Bound to the Beast

by Kay Berrisford

  Why did I not say yes at once? He said he would not take all, and I do want him.

  His nerves quailed but could not diminish the honeyed throbbing of lust beneath the pit of his stomach. While he'd feared those mighty antlers and their sudden appearance, he could not deny that, like the rest of the man, he also considered them magnificent.

  He bit into another strawberry. Chosen thoughtlessly, it was sharp, dry, and juiceless, not ripe at all. He winced.

  "Are the fruits not as good as you believed?" asked Herne.

  Hearing his deep tone, Tam jumped up from the ledge, his mouth watering anew at the sight greeting him. Herne leaned against the frame of an arch between carvings of a laughing death's head with crossed bones and a peasant man flashing his rear. His brawny arms folded across this chest, Herne tilted his head slightly forward. Otherwise his antlers would have gouged the skull's eye socket and stabbed up the peasant's arse. Lord, were those things still growing?

  Tam strove to maintain his cool air of indifference. "Some fruits are not as ripe as others. Have you come to taste them?"

  "I am going to study the lore. The writings are in another vault. The entrance is that way." He gestured toward the west end of the cloister. "Pass through there, into the old chapter house, and you will see a spiral staircase in the corner. The library is through the door at the bottom. Join me when you are ready."

  Herne swept his dark gaze over Tam, who felt naked already. Worse, he wanted nothing more than to be naked with this beautiful man, his hunger aggravated by a twinge of desperation. What if they found the answers they sought to break the betrothal, and he lost this chance forever?

  "Please stay awhile," he said. "I think you should…try just a little of something sweet."

  He dared not wait for an answer. He turned back, chose the plumpest fruits on the vine, and piled them in his hands. Too soon, Herne's breath was hot on the back of his neck, setting the hairs standing on end.

  "As you wish," growled Herne. "If you so desire, you may feed me as I fed you."

  Tam spun to face him. Herne's closeness and the sheer size of him set Tam's mind unravelling. His gaze fixed on Herne's bearded jaw and Herne's thinned lips, angular and masculine. "With pleasure," whispered Tam, not daring to look Herne in the eye.

  He picked a strawberry and lifted it to Herne's mouth, clumsily cradling the rest. Herne parted his lips, drawing the strawberry in with his tongue. Tam held his fingers there, and Herne brushed them with his mouth, lighting fiery strands of pleasure that shot straight to Tam's loins.

  Tam dropped several strawberries to the ground, where they scattered amid the grasses. Then Herne grabbed his wrist, as he had Herne's, and sucked two fingers deep into his mouth. Tam cried out, almost laughing, although the feelings rushing through him were too intense for mirth.

  Herne caressed him with his tongue, engulfing him with wetness and heat and lapping every last drop of the strawberry juice. At the same time, he urged Tam away from the pool, until Herne's back rested against a pillar twined with ivy. Then Herne rubbed Tam's loins with his palm.

  "Oh Lord," murmured Tam. He tried to pull his hand away from Herne's mouth, but Herne held him firmly in place, circling his fingers with his tongue and coaxing him toward full erection with his hand. A groan escaped Tam's throat, traveling from his very core. He should resist, yet Herne's touch forged a paradise from which he refused to fall. He yearned to surrender, to be overwhelmed, and to beg Herne to let loose his true power. But Tam was not brave or foolish enough for that. Yet.

  Herne relinquished his hold on Tam's wrist, and Tam pulled his fingers from Herne's mouth, the wet slip of skin against skin weakening his resistance further.

  "Trust me," muttered Herne. He pressed the hardness in Tam's breeches and traced his length.

  "God's blood! Yes…Yes, I trust you," said Tam, panting hard. He scarcely tasted the delicate scent of the herbs that filled the air. Did he really trust Herne? He wavered on the brink of not caring. Desire scalding him like boiling oil, he ripped apart the lacing on the front of Herne's surcoat, so swept away he squashed the remnant of his gathered strawberries against taut muscle and thick hair. Then he raised himself and pressed his lips to Herne's, plying his tongue along the seam of his mouth and tasting Herne once more.

