Bound to the Beast

by Kay Berrisford

  They tumbled to the earth as one, wrestling, chests heaving with growls and sighs as Herne pinned Tam beneath him on the mulch. Taking Tam's wrists in a single hand, he rendered Tam helpless between his legs. Then he reached over for the pouch of grease. Oh Goddess, nobody pleaded with his eyes as well as Tam did, his lips slightly parted, his breath harsh with anticipation.

  The grease secreted in his palm, Herne released him.

  "Show me that tight little arse."

  Wordless, Tam obeyed.

  *~*~*

  Tam's vision brimmed with tears born of smoke and the flash of fire. His senses surrendered to Herne. He could not feel the heat from the circle of flame, just the power rolling in ever-mounting waves from the Greenwood spirit. Tam raised himself up on his hands and knees and offered his body to be claimed, to be sacrificed, for their future life together.

  He knew Herne held back; he sensed Herne reined in much of his strength and would not rip into him without care. Tam felt so ravenous he half wished he would. Gently, Herne stroked up his cleft, teasing the backs of his balls and kneading his entrance, his most vulnerable core. His touch set Tam whimpering as if the torturer's whip sliced him. He pushed his hips back in entreaty, pleading for more.

  "Yes…yes!"

  With a slippery finger, Herne circled his hole and pressed inside, the pang too slight to be pain and not all-consuming enough to be sublime. Herne opened and prepared him, reaching deeper but not yet touching Tam's most tender place that he'd awakened before.

  Tam closed his eyes, relishing the tang of the loamy earth, its bedlike softness beneath his hands and knees. But Herne overwhelmed all. "Want you. Want more."

  "Not yet," growled Herne. The note of danger in his voice made Tam's cock twinge again. As Herne widened him further, twisting his hand, it felt like syrup mixed with thorns—sweet, stinging, and nigh celestial. Tam squeezed his muscles, drawing Herne toward that spot that must be made of magic. Herne worked him ever rougher, preying deeper, and then swiftly he withdrew.

  Tam's body tightened with apprehension, thrill fuelled by unquenchable fear. This was it. He placed his very existence in Herne's trust. He chewed his lip, swallowing back his pleas because his belief grew absolute. He wanted this.

  Herne lowered his lips to Tam's ear. "I need to take you the other way around. I have to see your face."

  Desperate to obey, he rolled over, hugging his knees to his chest, offering his arse once more. Herne loomed above him on his knees, his broad shoulders shuddering with every breath. Then…yes! Leaning down over Tam, Herne ran his cock betwixt his buttocks. Herne felt impossibly hard and large as he spread him, setting his body aflame with the intimacy of the contact. Herne waited, poised, his power still tangible while his body fell motionless.

  Tam's every muscle quailed, relentless shivers racking him. He thrust his hips back, parting his thighs, pleading with his body as well as his eyes.

  Fuck me to oblivion.

  "Easy now, lad." Herne stroked Tam's chest, drifted lovingly over his cock. Tam purred and rippled like a cat beneath his touch.

  "Ngggn, yes. Please, please!"

  He lifted Tam's hips and placed his cock at his entrance, increasing the pressure until Tam's body opened. And Tam screamed, a thunderbolt of pained pleasure forcing him to stretch his eyes wide.

  For a moment, Herne lingered there. Tam gulped air, adjusting to the scorching penetration of Herne's flesh—and his gaze. The latter too much to bear, he rolled his head to the side, absorbing a little of the world around him, enough to register the flames had nearly died. A hazy blue glow circled them, along with the toadstools. Beyond, a hundred pairs of bright white lights glittered.

  Fairy eyes.

  Every fairy in the pack had fixed her gaze on him, and in that jot of time, Tam's faith was cast into stark relief. He wanted every being in the Greenwood to know to whom he belonged, to observe his claiming by the spirit he had ensnared and saved. Every watching fairy sealed his complicity. He felt no wisp of shame in the act; nothing had ever felt more natural. He belonged in this world. A strange power shuddered through him.

  Then he saw no more, because Herne pushed forward, splitting him, forcing his body toward its unbroken limits until his senses overflowed and all he could do was whimper. Herne's hot breath lashed his throat, across his stricken, sweat-drenched features, his gaping mouth. And…agh! The shift of real flesh inside him taught Tam his fantasies had always been shadows of the truth.

