The Cursed Satyroi: Volume One Collection

by Rebekah Lewis

  “Gee. I don’t know,” she said flatly. “Maybe because my mother and my father got it on. The sperm found the egg, and voilà! Nine months later and you have me, rosy cherub cheeks and all.”

  Pan instantly regretted ever wishing to meet someone who could be more of a smartass than himself—or worse, his father. Hermes infuriated even the most patient of men. Katerina had the same quick wit.

  “I meant, why are you in the Pine Barrens looking for the Jersey Devil?”

  “I told you the other day that I’m filming a documentary. Many a person has done it before. He...you...are kind of famous. Don’t let it go to your head. By the way, do you kidnap every person who searches for proof of your existence? Is this how you welcome them?”

  “No. Only you received the joy of meeting me, but whoever sent you here suspected as much.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t see how my being here means anyone has nefarious purposes other than entertaining viewers with the unknown.” Katerina was breathing normally again, her panic dissolving into confusion and, if he wasn’t mistaken, annoyance.

  “That may be true, but usually Greek wine is not a common preference shared by your average American cryptozoologist.”

  Katerina huffed, and Pan half expected her to stomp a foot. She didn’t though. “I’m not a cryptozoologist.” She sniffed haughtily. “I’m a zoologist. No crypto prefix attached to it. I only happen to be doing a documentary on a cryptid... Wait...wine? This is about... Of course.”

  She perked up as she thought about whatever had prompted her epiphany. “That is what must have set you off and sent you running. You saw the wine bottle and recognized it. What does it mean to you?”

  How charming. She attempted to turn the tables on him. Not happening, at least not yet. Pan wasn’t revealing anything more about himself until he knew for sure if she was in on some grand scheme or not. “Nuh-uh. You get answers once I am satisfied with yours. Who gave you the wine?”

  “My boss sent it. He’s some wealthy guy who randomly wanted me to do this documentary despite it being outside of my field.” She frowned as her words registered to her own ears, and then she veered off the subject slightly. “I study big cats, not cryptids. I wouldn’t have even taken this job if the money wasn’t so good. Does my selling out for cash satisfy your curiosity?”

  “Maybe.” He scratched at his chin. “Who hired you?” He wouldn’t let her off the hook.

  “Does it really matter?”

  Pan considered her words. Where that particular wine is involved, yes. “It matters more than you know. If it is who I think it is, then your life could be in danger the longer you protect him by not telling me the truth.”

  Her gaze sought answers from his expression, and Pan struggled to keep it blank. Katerina appeared affected by the softening of his tone and the meaning behind his words. Whatever she saw cross his face must have driven home the fact he needed to know that information. Not just to appease his curiosity but because her future depended on it. She couldn’t escape him, and if she had any survival instincts at all, she’d cooperate.

  “His name is Dion Bach. I don’t know much about him other than he’s really rich and owns a powerful compa—um...what’s so funny?”

  Pan sniggered. Then he cackled so hard he doubled over.

  “Of all...the...stupid...names!” He gasped for breath, sobered a little, and then fell into more guffaws, sliding to the floor, clasping his side with his free hand. “He’s oh so...so subtle!”

  “Do you care to share with the class? Or should I just leave? Here, I’ll see myself out.” She ambled toward the hall without hesitation.

  Pan willed the door shut with a bang. He stood, relieved of his amusement. “You will do no such thing. I was overcome by the wonderful dramatic irony. He is such a blasted Greek. If you knew anything about him, the name is a dead giveaway.”

  “The irony of what!”

  “Patience, woman.” That only seemed to infuriate her more, so he quickly explained, “Greek wine. Dion. Bach. You didn’t find a connection in this at all?”

  “Should I have?”

  He threw his hands up. “Dionysus! Bacchus! That mother fu—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Dionysus? As in the god of wine?”

  “Ding, ding! We have a winner. It’s painfully obvious now, isn’t it?” He grinned.

  “Actually it just took things from boatloads of crazy to delusionally insane in the matter of seconds. Remind me never to come back to Jersey.”

  So she didn’t believe the god of wine purposely sent her into the woods to find a satyr and wayward god that he hates with a passion.