  Herne moaned hoarsely, suggesting surprise and relief, and plundered Tam in return, while Tam explored him with hands and lips, grinding against him. Herne strengthened the kiss, which grew wet and bruising. When Herne broke away, he plunged his hand down the front of Tam's tattered breeches to grasp his cock.

  Tam feared his seed would spurt forth there and then. Trying to hold off and ride with the bliss, he pawed at Herne's solid thorax, streaking the juices, moving to Herne's rhythms, as Herne tugged on his cock. With lips and tongue, Tam circled Herne's brown nipples, smeared them with fruit. They hardened into taut nubs as his cock wept in Herne's hand.

  Damn, he grew too near to peaking, but he did not want this to end. When Herne stilled a moment, he whimpered.

  "I need you naked, boy."

  Herne's voice sounded thick with desire, and Tam could not wait to obey.

  He lifted his arms so Herne could strip his shirt off, and then, with swift, jerking actions betraying his racing blood, Tam peeled away his breeches and tossed them over the bushes so they landed between two pillars. He stood naked save his stockings and shoes, and Herne rumbled an appreciative growl. Wrapping his arms about Tam's shoulders, he pulled him close again.

  Under Herne's surcoat, his cock firmed against Tam, so large it seemed to stretch from Tam's navel to his thigh. Tam had been so swept away he'd not thought about how little he'd done to bring Herne pleasure. Now he burned to return the favour and more. "I want to feel your flesh against mine."

  "You are quite sure?" growled Herne, withdrawing his touch.

  No. Tam's sensible self was still not sure. Either way, he could not hold back the high tide of his desire. Impatiently fumbling, he undid the rest of the lacing and stripped Herne's coat from him.

  Chapter Eight

  Underneath, Herne wore nothing, and Tam whimpered with delight. Released from captivity, Herne's cock jutted upward, thick and long, lifting with his lust. Tam drew breath sharply. His carnal instincts shouted for him to sink to his knees and take Herne's magnificent length in his mouth. Only inexperience had him hesitating. His friends had gossiped about wenches who used their lips to pleasure men. He'd listened with interest but never imagined his chance to try it would come so soon, if ever at all.

  "Please," he murmured. He smiled, uncertain, and wet his lips.

  Silent and strong, Herne took control, lowering himself with his back to the wall, bringing Tam with him so he straddled his lap. Tam grunted with pleasure at the sight before him. His cock, erect beside Herne's huge member. Even the difference between their sizes made Tam's prick twinge. Their tightened balls brushed together as they shifted, Tam's curls tangling with Herne's dark, wiry hair. Herne cupped Tam's naked arse, squeezing and bruising and marking all at once.

  "God…yes, Devil strike me!" Tam gasped. "Yes!"

  Lightly hugging his arms about Herne's shoulders, he gave in to an irresistible urge to shift his hips, to increase the stimulation. Mingling fluids sweetened the slide of flesh against flesh. Then Herne wrapped his right fist over both their cocks and began, once more, to slip and tug. The pool, strawberries, cloister, and everything around Tam vanished except Herne. He threw his head back and gasped toward the heavens, his whole being overpowered by Herne and his annihilating fist.

  Yes, they could take their pleasure together this way. It was so much better than it had been alone, with this beast of a man close, touching him.

  Yet still not close enough. You want him to overpower you, to fill you and to fuck you. Tam bit back the stab of dissatisfaction, pushing his base desires to the corners of his mind. He wanted to be no man's slave.

  But you'd do anything to have Herne torture you toward that darker bliss y
ou crave.

  "Ah!" he moaned. "No…I mean, yes! Harder…yes. I need…I need to feel…more."

  Reaching out suddenly, Herne clasped the base of Tam's throat. Realizing what was upon him, Tam jolted, his skin aflame beneath Herne's touch. He could push Herne away, but he experienced no desire to do so. He hadn't known he wanted this, but sweet heaven, he did. Just above the line of his collarbone, Herne squeezed gently, not quite restricting his breaths but sending his pulse galloping toward frenzy. Sinews on Herne's forearm hardened like metal rods, possessive and reassuring all at once.

  Tam's mind swirled, his body racked with pleasure. Herne's eyelids were heavy, his features etched with restraint and enduring sorrow, which cut Tam deeply, but too late for him to recoil. With Herne working his cock and dominating his very essence, Tam's rapture mounted, and his bliss peaked. He spilled his seed over Herne's hand and his clenched stomach.