  "Sweet Goddess," he whispered. I can't take this. His fright intoxicated him, but he wanted more, his body wavering just on the pleasurable side of pain. Herne planted a hard kiss on his mouth, and he experienced an urge to waggle his arse, to goad him on. Heavens, Herne crippled him.

  Slowly at first, Herne started fucking him; he gave Tam what he'd always craved. Herne struck his sweet spot, and Tam's quivering ecstasy built harder and faster, although the power Herne rained into him rivalled even that. Yes…yes, Tam could take this. His body yielded to the onslaught, writhing under the sensation of being stretched, filled, and mastered. His dark desires to be bound and whipped, and even the ginger, paled to nothingness compared to having Herne's searing flesh inside him.

  Herne reared above him, more demigod than spirit with his antlers shining like a silvery crown. The slap of his balls against Tam's arse shook them both, blurring the lines of Tam's vision. Herne looked down at him, wild and adoring in all his ferocity.

  He'd forced Herne over that edge, to where his passions held sway. Amid the tempest, Tam's pride swelled. The beast loved him, and he wanted all of Herne—man, beast, and antlers—and to be fucked over that wondrous brink. Herne slammed into him, striking that upper part of Tam's channel, making his muscles clench, and he trembled on the cusp of a devastating thrill.

  Straightening, Herne hoisted Tam up, lifting his pelvis far above the ground. Tam, moving instinctually, wrapped his legs about Herne, arching his back. And Herne thrust and thrust, striking Tam deeper than he believed possible, stretching him and burning him and tormenting him, setting his insides convulsing until the last of his wits shattered.

  Who was he? What was his name? He threw his arms above his head and whimpered. He didn't care. Herne was all he felt, all he needed to be complete.

  He vaguely knew Herne grasped his cock, the motion and tightness sublime. Then, deep inside him, Herne started to quake. Tam's body shook too, and then pulled taut so sharply he felt he might be ripped into a thousand pieces. Bright stars shot into streaks of fire that tore down his spine and scorched through his brains. Bittersweet agony seized him, echoed by the purest sweep of bliss. Herne's rapture broke as he struck Tam's core, a consummating, blistering flood.

  Herne roared, and Tam coated his hand with his thick white liquid.

  Then everything fell still. Tam knew not if he breathed. The two of them still joined, Herne lowered him to the earth and sagged forward to wrap him in his arms.

  Yours forever, as I choose to be, huntsman.

  Then the world faded.

  *~*~*

  For a long while, Tam drifted through darkness. He grew aware of a jolting sensation that suggested he was being carried, and the comforting feel of Herne's arms about him. But these reassurances battled in vain against the chills racking him, tearing him apart from within. Thunder tore his ears, icy whips of water sliced his neck and face, while burning winds crept between his protector's flesh and his own, however tightly Herne held him, however desperately he strained toward him.

  When the elements died down, the pain grew all-consuming, his skull too tight, as if it were slowly splitting in two. Strange faces screamed at him, half human and half animal, men with the long noses of wolves and women with wide, flaring nostrils and the white fangs of bats. He saw death's heads lit by flashes of blinding light, and his stomach wrenched as if ripped, his insides pummelled as if the dry bones of his vilest dreams fucked him.

  He felt like he was dying, and for a long while, all he wanted was n
othingness. But little by little, he became aware Herne remained with him. Herne stroked his brow, pressed his lips against his own, breaking into Tam's torment and affording a little relief.

  Herne's soft, deep voice touched him too. At first his whispers sounded wordless; Tam could comprehend nothing of them. But at length his speech grew clear. In tones less broken than his usual habit, Herne told tales of distant times, of the world when he was young, before his heart was first broken. He told of his terrible torment at the hands of the spirits, and of truths that made Tam feel as though he'd seen his own face in a lighted mirror for the first time. These stories did not only belong to Herne. They explained Tam's very existence.

