older. And shapely.
He smiled. They’d only been here a few weeks, but already he liked this new world. A Sickness had killed many of the female species in ElseWorld that usually served as mates for his kind and rendered others unable to bear satyr offspring. Only the members of the Council had the luxury of keeping their own women. Yet here, women delivered themselves right to one’s doorstep.
His prey disappeared into a clearing and he moved after her, keeping her in view. Her head was bent to study something she held. A small book. A page flipped under her lace-gloved hand, a frown creasing the creamy smooth skin between her dark brows as she strained to make out its text in the failing light. Whatever she read on its pages caused her to sigh in frustration.
“Honestly, Maman! What am I to do with these scribbles? Couldn’t you have done any better than this on so important a matter?” Glancing around, she fanned the gilt-edged book back and forth in one hand with obvious impatience.
Gifted with a natural stealth enhanced by a decade of training and field experience as an ElseWorld Tracker, Dante soundlessly moved in her direction, intent on cutting off her exit to the road. Though she had no way of knowing, she’d come at a most opportune time. Night was falling. A very special night to those of Dane’s kind. Once the moon rose, all would begin.
He made a cursory, visual survey of the grove. It was protected. Dane had bespelled its perimeter himself that very morning. If any humans wandered too close, they would find themselves repelled by forces they didn’t understand. Since she’d managed to trespass, he could only assume she must be of ElseWorld blood.
His eyes swept her again. She was slender but pleasingly curved. Fey perhaps. On this special night, her blood would be stirring as well, though not as high as that of the satyr. Not as high as his own. When one lived only ten hours a month, one was understandably eager.
A light breeze gusted at his back, whooshing past him to ripple over mistletoe, betony, chicory, fennel, rosemary, and saffron that grew low on the forest floor. He watched it make its way toward the woman, carrying with it his scent.
When it ruffled her skirt and pulled at tendrils of her hair, she stilled—a woodland creature made suddenly and acutely aware of danger. Her eyes shifted in his direction, twin flashes of emerald. His own eyes narrowed and he smiled, pleased at what he’d read in her glance. Recognition. Only an ElseWorld creature could detect the scent of another. His blood pumped a little faster at this confirmation of his initial assumption. A female from his own world would make for a far more interesting engagement than a human one might have.
“This is private land.” He stepped free of the forest’s shadows into the small clearing in which she stood. She whirled to face him then, her skirts sending the leaves eddying around her. His nostrils flared, waiting for her scent to ride the air in his direction. He’d know what sort of creature she was soon enough.
When her fragrance reached him, its delicate, delicious impact enfolded him like a physical caress. His senses analyzed and sorted through its nuances, and a new prickle of awareness swept his skin. His body reached a stunning conclusion regarding her origins a split second before his mind did. He could actually feel his eyes dilate, his heart gasp, his blood halt in his veins.
“Gods, who…what are you?” he demanded.
Frozen in place, they simply stared at one another with only a dozen yards of sylvan forest and shocked silence between them. Even the air around them seemed to hold its breath.
Then she pivoted on one dainty, booted foot and hared off. She was getting away!
As abruptly as it had stopped, the pump of his blood resumed, burning through him with its ecstatic gush. His hunting instincts in full force, he loped toward her at an angle, slicing through the forest of Dane’s ancestors with ease. The tangled underbrush aided him, snatching at her skirts and slowing her.
His hand lashed out and caught the front of her waist, low between her ribs, pulling her back against him and stealing her breath. She was slight compared to him; her spine easily molded to the cavern of his broad chest. Her hips were lush against his hard thighs. Her hair a silken sweep at his throat.
All of nature seemed to still within the forest as he gathered her to him. He bent his head to bury his face in the tangle of her hair, inhaling deeply. The rightness—the perfect fit of her—rocked him to his very core.
“Who are you?” he asked again.
“No one. I’m no one.”
Long moments passed and they were alone in the universe, locked together in an intimate cocoon. The birds fell silent, but his blood sang. The gentle music of a nearby stream ceased, but their heartbeats thundered. His massive frame shuddered under a flood of lust. His balls clenched, his cock hardened, his every sense attuned to her.
He felt Dane stirring somewhere inside him, like someone turning over in his sleep. Her pull was so strong that it was affecting even him. Who is she? Dane whispered, but his question, too, went unanswered.
Dante carefully shoved him deeper into their mutual subconscious, where he must remain until this night was done. He’d been protecting him for the past thirteen years and saw no reason to stop now. Not while the danger to them still existed in this world.
Under his palm, he felt the firm stays beneath her gray silk gown. He considered the swiftest way to convince her to allow him to remove them. “Don’t fear us. We’re like you.”
“Us?” She shook her head and tugged at his hands on her waist, resisting the pull he was exerting on her person and her senses. “What are you talking about, monsieur? I only wandered here by mistake, looking for flowers for my table tonight. I didn’t know the house was occupied. If you’ll let me go—my conveyance is just over there.” She gestured toward the road, then as she drew her arm back down again, slammed the point of her elbow into his rib, struggling.
He frowned, startled, unable to comprehend that she might not want him. “Why do you fight?” he murmured into her hair, his voice hot and dark. “Night comes, and with it the Calling.”
She gasped, whipping her head around. Her eyes were wary, but in their depths awareness flickered.
The backs of his fingers traced her pale cheek. “You know of what we speak,” he accused softly. “Of the Change that will come over us when the sun dies.” Each word was bespelled, an enticement meant to lull her senses.
“No.” She shook her head as if to shake off his touch, his enchantments, and his intentions toward her. He felt her magic dueling his for supremacy, and it sent a prurient thrill through him. But within seconds, his magic had crept into her consciousness, visibly affecting her. Her body remained half turned away, but she’d relaxed, no longer poised to flee. Her expression softened and a flush of pink stole across her cheeks. Her fingers rose to lightly brush her lips; then they dropped to the neckline of her bodice, restlessly tracing its lace.
“Gods,” he whispered. “Everyone believed creatures such as you to be only a myth.” He tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear, studying every nuance of her upturned face, wondering about her. Who she was. Why she’d come here.
“I’m fey,” she protested weakly.
He chuckled. “Little liar.”
Dane with his insatiable need to know would have questions for her when they met with the coming of morning. Let him find answers then. Tonight was for pleasure. His palm warmed on her cheek, casting a Calm over her.
“Stay,” he murmured. “Stay with us tonight.”
Her will to fight him—to fight her own nature—faltered. Her shoulders softened and her arms went lax. Something hit the toe of his boot. Her little book. Her head lay back on his shoulder and he felt her go boneless against him. When her lips turned into his throat, he knew he’d won her. But it wasn’t enough that his magic wiles should woo her anymore. He wanted her with him, desiring him with her body and spirit, and would not be satisfied until she begged him to fill her. He brought her fingers up to the fastenings of her