  Herne growled like a wounded bear, and his cock shuddered, his spurt of warm semen flooding between them. When Herne released him, he sank forward against Herne's chest, unable to stand the torment of his gaze. Herne wrapped his arms around him. Sun kissed the back of Tam's neck. For an instant, he revelled in drowsy warmth and felt almost content.

  "We may find it easier to study now," said Herne. Despite his gentle embrace, his flat tone mirrored Tam's sense of frustration.

  He understands my needs better than I do. Would it be worth surrendering to him, begging him to take me properly, even it means I'm his chattel forever?

  Shocked by the whispers from his soul, he straightened, forcing Herne to let him go. To be all but enslaved for the price of a good fucking. What fool had he become?

  "That was stupid," said Tam. He found leaves to clean himself and gladly noted Herne did the same. Then he reached for his clothes and began to dress. "Why did you try to throttle me?"

  "I did not, and you know it, boy." Herne's voice remained dull, and for a moment, his eyes drifted closed. "I have known such actions to bring…great pleasure. I believed it to be what you yearned for."

  Tam could not deny this. "I'm confused, and my brain aches. Maybe you should have just eaten the damned strawberries!" He paused, wiping sweat that dripped from his brow. "Thank heaven that is over with."

  "Yes. Thank the Goddess." Herne frowned as he rose. His broad brow gleamed with perspiration too, but Tam fixed on his antlers. Had the cursed things changed again? As large and rearing as Tam had seen them, they had lost their bone-white gleam, and patches were stained an earthy brown. The ends seemed to have coiled and twisted, more like the branches of an aging oak.

  Herne, too, looked a little older; Tam wished he felt repulsed by him for the beast he was, but Herne seemed just as beautiful.

  Noticing another large tear in his breeches, Tam sighed. When he looked back, Herne's antlers were gone, and his dissatisfaction coupled with a pang of desolation. He had not captivated Herne for long.

  He muttered an oath. It would be best to dress as fully as possible before they spent more time together. So when Herne retreated into the old chapter house, Tam hurried out of the garden and cloister, toward the hearth.

  A chill dashed his skin as he stooped to pick up his jacket. He stilled, perceiving he was being watched—but Herne had already gone down to the vault. Glancing toward the gatehouse, he saw a hunched figure, a woman, her head covered by a ragged shawl. She stood slightly side-on, so he viewed her haggard profile. Maybe she was ill or her sight poor.

  "Good morrow," he called, tentative. "Have you lost your way?"

  "I am lost and starving," replied the woman, not looking at him. "Do you have any scraps to spare, sir?"

  If she wasn't local, she'd know nothing of the massacre that kept others away. She'd have seen the smoke from their fire and been drawn to the ruins in the faint hope of charity. His solitude with Herne would be spoiled. He bit back yet another stab of dissatisfaction, chiding himself.

  "We have broth," he called, pointing to the remaining mess in the pot. "Do come in. There's a little left."

  She stepped over the threshold, her face still shadowed, although her back straightened. Her straw-like hair tumbled from her hood down only one side of her breast. And he recalled the half-rotted, half-bald woman caught in the whirlwind of the Wild Hunt.

  "I was wrong," he shouted, kicking the pot over. "There's nothing left. Move on, old woman, or my master will give you a beating."

  Was he being cruel to some poor beggar? Alarm stabbed through him, stressing otherwise. He turned on his heels and ran back toward the garden, toward Herne. Better safe than dead.

  "What fool fears a mere woman and runs to a beast?" The woman's voice sounded frighteningly close and grew louder and shriller by the second. "I come to warn you, boy—it's only a matter of time before he tires and cuts your throat."

  He'd not reached the arched passage when she grabbed his wrist and spun him around. Her grip was cold, her strength crushing for one so much smaller than he.

  "Get away from me," he cried.

  She pulled down her shawl to reveal her half-bald head, one side of her face naked to the bone save dangling strips of flesh, her eye a gory socket. She stank like the slaughterhouse.

  "Tell Herne to return to us. It's your only hope—that his appetite is gorged on destruction before he turns his full might on you. He'll rip your puny body apart."