  "When the Romans came to these shores," said Herne, "I was not the only being whose cherished ones betrayed him. For the Romans did not come alone. They brought their gods—Mars, Mercury, Diana, Jupiter, and more. There were many, and they were powerful. Some of our native spirits stayed, and a few, like Sulis, embraced her Roman sister, Minerva, and became as one. Many others fled with the Druids toward the west, many to the sacred isle now known as Anglesey. Cernunnos was one among this number—yes, the namesake of my horse. Ancient spirit of the oak and hunting, he wore a crown of antlers, much like my own. And in distant times, he led the Wild Hunt.

  "Cernunnos's cowardice so angered the Goddess she seized his gifts from him when he fled, and her spirits passed them on to me. But mayhap, Tam, the Goddess did not only snatch Cernunnos's gifts. For there was also that ancient prince of the holly, whose name has been lost in the mists of time, and whose stolen crown and immortality she might have withheld as time rolled on another fifteen hundred years. Until she judged old Herne the Hunter had suffered long enough without comfort and was no good lord of vengeance anymore. And have not the bards always told us how close bedfellows are love and hate?"

  If this tale continued, Tam never heard. His sleep grew too deep, too peaceful. When at length he opened his eyes, he had no notion where he was and could scarce recall his name. But he knew to whom he belonged. Herne's face filled his vision, fine lines of worry creasing his brow.

  Weakly Tam smoothed cracked lips together. He had no strength to move, but he wanted to speak. He felt…new. Yes, that was it. All the pain had passed after that great storm, of which he'd been faintly aware, and now deep within, he felt a honeyed glow. A little like when Herne fucked him but, mercifully, not quite so intense.

  Tam noticed now they were back in the abbey vaults, amid the arches and grotesques and the books and scrolls. "Herne, I…I…" His voice cracked, and his throat felt very dry. Herne pressed his fingers on his mouth, gently silencing him, and then lifted a bowl of water to his lips. Obediently, Tam supped.

  "The storm raged for two days and two nights," said Herne. "You turned the sky of day black as jet, Tam." He smiled. When he put down the bowl and pulled him into his arms, Tam shivered with pleasure. "That may only be the start of the transformation. Your change has been different from that I expected. But the worst is over, and you're here. You're mine."

  "And…what next?"

  Tam's breath hitched, and Herne's features hardened with sincerity, answering before his voice did. "You stay with me. We ride back to Windsor, I will show you my country, and we will live together in peace. And in comfort and maybe just a touch of luxury, when the forest affords it to us."

  "That sounds good." Tam looked at a pile of Brother Herbert's unbound vellum, and he narrowed his eyes. Besides Herne's company, the English forests offered plenty to fulfil him, hidden in their depths. After all, more books and writings existed here than he'd ever encountered before. These treasures needed somebody to sort them out, maybe to write an index like he'd seen in a few of the religious books. It might prove a lifetime's achievement. Or several lifetimes.

  He would think about that when he felt stronger. He laughed softly, grateful when Herne's lips captured his own. Every part of him yearned for Herne, who breathed hot life into his strengthening body. Tam could not grow strong fast enough. Even now, he wanted to grab Herne's arse and match his rising strength to Herne's godlike frame.

  *~*~*

  Herne rode from the Greenwood, Dewer weaving dangerously near Cernunnos's hooves. Tam sat behind him on the saddle with his arms wrapped under his own. And Herne was not content.

  His antlers burst rampant from his skull. Again.

  Even as he snarled, Tam laughed. "You're insatiable."

  "Then stop rubbing your groin against my arse, boy." Just the feel of Tam's breath hot on his neck proved enough to make him hard, let alone such taunting gestures. "This is why we can ride only from dusk until dawn. I'm not safe to be seen anywhere with you near me."

  "Maybe we shouldn't wait until Windsor to scratch your itch?"

  "Don't tempt me." He underpinned his answer with a frustrated growl. He would ride as hard and fast as he could this night, but he wanted to give Tam's body time to adjust and heal. But Goddess, restraint was difficult when he shared a horseback with a man born to make him happy and whose pretty arse was clearly intended to sheathe his needy cock.

  As they travelled along the high downland, the flickering lights of Little Lyndton became visible in the valley, and they heard the faint chime of the church bells.

  "I wonder what ails them now," murmured Tam.

  Herne looked back at him. "Are you at all sorry to be leaving, lad?"

