She looked up at him, and then she jerked away with a sharp breath. “Dominus!”
Slight alarm rose in his chest at the way she gaped at him.
He spun toward the mirror and stared at himself. His eyes, still an ice blue, had lost the fire of immortal light. What was more, his chest and neck were no longer painted in unnatural tones of blue. The birthmark had faded.
“No more hiding,” she said. “You look, well, human.”
He kissed her, feeling her warm tongue bring his body to life, and when he opened his eyes while their lips were still joined, he saw her watching him. She broke off the kiss and smiled.
“You still have some magic,” she whispered. “Not human after all.”
His eyes, he saw in his reflection, glimmered as his need for her grew. “No longer the god of Yule, but still the son of a god. That’s what he meant.”
He took her in his arms and used the power of intention to give them a slight push. Then they were outdoors, enveloped on all sides by tall pines, the brisk air of winter tinged with the warm promise of sunlight. Spring’s return was near at hand, and the son of Herne, powers still intact, had used his magic to bring them to the woods.
“I have long wished to experience a Yule ritual out where a wintry forest slumbers,” he said. “Awaiting the kiss of spring.”
He pressed Lorayna against a tree and explored her mouth with his tongue, sending small shivers through her that he knew were not due to the cold. Heat flared within him as well, and his cock rose hard and long, throbs of need driving him to claim her as he dared not before.
“We can have our own Yule ritual,” she said against his lips. “Every year. You will still be my god of Yule.”
“Only if Yule is every day of the year.”
The cool air against his hot skin pushed his lust for Lorayna to a new level of pleasure, and he took advantage by pinching her nipples with cold fingers, testing her, seeing if she, too, would find the mix of heat and chill as erotic as he did. She moaned and pressed against him, answering the unspoken question, and then he was between her legs, her pants down and her bare ass in the firm grip of his hands. His tongue sampled her taste, the sweet, yet musky heaven that made her squirm and his cock swell near bursting. She wriggled against his mouth as he licked her pussy, making long, teasing strokes with his tongue that jabbed inside her and ended with a flick over her clit.
Lorayna drove her fingers through his hair, holding him to her while she shuddered and cried out in a release of pleasure whose shockwaves were palpable to a god, whether or not Yule light followed. He freed himself from his pants, the cold air on his fevered cock only heightening his need, and he lifted her against the tree so he could plunge himself deep. Wet from his tongue and the rush of her own juices, he sank in easily, moaning at the thick velvet plush of her hot pussy surrounding him, pulling him down and sending him into madness. He thrust with impatience, each stroke possessing her more fully, each drawing him into a tight spiral where the two of them merged at the center. His hips pushed into her with force, until fucking Lorayna—making love to her—became a ritual itself, greater than any Yule rebirth he’d ever overseen. She pulled his lip between her teeth, and orgasm erased the past, his future, everything but that very moment. He came with a yell that scattered birds in the forest, the sound of her name shouting from his lips and the force of his thrusting releasing small clumps of ice and snow to shower down on their heads. They laughed and she kissed his neck before leading him indoors to thaw the chill with a goblet of wassail and a seductive rite of her own.
Long after that day, whenever the crackle of ice breaking from limbs was audible in the woods, echoes of a fateful Yule ritual rippled past the trees and over the nearby lake, fanning out to spread over this realm and into the next. The effect of their joining, the release of potent male and sensual female energy to the universe, would caress many in the sabbats to come during the year of the Thousand Seasons. But none basked in that energy more keenly than the god and his sun bearer, one chosen of fate, both chosen by love.
✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆ ✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆
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ABOUT ERADIMUS: GOD OF IMBOLC
Eradimus must awaken a goddess before time runs out…
It is the time of Imbolc, and Eradimus, god of the sabbat, fears that the realms are in jeopardy. Violent storms erupt as the earth prepares to shake off its inhabitants, a fate that can only be avoided by the return of the woman he has loved for millennia. Brighid is destined to be in his arms only once each generation, a cruel enough fate before she failed to return. Now the world mourns her loss—and Eradimus’s father, along with the Counsel of Sabbats, insists that he take another lover for an Imbolc ritual that will hopefully avert disaster.
Brighid is not having the greatest vacation. A sudden storm hits, almost taking her over the edge of a cliff along with her rental bike. Lost and alone, she makes her way to the nearest shelter—where a strange, but gorgeous man shows up and claims to know her. His sensual presence is overwhelming, and she very much wishes she could be the same Brighid he so desperately seeks.
Is she the goddess Eradimus longs for? He must find a way to restore her true identity and join with her before all of humanity is lost.
EXCERPT FROM ERADIMUS: GOD OF IMBOLC
One thing couldn’t be denied, and that was the fact that his Brighid responded to him on a primal level, even if her memories did not. His cock stiffened as their lips sought one another’s, rubbing together in a maddening tease that made him long to pull away the quilt she had wrapped her warm body in. This time, as no other, he would make such an end to her virginity that she would remember him for all time, his father’s damnable curse or not.
His tongue sought hers, and her desire burned bright enough in his memory to recall the sheer power of it drying flood waters. But all of it was mere fantasy to her in her present form, not the memory of a life long forgotten.
She gasped at the sweep of his tongue pushing into her mouth, but she broke off their embrace.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “More than I probably should be. But I’m not some slumbering Celtic goddess. I’m just, well, me.”
A stab of regret drove through his stomach, even more so when her hand closed around the wet garments she apparently meant to put back on. One look at them told him there was no use bothering. The fabric was too tight and wet to slide into.
He clenched his jaw against the teasing whisper of something else tight and wet. And so close to him that he wanted to let out a warrior yell and take it. Perhaps if he’d been willing to take on his father long ago, this wouldn’t be happening. But an entire army would be hard met to best the likes of Herne, god of the forest, hunter of the ages. His power was formidable, and his will absolute.
“This whole thing is crazy,” she said. “I’m in a barn with a sexy stranger who wants me to be part of some odd pagan ritual. What a travel story that will make, eh? Even better than the part where I almost went over the famed Irish cliffs.”
“Brighid,” he said, but she shook her head.
“I have to go,” she said.
“Why do you insist on going out into that maelstrom? The touch of immortality my father granted you might keep you from the arms of death, but you can still suffer the elements’ wrath.”
“Stop. Stop with all this play acting. I can’t listen to any more.”
He had no desire to let her go out in that storm, but her eyes held the terror of a trapped animal. She appeared driven to escape that barn. “Just let me go.”
Barely bothering to stuff her feet back into her shoes, she fled, clutching her wet things. The quilt she drew around her shoulders swept behind her like an absurd travel cloak.
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Titles in the Sons of Herne Series:
Book 1: Dominus: God of Yule
Book 2: Eradimus: God of Imbolc
Book 3: Tallisun: God of Ostara
Book 4: Jorandil: God of Beltane
Book 5: Devinmar: God of Litha
Book 6: Feillor: God of Lammas
Book 7: Anduron: God of Mabon
Book 8: Archipellus: God of Samhain
(Note: Books 1-5 were previously published in a limited release under these alternate titles: Season of Light, Awakening of Brighid, Spirit of Spring, Fire of Beltane, and Magic of Midsummer.)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. Rose Allister has penned over twenty-five novels and numerous short stories from her home in Southern California. She is a TV and movie buff, enjoys the bittersweet discord between the pursuit of chocolaty goodness and the benefits of a fresh, organically-influenced diet, and is a firm believer that daydreaming, people watching, and chocolate (sometimes stirred into coffee) are the greatest fuel for the writing imagination. She has more books in her to-be-read pile than she can ever hope to find time to sit and enjoy, but this never stops her from adding more.
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