  That’s fair.

  “How is it irony?”

  Pan blinked. “What?”

  “If his name is obvious it wouldn’t be irony.”

  “Dramatic irony, like in a play. The audience knows that which the characters do not. Greeks used it all the time.”

  Katerina didn’t seem convinced. She muttered something under her breath about it not being ironic and he let it slide. Unfortunately, he was weighted down with the implications of Dionysus rigging a “documentary” on him and didn’t have the energy to explain why a god would trouble himself or debate elements of literature and drama.

  Pan lifted the panpipes to his lips. Katerina glanced around with wide eyes, as though seeking another escape route. As he played his melody, her lids grew heavy.

  “Don’t want. To...sleep,” she murmured as she drifted off, breathing deeply.

  Pan played to her a while longer, enjoying the foreign sensation of making music for someone else and not because he was bored or needed them for sex. When he finished his tune, he placed the pipes into his back pocket, untucked the covers from under Katerina, and drew them over her. He made sure she seemed comfortable against the pillow, and then he took the candelabra with him on his way out the door.

  Once he made his way back downstairs, he finally allowed himself to worry about the consequences to his actions. Katerina would need food and require use of the restroom which had been in disrepair for years. He would need to run out and snag supplies while she slept and begin renovating his house for company.

  ***

  A knock sounded at the door, distracting Dion from the two blondes in his bed. He’d told Pavlo not to disturb him unless it was an emergency or unless something happened in Jersey. As much as he mourned prying the tag team of skilled mouths away from his dick, Dion sat up and told the women to play with each other until he returned. He heard them giggling as he made his way across the elaborate bedroom to the set of double doors.

  The knocking repeated, louder this time. “I’m coming, Pavlo. For gods’ sake, this better be good.” He opened the doors wide to reveal a fair-haired man with brown eyes, about five-eight in height. Two horns jutted straight upward from the top of his cranium, the physical characteristic of the Boeotian satyrs. Not one to be abashed by the display behind him nor his current nudity, Dion waited for Pavlo to explain why a disturbance at two o’clock in the morning was called for.

  “I bring news, sir. Pan has abducted the girl.” Always straight to the point. That’s why Dion liked him.

  “Splendid.” He turned to his guests. “Ladies, try not to wear yourselves out. I shall return shortly.” Grabbing his silk robe from the hook beside the door, Dion slipped it on. He followed Pavlo down the stairs to the study on the first floor.

  “Tell me everything,” Dion began, but then he noticed the phone was laying face up on the desk, the light on the charging unit indicated the line was on hold. He arched a brow and waited for Pavlo to explain.

  “Cynthia Martinez is on the line, sir. She is demanding your presence in New Jersey.” Pavlo stood straight and tall, hands at his side. Dion didn’t offer Pavlo a seat but sat down himself, placing the phone to his ear, and taking it off hold.

  “Dion Bach speaking.”

  The woman on the other end had been crying. He heard her sniffle and take a breath. �
��I am so sorry to disturb you...”

  “Not at all. Mrs. Martinez, was it? Whatever is the matter?” He feigned complete obliviousness.

  Another sniffle. “It’s Kat. That thing... That thing took her. It’s real! It’s really real, Mr. Bach. The Jersey Devil flew off with Katerina Silverton.” She sobbed heavily through the phone.

  Dion’s grin felt so wide his face could have been cleaved in half. But, of course, he was all sincerity and compassion on the phone. It wouldn’t do at all to let his contentment color his words. “Wait, slow down. Did you say someone attacked Dr. Silverton?” He mimicked a shocked expression for Pavlo’s benefit, which was met with a contrary roll of the eyes. That bastard Pan never could pass up the opportunity to fuck a redhead. It was almost too easy. Everything was falling into place. He hadn’t expected the dimwit to abscond with her though. But Dion could work with that.

  More sobs muffled Cindy’s voice. “Yes. It had wings and horns, oh, and the tail! It was awful. And we can’t find her. It took her. There is no telling how far into the Pine Barrens it went or if she’s even still alive...”

  “Have you contacted the local authorities?”

