Dane. Elizabeth Amber
Demanding that he change; that he engage in the rituals required of all the satyr on this night. His face lifted to her light and he groaned—a dark, carnal sound that threaded the exotic, velvet night.
“Please,” came a desperate whisper. The flesh and blood woman in his arms.
But he was caught in the moon’s snare now, and could only wait as light and sensation washed over him, from his face down the column of his throat, his broad chest, ribs, and finally belly. Under the fabric of his trousers, a soft downy fur sprouted on his thighs and calves, so fine it was scarcely visible. Yet it was the beginning of the Change that would render him freakish, at least to those in this world, if they but knew.
Dane had never experienced the Change for himself and hungered for it now like a starving man. Need coiled higher in him, and higher. In a moment, when the moon’s thrall released him, he would turn the woman he held in his embrace and lift the back of her skirts. Would seat himself at both of her openings. For he would require another sort of mating with her once the moon had its way with him—a dual one.
A moan fluttered from lips that were rosy and moist from his mouth. As if she’d read his mind.
His belly twisted in a sudden brutal cramp, catching him off guard. He gripped his midsection. His other hand released her wrists and balled into a fist on the tree bark. Long moments passed as he was racked by a pleasure so piercing that it was colored with pain.
Freed now, her arms slowly wilted to her sides. In her sweet, clear eyes, he saw fear bloom. Of him or of herself? He frowned. Had Dante in fact bespelled her in some way? Was that why she’d seemed so willing?
“Move. Let me go.” Her voice trembled.
His torso held hers fast to the enormous trunk of the ancient tree. “Haven’t you ever seen the Change come over a male of your species?” he ground out.
She pressed trembling hands flat on his chest. “No! I don’t know what you’re talking about. I—”
“It’s beginning in me now, here,” he interrupted, slicing through her lies. He took her hand and forced it low on his abdomen so she could not help but feel the hard, knotted muscles there. So that she could not deny the truth of what she knew him to be. A male of her kind.
She hesitated and he fought a desperate craving to pick up where he’d left off; to ram himself inside her, welcome or not. “You won’t change in the same way I will tonight, but you must be feeling something. When you turned eighteen, didn’t you—”
“No!” She yanked her hand away and struggled against him, denying what she’d guessed he’d been about to say. “I’m not like you!” she shrieked.
Before he could call her on this untruth, his fingers went suddenly clumsy and uncoordinated. He flexed them, trying to shake off the numbness. “No…Gods, not yet. Not now.”
Dante had returned. And he wanted this woman for himself.
It is how things must be, the voice in his head whispered.
Dane locked his jaw in a grimace, fighting the takeover with every fiber of his being. Knowing it was useless. He studied the woman before him intently, memorizing her every feature. The knowledge that he would not be able to conclude what he’d begun with her was a bitter pill. But he would find her again later, he vowed to himself. One day he would rid himself of Dante and he would have her. Meanwhile, she must be protected. Somehow.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dane saw her lips move, forming the words, but she sounded distant, as if she were floating away from him. She was staring at him with round, frightened eyes. Well, not at him exactly. She seemed to be gazing all around him—to his left, his right, above his head—but not directly at him.
“Stay. You’ll need me soon, between your thighs,” he murmured.
“No! I can’t.”
But she wanted to. He could read it in her face. “Stay,” he rasped again. “If nothing else, you will need my protection. Because of what you are. There are those who would harm you—”
She backed away, shaking her head. Denying him, herself, and what she was.
A lightning bolt of pain shot through his skull. He staggered, catching his weight against the trunk of the nearest tree. What’s your name? he demanded desperately, but his words were soundless now. He was losing her. Losing himself.
He pressed his knuckles to his forehead, trying to force the usurper back. But it was no use. He felt himself subsiding, his mind sliding away from him like the tide washing out. He was succumbing…being overtaken by…
Dante found himself in control again. He swayed, then shuddered, quickly regaining his equilibrium. He was in pain. His hand went to his belly and felt the hard clench of muscles there. The air in the grove had turned cooler with the night. And the moon had come, bathing him in its glorious light, swamping him in carnal need.
Where was the woman? He glanced up and found her. She’d shaken free of him and his spells, and moved away. Far enough that she might be able to elude him, in his current debilitated state, as the Change overtook him.
As if hypnotized, she watched his fingers in fascination as they smoothed over his belly. In the gathering darkness, the gap he’d opened in the front of his trousers was shadowed, leaving her to guess at what was happening within. Her conflicting emotions were easily read on her face. She was frightened of lingering here with him but could not bring herself to leave.
He stroked himself. “Come here,” he beckoned softly. He was between her and the road, and hoped it was enough to deter her from attempting departure while he was in the grip of the Change.
She stepped back, shaking her head. “How dare you cast your spells on me.”
He lifted one brow, his gaze on her steady, his voice quiet. “You are wet for us, and not because of any magic. And for all your protestations, you’ve stayed for more.”
But he didn’t hear her reply, for a sudden, fierce agony seared him and he doubled over, his hands gripping his thighs to keep from falling. A muscle jumped in his jaw and a raw groan left him as a series of cramps rippled over his pelvis. Long moments passed as he waited for the pain to subside.
He sensed her creeping closer, closer still. Coming to him! He opened his eyes and saw her crouched before him, at his feet. Her pale fingers reached out. He felt her rip something from underneath his boot.
He managed to grab her wrist, staying her. Their eyes locked and he frowned. “Why aren’t you affected?”
“Because I’m not what you think,” she whispered. She yanked loose. He was weak now, too weak to hold her.
And then she was scrabbling away from him, dusting up leaves in her haste to leave him. She was clutching something. The book. She’d dropped it earlier. It had been under his boot and she’d only come closer to retrieve it.
Wordlessly, she backed away, eyeing him as if he were a dangerous viper. Her little book was pressed high to her breast as if she were trying to keep her heart from jumping out of her chest. She looked uncertain and wary of lingering here with him, but utterly fascinated at the spectacle of his Changing. So much so that she was unable to bring herself to leave.
He leveled his gaze on her. “Don’t go. Denying your nature won’t change it. You’ll need us soon, between your thighs,” he said. An echo of what Dane had told her.
Then the moonlight’s drench intensified, leaching all color from his skin and strengthening his lecherous desire almost beyond endurance. His back arched on the primal roar of pleasure–pain that erupted from his throat, shaking the very leaves on the trees as the last physical change of the Calling night occurred in him. Standing in a pool of silver, he felt his arms stretch wide, his hands clench tight. His face lifted to pay homage to the luminous orb in the blackened sky.
Moments later, all was ready. He was changed, poised to begin the night. His palm slipped around the thick