  "No." Tam answered without a flinch. "I never belonged there, and now I know why. But I wonder why the bells are tolling so late into the evening. Do you think the Spaniards are coming?"

  He felt Tam stiffen, and he had no answer. He set his jaw and spurred the horse faster. If invasion had come, he must keep Tam safe in the forests, and the sooner they crossed the open lands the better. When two dark figures became visible at a crossroads ahead, he tugged the reins, slackening their pace and gripping the hilt of his sword.

  "We've been waiting for you—huntsman, Tam," said Calleagh. Under the moonlight, Herne discerned her violet eyes, her voluptuous gossamer-clad curves, and beside her, Ann, offering her usual tight smile.

  "What service can we do for you, ladies?" Herne felt loath to stop but knew Tam would wish to.

  "You can offer us nothing," answered Calleagh. "Ann just wanted to be sure Tam was well. And I see he is."

  Tam reached to catch Ann's outstretched hand. "You don't have to go back to Richard, do you? Because you're not a fairy?"

  "Oh, no," replied Ann. "Calleagh and I are going to live alone in the forest. We'll be well. I trust her, remember? She's left her sisters for me."

  Tam kissed the backs of her fingers and let her go. Calleagh clapped her hands around a swooping firefly, then released it apparently unharmed.

  Ann puffed her cheeks. "You're so cruel."

  "So are you." Calleagh leaned closer to her and whispered, "I can still feel the bruises your palms left on my thighs, and I all but weep to feel you between my legs once more. But please let me tell the huntsman why the bells ring." Ann shrugged her assent, and Calleagh's pout budded into a knowing grin. "They might just be a little surprised."

  The bells rang in celebration. Calleagh and Ann had learned the reason from a peddler. The great storm had swept both land and sea, and over a dozen Spanish ships had been wrecked.

  "The Armada was already on the run," finished Ann, "but now the threat is over with. England is saved, and it seems not only Sir Francis Drake and his gallant sailors are to be thanked."

  Tam fell still a moment. Then Herne absorbed the soft vibration of his laughter, and he pressed his hand over his boy's. They didn't discuss the victory until they'd bidden their farewells and the bells of Little Lyndton faded far behind them.

  "So you brought down England three times, Herne the Hunter—and I saved it without even trying."

  "Boasting does not become thee, lad," muttered Herne. He pondered what a powerful spirit the Goddess had created for him. And what a fine sparring partner Tam would become.

  "Are you goi
ng to teach me my place, then?"

  "Yes, indeed. This very night."

  Tam laughed, scrubbing his groin against Herne once more, the contact setting both their lusts aflame. "Then take me home, man. And let's seal this betrothal again and again, and every way we can."

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  The air tasted different in the spring. The fresh tang of wine-red heather shoots mingled with the earthy breath of the mulch. Viewed from a distance, Beaumont Abbey appeared as if she, too, might have been caught in this process of regeneration. Vines spread and twisted about her crumbling facade, reclaiming her for the forest.

  "Are you sure you will be happy there alone?" asked Herne, as they approached on foot across the blaze of scarlet foliage, the dog galloping on ahead. Tam shot him a sidelong glance, mildly withering.

  "I'll be well enough with all the work I've to do. But I do miss home already. I've just made that place comfortable enough to live in, seeing as we must grunt about in a labyrinth beneath an oak like badgers." Tam laughed, and Herne blessed him with the glower he deserved. "For shame, I hope you don't expect me to make this old ruin a proper home for us too."

  "No. I expect you to study and quit complaining." In truth, Herne was pleased Tam discovered such purpose in life. The lad insisted he would sort and bind Brother Herbert's writings into a single volume that he would name using a word from Herne's ancient tongue. Aeboda. It meant "lore." But books were not the sole reason for their journey from Windsor to the Greenwood this spring.

  "I hope my toils will not keep me away for too long," said Herne, looking to the forest ahead. A raven swooped from the treetops to seek carrion in the heather, croaking its familiar call. After a quiet year before, the hazel grew fast this spring, and the catkins turned blood-red. The Elfaene summoned Herne to scare the Wild Men of Niogaerst before they gnawed her daughters' bones.