Between a Rock and a Hard-On

by Cindy Spencer Pape

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Between a Rock and a Hard-On

  ISBN 9781419912306

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Between a Rock and a Hard-On Copyright © 2007 Cindy Spencer Pape

  Edited by Helen Woodall.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication October 2007

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Between a Rock and a Hard-On

  Cindy Spencer Pape

  Dedication

  Dedicated to the wonderful friends I’ve made among my fellow authors in the Pond—and to the big frog herself, our editor Helen. Happy Halloween.

  Chapter One

  He couldn’t fucking believe it.

  One of the most sacred nights of the pagan calendar and his boss was making him hang out at a party. Not that he was particularly religious, but his sister Dana was going to tear a strip off his hide if he missed her coven’s ritual tonight after he’d promised to be there. Besides, this was a children’s party and Bram wasn’t all that comfortable around children. Not to mention the fact that if any of his brethren saw him standing here in a hotel ballroom, passing out candy in a black acetate cape and cheesy plastic fangs, he’d never hear the end of it.

  “You’re not Dracula!” One tow-headed boy of about six, who smelled strongly of sugar and candy-maker’s wax, tugged hard on Bram’s cloak.

  “No, I’m not.” Bram’s voice was slurred by the fake fangs. “He gets invited to much better parties on Halloween. I’m the low-budget version. A second cousin on his mother’s side.” He pushed just enough genuine power into his words to make the boy’s eyes go wide. Nodding as if that answer made perfect sense, the kid took the candy bar Bram held out to him, then scuttled off to the next station.

  “That wasn’t very nice.” The voice in Bram’s ear didn’t have a body to go with it, so Bram knew who it had to be. There was only one ghost on the team of paranormal enforcers the mayor had put together.

  “Hey, Frank.” Bram gave a grim smile to another group of approaching youngsters. “How come His Honor doesn’t have you doling out goodies?”

  “There’s the small matter of my hands—not to mention the rest of me—being incorporeal,” Frank reminded him. “Actually, he had me stationed in his pathetic excuse for a haunted house. Fortuitously, all of the urchins have now completed that portion of the entertainment.”

  Bram laughed. Trust Mayor Pendleton to have a real ghost working the haunted house at his Halloween party for underprivileged kids. He passed out treats to the three kids in the next batch, then spoke to Frank again. “Yeah, well this party better finish up pretty quickly. I’ve got places to be tonight.”

  “Ooh, a hot date? Do tell.” He could hear the envy in the ghost’s disembodied voice. “I remember those.”

  Poor Frank. Bram decided to take pity on him and tell him the truth. “Nah, not a date. I’ve got a Samhain ritual I promised to attend.” His tongue tripped over the plastic fangs and he damn near drooled. Uggh! Enough! He surreptitiously spat the stupid things out into his hand and shoved them in the back pocket of his black chinos, then allowed his own canine teeth to lengthen. To hell with the mayor’s “better ideas”!

  Another group approached, made up of a bunch of smaller kids this time, shepherded around by a grown-up. Bram had to look twice to figure that out—she wasn’t much taller than the kids, but judging by the generous rack that filled the front of her cheap, black witch’s outfit, she was an adult. One more look had Bram adjusting his damn cape to hide the sudden hard-on that had sprung up in his pants. But the mayor had screwed up when he’d dressed her as a witch instead of a fairy princess. Long, platinum-blonde curls tumbled out from the pointed cardboard hat. She had big, slightly tilted, green eyes and plump, glossy lips that would look just right wrapped around his cock. He only hoped none of the kids she was wrangling were hers.

  “Trick or treat!” Five of the kids chorused the refrain, but one small one began to whimper and point at Bram. He felt a frisson of power and cursed mentally. That kid was a damn wizard, or would be one day. Unfortunately His Honor seemed to have forgotten that kids with magic could usually see through the façade of humanity that Bram wore on a daily basis.

  “Don’t cry, sweetie, he’s just a pretend vampire.” The ersatz witch picked up the sniffling toddler and cuddled him close while Bram passed out goodies to the others.

  “Here’s one for the little guy.” He held out a lollipop to the woman as the teary-eyed urchin hid his face in her generous cleavage. Lucky kid! Privately, Bram thought the tyke had already gotten the best treat in the place. Bram would happily trade every last piece of candy in Philadelphia for the chance to bury his face between those breasts.

  “Thanks.” Her voice was soft and breathy and her bright green eyes twinkled as she grinned at Bram. A human wouldn’t have been able to discern color in this half-light, but Bram had excellent night vision. “Sorry about Kevin.”

  She reached up to pluck the candy from his hand and just for a second, their fingers touched. And where they did, they burned. Just a momentary flare of heat, but it was like nothing Bram had ever felt before. If he’d thought he had a hard-on before, now he was going to have trouble walking, his body was so stiff. He actually felt dizzy for an instant as all the blood left his brain. She pulled her hand away like it was burning, so she must have felt it too. It wasn’t just a shock of static electricity, it was magic, and Bram knew he was going to have to ask the mayor about her when he got the chance. Maybe the little fake witch was a real one. Wouldn’t that make his sister laugh?

