Awakened by the Minotaur:
It was then that she heard the voice. Or voices. Someone must have managed to get in there. She shook the gate, willing it to give up its stout chain link. Magically, the Magnum lock opened. Or was it already open? She heard the voices again, the sounds bouncing off the stones and carrying in the air.
She pushed inside and followed what sounded like a drum beat as she picked her way carefully over rocks. It would be just like her to fall and break her neck in the middle of a Greek ruin.
The beat was insistent, wild, primal. She felt it all the way through her stomach. Where were the drummers? She stopped and blinked and then blinked again. Was it possible that she was seeing what she was seeing? Or had she had way more to drink than she’d thought? Because she thought that she saw naked figures twirling, but that couldn’t be right.
Curiosity overwhelmed whatever rational part was left after her four—okay, six—ouzos ; she wanted to know what was happening. More than that, though, the sound of the drums and the clear sensuality in the air pulled her ever closer. A strange tingle began in the base of her feet, spreading its soft tendrils through her body, compelling her to walk down the last few stones. She had to see for herself. She had to know.
She inched closer to the dark faces who were whirling, dancing, fucking in the dark. The sounds of ecstasy, moaning, and cries of joy, pulsed around her, competing with the deep bass of the drum. She was glad of the dark, glad that no one could see her face. A path, lit only by the light of the moon, shone before her. The white stones marked a way through the mating couples.
The drum beat its wild rhythm, and she felt strangely wild with it, as if pulled, called, summoned to this. She should have been embarrassed, observing so many others in the midst of sexual ecstasy, but she wasn’t. Instead, her whole body moved in time with the throb of the music, matching its rhythms. She lifted her arms. Twirling, her body moved of its own accord down the path between masked men and women as they writhed and danced all around her.
At the end of the path lay a raised altar, like a thick stone table. And there, standing atop it, a man. His lithe body was clad only in a rustic loincloth, but his head was that of a bull. Lara didn’t question it. This night was a fantastic dream, and this creature a part of her fantasy.
The horns looked real, their bone tips lethal in the moonlight, and his head was swinging as if truly melded to his beautiful body. His large cock was evident even from this distance, the body it was attached to distinctly male in its form. Thick, hardened, strong, he stood as if the world belonged to him.
Mesmerized, she moved ever closer to the stone structure and the beautiful bull atop it. Drummers kept the time of an elaborate rhythm, and the couples writhed and danced in time with its intricate melody. All except the bull. He swung his head around, as if sniffing the air, looking for something.
Lara gasped as he stared straight at her. Surely – he couldn’t see her.
Oh, but he did. He was watching her, clearly her. Drawn to him, she approached the altar, unthinking, unknowing. As if in a trance, the insistent music, the moon, and the energy all around her drove her to him. And she responded; she no longer knew what she was doing, and all rational thought fled from her.
She was released from reality, allowed to fall completely into madness. She ascended the steps in a haze, drugged. He waited for her, his body a massive, taut display of male flesh. He held out a hand to help her up the last step and brought her up to the altar with him.
It was then that she heard the voice. Or voices. Someone must have managed to get in there. She shook the gate, willing it to give up its stout chain link. Magically, the Magnum lock opened. Or was it already open? She heard the voices again, the sounds bouncing off the stones and carrying in the air.
She pushed inside and followed what sounded like a drum beat as she picked her way carefully over rocks. It would be just like her to fall and break her neck in the middle of a Greek ruin.
The beat was insistent, wild, primal. She felt it all the way through her stomach. Where were the drummers? She stopped and blinked and then blinked again. Was it possible that she was seeing what she was seeing? Or had she had way more to drink than she’d thought? Because she thought that she saw naked figures twirling, but that couldn’t be right.
Curiosity overwhelmed whatever rational part was left after her four—okay, six—ouzos ; she wanted to know what was happening. More than that, though, the sound of the drums and the clear sensuality in the air pulled her ever closer. A strange tingle began in the base of her feet, spreading its soft tendrils through her body, compelling her to walk down the last few stones. She had to see for herself. She had to know.
She inched closer to the dark faces who were whirling, dancing, fucking in the dark. The sounds of ecstasy, moaning, and cries of joy, pulsed around her, competing with the deep bass of the drum. She was glad of the dark, glad that no one could see her face. A path, lit only by the light of the moon, shone before her. The white stones marked a way through the mating couples.
The drum beat its wild rhythm, and she felt strangely wild with it, as if pulled, called, summoned to this. She should have been embarrassed, observing so many others in the midst of sexual ecstasy, but she wasn’t. Instead, her whole body moved in time with the throb of the music, matching its rhythms. She lifted her arms. Twirling, her body moved of its own accord down the path between masked men and women as they writhed and danced all around her.
At the end of the path lay a raised altar, like a thick stone table. And there, standing atop it, a man. His lithe body was clad only in a rustic loincloth, but his head was that of a bull. Lara didn’t question it. This night was a fantastic dream, and this creature a part of her fantasy.