  “Of course. We called them first thing. They had to send someone to get us because the thing knocked over our van. They didn’t believe our story. Our footage had sounds but not visual proof. It stood directly in front of the camera but didn’t show on the film, so it lacks credibility. They think we are attempting an elaborate hoax, and they threatened to arrest us if they discovered that was the case.” She blew her nose.

  “Don’t worry about the film, Mrs. Martinez. What’s important is finding Dr. Silverton alive and well. For her sake, do not alert the media or her family. We don’t want to raise a panic, not yet. There will be a gag order faxed to the hotel for you and your husband to sign within the hour. I will catch a flight first thing in the morning to New Jersey. Perhaps I can help influence the police to make a serious effort in searching for her.” Because money could buy cooperation. Not that he would really involve the police. “If we can’t locate her within the week, the gag order will be lifted and we will bring in the media to help with the search. I am only issuing it to keep the press and fanatics out of the way in finding her.”

  “Thank you. I understand the reasoning. I am so sorry to have disturbed you so late.”

  After a few more encouraging words to the woman, he finally got her to hang up. He curled his lip at the mock sympathy. Then he chortled. Pavlo cracked a ghost of a smile.

  “This is excellent.” Dion went to the wine rack in the corner of the room and chose a choice bottle. After popping the cork, he poured a glass without offering any to the other man. It wasn’t that he was being rude, but Pavlo always rejected the offer. Ever since the ordeal with Syrinx...well, the other man had been more closed off. Yet he remained with Dion anyway. He could have followed Pan regardless of his appearance. All the Arcadians had curled horns. Pan had offered to take the Boeotians with him that wished to go. Surprisingly, none had.

  “Yes, sir. Your plan seems to be working as you anticipated.”

  “Indeed. I cannot wait to see the outcome.” He took a sip of his drink. “Call Melancton. Tell him it is time to reveal Pan’s location to Silenus.”

  Pavlo cringed and then nodded. Dion knew he had a history with Silenus, much like Pan did. It was part of the reason there was a middleman having to pass the word down the line. Dion had noticed, of all the Boeotian satyrs, Melancton was the only one Pavlo trusted. Even though Pavlo had remained with Dion of his own freewill, he didn’t particularly seem to enjoy his company. But Dion paid him well and kept him living comfortably throughout the centuries as a personal assistant. He could leave if he wanted to, but he would not be welcomed back. Dion was sure that was why he stayed. Why they all did. Loyalty brought them benefits they wouldn’t survive in the modern era without.

  “Also, we fly to New Jersey in the morning. Make the arrangements, will you? Oh, and fax those gag orders to the hotel we drafted in case Pan acted out, and then call the police station and warn them to keep it under wraps as well.” It was a command, not a request. Dion would simply flash himself to the airport in Atlantic City once the other satyrs landed. He had provided them a way to change to human form during the day. A gift Dion much like Pan had given the Arcadian satyrs when they followed him to the other god’s homeland.

  Pavlo nodded once more, bowed, and left the room.

  Finishing his glass of wine, Dion then made his way back up the stairs to his bedroom. As he entered, one of his women screamed in the throes of an orgasm, compliments of the other’s tongue.

  “Don’t think that means you’re finished for the night, my dear.” Dion stripped back out of the robe and tossed it to the floor before climbing into the deep red, nearly violet, silk sheets. He plunged his cock into the wet folds of the blonde who had climaxed seconds ago. The other female he positioned to where he could lick her at the same time.

  The god of debauchery was a title he’d oft heard in reference to him. If he had to be a god of anything, there was nothing better, and he damn sure lived up to the hype.

  Chapter Seven

  Mornings sucked. Kat opened her eyes and the events from the previous night assaulted her memory and she groaned. Peter was sitting on top of the chest of drawers, hands resting on the wooden edge of the piece of furniture visible between his denim-clad thighs. He arched a brow and smirked as she become aware of him.

  “It wasn’t a nightmare, was it?” Her fear wasn’t with her anymore. Instead, she felt the pull of sadness gripping her heartstrings. What would to happen to her? Cindy and Rick must be freaking out. Oh God, I’ve been so focused on myself that I’ve not given them a bit of thought.