  * * * * *

  Twyla hurried through the woods of Philadelphia’s Fairmont Park, cursing the mayor and his stupid party. She’d promised her roommate Katie that she’d be at the Samhain ritual and she was pretty sure she was too late. She shivered and speeded up to a jog. She’d pulled off the tacky witch’s costume on the way and magicked it back to her apartment so she wouldn’t offend any of the real Wiccan practitioners, but the tank top and running shorts she had on underneath were nowhere near enough for warmth on a chilly October night.

  What had possessed Mayor Pendleton to insist that his entire staff work the children’s Halloween party? Other than next year’s election, of course. Did he have to include his team of paranormal advisors? Most of the mayor’s staff thought Twyla was just an educational consultant—couldn’t he have let her off the hook? Not that she minded helping out at a party for orphans, but did it have to run so late on the actual holiday? She’d told him herself that Samhain was a holy day to a lot of people. Twyla wasn’t normally very big on ceremonies, but Katie’s coven was inducting three new elders tonight including Katie, and Twyla had genuinely wanted to be there for her friend’s investiture.

  She reached the clearing that Katie’s coven used for rituals and could tell immediately that it was too late. The glade was empty, but there was still a strong aura of residual magic in the air, along with the scents of sage, cinnamon and other incense.

  She paused at the flat granite boulder the coven used as an altar and laid her hands on the rock, murmuring a short prayer of regret for missing the ceremony. The warm tingle of leftover magic crackled through her fingertips and pulsed through her body, straight to her core. It was alm
ost as sexual as the jolt she’d gotten from the guy dressed as a vampire at the mayor’s party. He hadn’t felt black or empty, so she knew he wasn’t a real vamp. But he had been—something. She had no idea what, but she’d never felt quite such a strong sexual pull in all of her six hundred years. One touch and her nipples had sprung to attention and her panties had gotten soaked. Fang-boy had sent all of Twyla’s senses humming with nothing more than a casual brush of their hands. If she hadn’t been in such a hurry to get to the ritual, she’d have stuck around to find out who—or what—he really was.

  Leaning over the altar stone and just thinking about the pseudo-vamp had her tingling all over again and her pussy actually ached for attention. Then she realized that a good bit of the sexual energy she was feeling was emanating from the boulder. There had been sex magic in tonight’s ritual, damn it, which wasn’t something Katie’s coven of white witches usually dabbled in. Whatever the reason, Twyla knew she’d better head back to her apartment and her trusty vibrator. The zing of residual magic was like a feather brushing rhythmically against her clit. It was enough to keep her in a perpetual state of arousal, but not enough to get her off. At times like this she almost missed being at her mother’s court, where you could always count on finding a randy faun or pixie when you needed one for a quick roll in the clover. Sex was a lot more complicated here in the human realm where she had to be constantly careful to keep her—er, family connections a secret.

  Twyla started to straighten, ready to return home, when she felt a sharp blow across her shoulders. She cried out and tried to turn, only to find herself pressed facedown into the rock.

  “What?” She kicked backward, connecting with something hard and evoking a grunted whoosh of fetid breath from her attacker. “Let me go!”

  “Looks like we got us a pretty one, Tirg. Feisty, too!”

  The voice came from off to the left, so Twyla struggled against the weight on her back, finally managing to twist her head and get a look.

  “Oh shit! Satyrs!”

  Twyla might be feeling horny, but no way was she interested in being the filling in a satyr sandwich. Aside from being supernatural rapists, the goat-boys were known for inflicting pain on their victims. Real pain, not just harmless S&M games. And on top of that, judging by the one pinning her to the rock, they smelled like week-old shit. She managed to wriggle ‘til she was facing that one, then slammed the heel of her hand up into his nose, not even caring when the blood sprayed down the front of her tank top. Not as long as he let her go.

  “Get her, boys,” he grunted, clutching his face. Oh fuck, there were more than two! Before she could run, strong arms grabbed each of hers, stretching her out as if for crucifixion. She barely had time to register that indignity when she felt the sharp bite of cold iron clapped around her left wrist. The burning pain dropped her to her knees while the satyrs yanked both arms behind her back and shot the handcuff around her other wrist as well, doubling the sting.

  Now she couldn’t run and she wouldn’t be able to cast a spell. The effect of the steel cuffs scrambled her sense and made it hard not to vomit. “What the hell are you boys doing in Philly?”

  One of the satyrs looped a length of chain around the circular base of the altar stone and ran it between the linked cuffs and Twyla’s back before padlocking the ends together into a tight ring around the bottom. Now her hands were dragged down to the ground and she was effectively chained to a ton and a half of granite.

  “Looking for fun.” The one she’d hit licked the blood off his lips and rubbed his engorged red phallus, making Twyla swallow some more bile. “Only night of the year we don’t have to put clothes on.” Of course. On Halloween no one would look twice at the horns on their shaggy heads or the furry legs ending in cloven hooves. People would just assume they were really good costumes. Unless they got a look at those disgusting and oversized cocks.

