse.” With a glance in her direction he saw Lily’s brow crease up and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. His groin tightened, and he diverted his eyes. Damn that lower lip!

  “My initial plan was to not tell you much more than you need to know on a daily basis, but it wouldn’t be fair to you. I can’t have sex with you now, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t
going to happen. And frankly, liars piss me off, so I refuse to be one myself.”

  Lily sighed. “Enough with skirting the issue. Will you please spit it out already? I’m tired of not knowing what is going to happen to me. I’d like to get it over with so I can lick my wounds and move on with my life.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “Christ, if I am even alive at the end of this. Whatever this is. Sex, sex, sex. Every time you use the word I am closer to throwing myself through the window.”

  Ariston decided to deviate from the topic, at least for the moment. “What happened to you before you followed my song?”

  Lily pulled her knees up to her chin and laid her head upon them. She had shut him away, drawing into the comfort of herself. Perhaps if he helped her through what had happened prior to running into him, she’d be more inclined to give him a chance. If he could keep his pants on.

  “Really? More skirting?” She sighed. “Why do you even care? You’ll do what you want regardless.”

  “I want to know.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I can’t help you if you don’t.”

  Lily was off the bed and in his face before he could blink. “Help me? You want to help me? Are you fucking with my head? What is the point!” She tossed her arms up and then brought them down to run her hands through her disheveled braid. “It’s too late. It’s done. You can’t screw me, but you will, you say. What kind of assurance is that? ‘Don’t worry, I’m not gonna take advantage of you...yet.’ Ugh. You won’t let me leave, but you want to help me. I don’t understand.” She tugged at her hair, eyes wide as she gazed helplessly at her surroundings and away from him. “Why are you acting like you’re my friend when you aren’t? I don’t want to know you. I want to go home.”

  Her voice broke on “home,” and Ariston thought she would cry again. She didn’t. Instead, Lily sank back on the bed and glared at him.

  The conversation was not headed in the direction he’d hoped. When he’d envisioned meeting a nymph, he figured she’d be disappointed in having to wait until the eclipse, but she’d want to spend time with him once she came to know him. Not his nymph. Ariston’s nymph was his kidnapped hostage who wanted to gouge his eyes out. He’d have to keep her under observation to prevent her escaping and reporting him to the authorities. Not that he couldn’t handle the authorities, but it would be most inconvenient to reveal himself to humans in a jail cell.