  “I’m ‘fraid not, vixen. I owe you explanations, and now that you slept off your denial and panic, you might be able to handle it.” He snorted. “You know the word ‘panic’ is derived from the god Pan’s enjoyment of hiding in bushes and startling trespassers as they wandered through the Arcadian forests?”

  Ugh, Greek gods again? She didn’t know why he found his comment so amusing. Why encourage him? However, she couldn’t prevent herself from asking, “Vixen?”

  Peter released a great sigh, probably because she wasn’t biting at his baited hook. Was he disappointed she’d asked about that and not his strange Pan comment?

  “Your hair and your spirit. Reminds me of a fox because of the color and your cunningness...” He scrunched up his nose. “Is cunningness a word? Anyway, you’re female, ergo, vixen. I would have thought the comparison would be straightforward.”

  He pushed himself off the chest of drawers, the muscles in his arms flexing as he did so, and onto the floor. He landed lightly on his bare feet—the toed variety, not the hoofed ones. He was dressed in only a pair of jeans. If he was attempting to entice her with those scrumptious abs and the thick, corded muscle that led into the waistband of his jeans, well... Then she should probably be deeply ashamed it kind of worked, and that made her increasingly uncomfortable.

  As strange as the whole situation was, her body still reacted to his. Not as strongly as it had the first time, but the arousal was there, beneath the surface. Too afraid to notice it the night before, it had reared its head once more. Her reaction was beginning to concern her. It couldn’t be natural, yet it didn’t feel wrong.

  I’m losing my mind.

  Peter held a hand toward her, and she warily accepted it. He pulled her to her feet and led her into the hall. Kat half-expected human hands holding elaborate candelabras to extend from the walls, moving with them as they passed, like in The Phantom of the Opera. Except Peter would turn around, half demon-faced, and proclaim he was the devil of New Jersey rather than the Opera Ghost.

  Then he did turn around and gave her a reassuring smile and her stomach fluttered. She told herself it was fear, but she wasn’t exactly sure. Why did she feel things she shouldn’t with this man?

  Leaves and debris littered th
e upstairs floor, blown in from the broken windows that lined the path. She could smell the pines and also something else. Bacon? Kat fidgeted, hating to have to ask the question she needed to ask. “Um, which way is the bathroom?”

  Momentarily startled, Peter opened a door not far from the room they’d exited. “I apologize. I nearly forgot.”

  Light poured through the small window at the back of the room he revealed, made brighter by the dirty white floors and walls. The porcelain tub was old, with the lion claw feet at the bottom lifting it off the floor. The enamel of the sink was cracked down the center, and the toilet looked like it hadn’t been used in years. A bucket of water sat next to it on the floor and an unopened package of toilet paper beside it.

  “Do you not use the bathroom?”

  He shrugged. “I do, but not as often since I don’t need to eat regularly like humans. My body doesn’t produce waste unless I eat or drink daily. And I haven’t been really living here much lately. I move around from place to place.”

  She didn’t think she’d ever had a stranger conversation. He’d considered himself not human, yet he looked perfectly human at the moment. Nothing like the creature she’d seen the night before. She shuddered involuntarily. “A satyr thing?”

  “Not quite. I believe I’m one of a kind among them.”

  Kat waited to see if he would elaborate, but he pointed to the water pail instead. “As I haven’t been living here frequently, the utilities are not turned on. About ten years ago the plumbing was updated, but if I turn it back on, the company will trace it, and I find I’m not in the mood for more visitors. I poured water in the toilet last night, but in case more is needed for flushing, I have provided more. There is a well behind the house. I’ll be happy to carry the bucket up the stairs for you when you have need of it.”

  Kat guessed Peter had been quite spontaneous with the kidnapping if he hadn’t even turned the utilities on to accommodate her. Or maybe she was giving him too much credit and he was only playing nice to get in her pants, and then he’d kill her afterward. Therefore, utilities were not necessary in the grand scheme of things. It was a secluded spot in the woods. The chances of surviving his little fiasco were looking worse by the minute.