  The irony pierced deep into his fuddled mind. "You think I keep Herne from the Hunt? That I could command him to ride?" He heaved a rueful laugh. "I have no such power over him. Our betrothal was a terrible mistake."

  The witch interrogated him with the stare of her single glassy eye. As if she knew he was lying. But he'd told the truth. Hadn't he?

  "You have no power over him?" asked the witch, lessening her grip slightly. "He cares nothing for you?"

  "No, and I abhor him." He finally tugged free. "I can't help you. Get out of here, witch."

  "You protest too much, boy," she said, backing away from him. "Your mind is not as clear as you think."

  Clear? His mind was far from clear, but he had to get away from this woman. He backed fast toward the arch. Then she drew a knife. From its point, red sparks sliced through the air, and he crumpled to the ground, engulfed in scorching, all-consuming pain.

  *~*~*

  Holding a flaming torch aloft, Herne descended the spiral staircase. Cool air licked his damp skin but did little to assuage his frustrations. He had resisted taking all, resisted fucking Tam. And the result of their mutual pleasuring had been opposite of that desired. The heat of Tam's kisses was like nectar, and his slender, writhing body, and—oh Goddess! When he'd held Tam in his arms, the Elfaene's proclamation nearly held sway.

  Indeed, Tam's tight arse would no doubt fit about his throbbing member like a silken glove. The lad pleaded, with those damned wide eyes and fluttering lashes, to be taught the depths of carnal joy, of the heights of passion wrought through the mastery and domination Herne once loved to give.

  Or could he be imposing Crea's desires on a pale shadow of his cursed love?

  I grow too old for this.

  Truly, Herne desired only peace, although Tam's company at this particular moment would be useful. Tam's prolonged disappearance was surprising, given his keenness to read the texts. Herne paused by the door to the vault. What had delayed him? A moment ago, Tam had been in such a hurry.

  Muttering self-chastisement—he was fretting like a silly vixen over her cub—Herne sped back up the stairs. As he burst into daylight, he breathed the faint stench of decay mingled with summer scents of the garden. His focus latched on to Tam, sagged on the ground beyond the passage. Beside him, a being with the appearance of a woman stooped to sharpen a knife against a fallen stone. Then she leaned to brush back the long hair from Tam's neck, about which was clasped a twiggy garland of hazel leaves, twisted tight like a collar.

  Godda.

  Her powers had been waning for centuries, yet she had contrived entry to the abbey?

&nbs
p; There was no time to demand answers. He knew Godda's game, the meaning of the hazel ligature. She was preparing to kill Tam, to drain his blood for the foul spirits of Niogaerst, so she could channel their power to boost her own—and that of the Hunt.

  Herne's roar was wordless, and his antlers burst forth; he charged through the passage, singly intent on stilling the witch's hand, which she now raised, flicking her knife through the air toward him. It missed his ear by half a yard and struck the breast of the carved eagle that flanked the arched entrance. The knife clattered to the ground. He heard a piercing scrape, and the eagle lifted its granite wings. A terrible spell had been cast, and he launched forward to stop the witch, but too late. Cold stone clamped about his arms and shoulders, wrenching them behind him and holding him fast.

  He roared louder. Glancing wildly from side to side, he saw the stone eagle had wrapped its curving talons about one shoulder, while the Green Man statue had stooped down from the far side and used his leafy hands to snare the other.

  "Release me!"

  "Ah, Herne," said Godda. "You do care."

  He strained with every fibre against his stone wardens, sweat breaking across his body, but they held fast, pinioning him. Godda rose to pick up her knife, and then returned to roll Tam onto his back. She tore open his shirt, baring the delicate throat Herne had so recently toyed with, and cackled with glee. Herne bit his lip till he tasted copper and struggled till he moaned.

  Tam, too, was breathing fitfully. The rest of his body had become pliant, as if held in a stupor, although the flush on his cheeks and the raw terror in his eyes suggested he could feel every iota of whatever agonizing pain spell she had used to cripple him. Godda trailed the tip of her knife along the gentle hollow of the lad's collarbone, pressing just hard enough to leave a thin white line, though Herne felt each moment with as much agony as if she hacked into his own flesh.