  “Help me pick her up, Jagron.” She kicked at them as they lifted her body and turned her ‘til she was lying on her back on the altar stone, her arms hanging down behind her head. Her wrists had gone numb, relieving most of the pain from the iron, but the rock was hard and rough against the tender skin of her wings beneath the thin tank top. Even worse, the sex magic from the rock was hitting her whole body now, making her go wet and pliant even though she wanted nothing to do with these monsters.

  The ringleader approached the rock, still pumping his rampant cock with his hand. Blood continued to drip from his broken nose, but it didn’t seem to be slowing him down any. Twyla screamed as he reached down and ripped her tank top right down the middle, exposing her unbound breasts to the cold night air.

  * * * * *

  Bram hurried through the woods. His human guise was still in place but he made use of his extra strength and speed to move faster and with less effort. Damn the mayor for catching him and wanting to chat just as Bram had been trying to leave. He was sure he’d missed the ritual by now and Dana was going to be pissed.

  A scream ripped through the night. Since it was coming from the ritual glade, Bram broke into a dead run, shedding all pretense at humanity. His claws lengthened and his teeth slid down and into place. He pulled off his shirt to let his wings unfurl and his skin hardened into a pattern of bronze-colored scales. His sister might be in that glade and nobody was going to hurt her and live. Not while Bram was alive to do something about it.

  He burst into the clearing and felt a moment of relief. The ritual was apparently over—there was no crowd in the glade. Just three men and one woman.

  Fuck. Make that one woman and three satyrs. One of the bastards had just ripped her shirt open and two others were holding her feet, spreading her legs wide for their friend.

  “Leave. The. Woman. Alone.” Bram threw all of his power into his voice, knew the human’s ears would be ringing, but if he saved her from being raped, that was a small price to pay.

  “Go get your own.” The satyrs didn’t even turn and look at Bram. One of the ones holding a foot was jacking off with his other hand. The one in the middle pulled the woman’s running shorts down to her knees before ripping them apart with both hands. “This bitch is ours.”

  “I don’t think so, goat-boy!” The woman was still putting up a fight, even though she was pinned and outnumbered. “Sooner or later you’ll have to let me up and then I’m going to rip your intestines out and dance on the remains.”

  “I said, let her go!” Giving his full dragon’s roar, Bram bounded into the clearing. One of the satyrs finally looked at him and screamed, dropping the girl’s ankle.

  “Dragon!” The others looked up at that and all of them paled.

  Bram exhaled smoke through his nostrils. “You’ve got two seconds to run. After that I’m having goat for dinner.” He let a small stream of flame escape his mouth.

  Two of them fled even before he finished his sentence. The third one, probably the one in charge since he was the one on the woman, just straightened and glared. Blood dripped down his face. Good girl, she’d apparently busted the bastard’s nose.

  Bram huffed out a little more flame. “One.”

  The satyr growled something unintelligible, then dashed off into the underbrush after his pals.

  Carefully, Bram approached the altar stone. “Miss, are you all right?”

  She twisted a bit and moaned. As he walked, he resumed most of his human appearance, leaving claws and teeth in case the bastards came back.

  “Miss?”

  He got close enough to see her, saw that her hands were chained to the base of the rock, leaving her laid out on the altar defenseless. God knew he wasn’t a sicko like the satyrs, but the position was inviting as hell, especially with her big, full breasts bared to the sky, the nipples drawn into knots, whether from fear or cold. Then he noticed the long white-blonde hair and groaned. “No fucking way.”

  It was. As he leaned over her, wide green eyes gazed up at him. It was the witch from the mayor’s party. “Thank you,” she whispered.

 
“Are you all right?” There was blood on her torso and he carefully wiped it away with the shreds of her shorts. His arousal was inappropriate, but overwhelming. He wished circumstances were different so he could pause and play with the sexy little diamond barbell piercing her navel.

  “Not mine.” She was twisting under his touch, almost as if she wanted—more. “I think I broke the leader’s nose.”

  “Looked like it,” he agreed, trying to will away the massive boner in his pants.

  “Are you really a dragon?”

  Looking into those eyes, he couldn’t lie to her. He might have to do something about it later, but right now she deserved the truth. He turned so she could see his wings. “Half. My mother was human.”

  “Cool. I knew you weren’t a real vamp the moment I touched you.” Okay, she was at least a witch and he breathed a little easier. She was no stranger to things that went bump in the night. She closed her eyes for a minute and hummed, still squirming. “There was sex magic here tonight. Can you feel it?”

  “Like a drug shot straight into my veins.” Thank the gods she felt it too. At least now he wouldn’t have to apologize for the hard-on. The sight of her offered up like a virgin sacrifice sent all the blood in his body straight to his cock.

  “Me too.” She gave a little laugh. “Katie’s coven had to pick tonight to try that. There’s so much oozing off the rock I can’t even feel the steel in the cuffs anymore. I don’t suppose you’re into bondage, are you?”

  His answering moan echoed through the clearing. “Goddess help me, I am.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t mind helping me out then? Right now I don’t think I could walk, even if you could get me loose.”

  “You want me to fuck you?” This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t want to think he was like the satyrs, taking advantage of a helpless female.