The horns looked real, their bone tips lethal in the moonlight, and his head was swinging as if truly melded to his beautiful body. His large cock was evident even from this distance, the body it was attached to distinctly male in its form. Thick, hardened, strong, he stood as if the world belonged to him.
Mesmerized, she moved ever closer to the stone structure and the beautiful bull atop it. Drummers kept the time of an elaborate rhythm, and the couples writhed and danced in time with its intricate melody. All except the bull. He swung his head around, as if sniffing the air, looking for something.
Lara gasped as he stared straight at her. Surely – he couldn’t see her.
Oh, but he did. He was watching her, clearly her. Drawn to him, she approached the altar, unthinking, unknowing. As if in a trance, the insistent music, the moon, and the energy all around her drove her to him. And she responded; she no longer knew what she was doing, and all rational thought fled from her.
She was released from reality, allowed to fall completely into madness. She ascended the steps in a haze, drugged. He waited for her, his body a massive, taut display of male flesh. He held out a hand to help her up the last step and brought her up to the altar with him.
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Kissed by Moonlight:
The cloudless sky shone bright with stars. Crisp air pricked at her skin. Tonight’s release would be easy with the moon large and low, even though she was skilled enough not to need a full moon. She began to run, her legs propelling her through the outlying trails, as her mind began its preparation for the release. She chanted the old words quietly, waiting for the power to course through her, then made a leap into belief. Her body felt the transcendence and the euphoria of the change. Woman became wolf. She didn’t think anymore, not in the linear way of humans. She was in the release, the time of no-thought, of nothingness, of the senses. She knew the scent of the prey, the feel of the cold ground beneath callused paws, the sight of the city blurring at the edges. A witness would have seen only a gray wolf, unremarkable except for its proximity to the city. She ran, her legs never wearying. Far from home, outside the city walls, she caught the faintest scent of an other being. Not of the Lupe. Not human. Something other. The odor grew stronger when she skirted a large house, upper windows alight. Her senses were so focused on smell, on his smell, she didn’t notice the iron prongs hidden in the long grass. The trap reached out to grab her mid-air, and one paw was ensnared in harsh metal. Pain brought her down on all fours. She whimpered as she tried to free herself. Anguish overwhelmed her, crushed her. She must have passed out, because she woke suddenly, senses alert, the pain in her leg like a million rough knives tearing at her flesh. She knew immediately that the Wolven had her; there was no other explanation. She was faint with pain. Horrible gashes from the iron trap threaded her leg, causing it to throb. But the injury was bound with silken gauze, showing the tending of a caring hand. Thrashing, she looked around wildly for her captors. She struggled against the bindings that restrained her, her heart pounding. “It’s no use,” a deep male voice called from the depths of the shadows. “It’s spinnemake.” Of course. They’d used spinners in the bindings to immobilize her. The male moved into the dim light. Morgane gasped. Though she’d never met one, she knew the figure was definitely Wolven. His fur was a lush, thick brown. He stood upright on two powerful legs, like a human, but looked otherwise like a huge, massive, intimidating wolf. She now understood the foundation of the werewolf legends. This was where they’d gotten their inspiration. The Wolv moved closer, staring at her like a cat with a mouse it has not quite decided to kill, and she marveled again at how different his shape was from hers. He could clearly walk upright. Could he also speak? “What do you intend to do with me?” Her voice didn’t shake, though she felt her heart could be clearly heard, its loud thumping echoing in her head. “Ransom.” Morgane took a deep, shaky breath. Her mother had been right; they were different. She could no sooner speak as wolf than she could fly to the moon. But she was just as confused by his answer. “Ransom? The Wolven have plenty of money.” He stepped even closer, then picked up one of her hands with his huge paw. God, how different he was. She pulled her hand back, but not before noticing that his touch had been almost gentle. “Other things are needed.” Amazon B&N Kobo |
The Shaman's Temptation:
Tak didn’t cough as the charred smell of the burning herbs reached his nostrils. Instead, he inhaled, welcoming the visions the fragrant air had brought and the certainty of knowledge with which they endowed him. He chanted, his feet following an ancient pattern, moving in circles, hands lifted to the sky, calling forth the protection of Yusan and then Naiyenesgani, and finally the wisdom of the ancients, as he completed his ritual. He’d trusted that they’d reveal what he most needed to know. But instead, he remained puzzled about what they’d shown him, as if the great Trickster was meddling in his life. He knew it wasn’t fair to shape-shift, to mess with someone’s head like that. He hadn’t anticipated his own need to touch her. And he hadn’t known it would be so hard to let her go, not to kiss that perfect cupid’s mouth, not to lay her lithe body down among the desert blooms and pull off her shorts. Tak had sworn off women, had vowed his celibacy to the creators of the Earth in return for helping his tribe. So why were the gods bringing her to him? How would he be able to ignore those soft curves, her lips like ripe plums? And those breasts—he wanted to reach out and cup them within his hands, feel their firmness mold to his palms. He wanted to pull down her panties and bury himself within her wet, warm center and have her call his name over and over. He tugged at his jeans, his erection tight against the denim. She was enough to make any man forsake his vows. Available on: Amazon B&N Kobo |
