The Cursed Satyroi: Volume One Collection

by Rebekah Lewis

  “I’ll tell you where he is once I am sure of the location and the timing is right. I know he’s in the area, but you cannot act out. Not yet. There are certain events that must take place before you can confront him.” Dion pushed past Silenus, noting the rage in the man’s icy glare. He’d promised the satyr revenge thousands of years ago, but had never let him take it. Soon he would.

  Silenus had been forty-two when he’d become a satyr. He was the oldest, in terms of human years, and it showed in the gray at his temples and facial hair. When in satyr form, his pelted legs were also sprinkled with gray. Silenus was the only satyr with the characteristic goatee the classical depictions favored, at least that Dion knew about—he didn’t particularly keep tabs on the Arcadians’ grooming habits.

  Furthermore, Dion was aware Silenus rarely sported a human glamour anymore, but it was hard to focus on magic when one’s very core was seething hatred. Hatred for Pan. Hatred for Dion. It had gotten old centuries ago. He had festered into an infectious cyst of violent rage waiting to erupt.

  The fool had been spotted by mortals so many times, it was a wonder it took Dion so damn long to figure out he could pinpoint Pan’s location through urban legends. Silenus had been the cause of “goatman” legends in at least five states that he knew of, reported to have attacked people with his axe and frighten people on bridges.

  Even though Dion hadn’t allowed Silenus to go after Pan, he knew the crotchety old goat had searched anyway. It was nearly time to see what would happen when the two of them met once again. Of course, Pan could always kill Silenus, which would not necessarily be a bad thing as the Boeotian had lost his usefulness a long time ago. This could be his defining moment, or his final.

  Either result would be...interesting. Pan refused to take a life, but Dion secretly hoped he would falter in his ways. He would relish in Pan’s regret for the rest of eternity. Corrupting that sap would be glorious in its own right. Though he supposed it was cruel of him to not care which satyr killed the other in the long run. Oh, well... Things happen.

  Melancton cracked the restroom door open and peered out, his long raven hair shining in the glow of the fluorescents. “We do not have much time until the humans realize no one authorized this facility to be closed from the public.”

  “Facility? Stop being so stuffy, Melancton.”

  Melancton turned and bowed his head, a subtle glimmer of defiance quickly masked in his expression. “I will try to appease your wishes, sir.” When he lifted his head, his light violet gaze scanned the area for signs of threats, even though they were both aware there were none. Habits were hard things to break, and while Dion knew Melancton loathed him, the satyr remained loyal. He had his reasons.

  “Appease,” Dion repeated under his breath and rolled his eyes.

  Dion and Melancton exited the bathroom, and then headed in the direction of the luggage carousels to collect the items brought with them for their stay. They didn’t need a lot, but to keep up appearances, they all had luggage. The only thing not with them was Silenus’ axe, which had been FedExed to the hotel to avoid getting it past airport security, and also to remove the temptation for the satyr to use it on anyone.

  Pavlo stomped into stride beside Dion a few seconds later and bit out, “Where’s the car?”

  Silenus seemed a bit smug when he finally emerged from the restroom. Obviously, he’d said something to rile Pavlo. It was like working with a bunch of children always picking on each other. Melancton was charged with keeping a leash on Silenus until Dion approved a confrontation with Pan. But it seemed he’d have to worry about an altercation between Pavlo and the elder satyr in the meantime. Given their past with Syrinx, there was no surprise.

  About an hour or so later, the taxi that took them to meet with the Martinezes came to a stop outside of the Fancy Pines Hotel. Dion had sat in the front with the driver. He tried not to laugh as he recalled glancing over his shoulder during the silent drive through Jersey. Melancton had sat between Pavlo and Silenus, all of them looking pissed to no end. Hell, they still did. Arms crossed, Pavlo and Silenus stared out the opposite windows. Only Melancton had met his gaze dead on.

  Currently, Pavlo remained with Dion while the other two stalked off toward the woods. Silenus would be scouting for Pan, he knew. Melancton’s job was to rein him in until it was time. Assuming Silenus tracked him that quickly.

  The original plan had been to confine Silenus to a hotel room, but the strain between him and Pavlo could become an issue. Dion’s nerves were starting to get frazzled, and when his nerves were frazzled, people died bloody. He didn’t want to kill a satyr before his plan was seen through. So he’d let Silenus hunt Pan through the Pine Barrens to calm his own temper as much as Pavlo’s.

  “Come. Let’s get the formalities taken care of and out of the way.”

  Not saying a word, Pavlo followed Dion to room nine. A brief knock on the door, and a Latino man with a grim expression answered.

  “Mr. Martinez?” Dion asked, despite knowing full well he was looking at Ricardo Martinez. He’d done extensive research when Katerina Silverton had sent the names and information on her two crew members. He’d been pleased the crew ended up so small. The fewer mortals he had to bring into this, the better.

  Rick held out his hand, and Dion shook it. “You must be Mr. Bach. Sorry to have to meet under such dire circumstances.” He peered over Dion’s shoulder.

  “Ah, this is my personal assistant, Pavlo.”

  Rick held his hand out and shook Pavlo’s hand as well before motioning them inside the cramped hotel room. Dion supposed he could have upgraded them to a suite like he had booked for himself since he was paying for the Martinezes’ stay in New Jersey. He dismissed the thought. He didn’t know these people well enough, and they didn’t drink alcohol, let alone wine. He found it disturbing. They were not his people, and he only rewarded those who belonged in his circle of people.

  “This is my wife, Cindy.” Rick held his wife’s hand as everyone said their pleasantries. The married couple took a seat on the bed and left the chairs to their guests.

  Dion listened, expressionless, as Rick relayed the turn of events from the previous evening. Cindy played the film footage for them. While there were sounds of growling, wings flapping, and screaming, only the humans were ever seen in the footage. They hadn’t even managed to film Dr. Silverton flying away. That would have been some quality television, not that he’d ever really planned on broadcasting it.

  “As I told you over the phone, we’ve only gone to the police,” Cindy began. “But they think it is a joke and won’t cooperate with us. They looked around, did a report on our vehicle, but since they didn’t find any evidence of a ‘monster attack,’ they threatened to charge us with falsifying information if we don’t come clean with what they call ‘what really happened.’” She made air quotes.

  Rick patted her shoulder.

  “I’ll speak to them this afternoon. Perhaps I can convince them to cooperate.” Dion assured them. He had no intention of speaking to the police or involving more humans, but placating those involved would ensure they didn’t become a problem.

  “While I’m here, do you happen to have any wine? I find myself rather parched after the long flight.” He knew they didn’t, but he was curious as to whether or not Katerina Silverton had consumed the wine he’d sent over. He really hoped she had.

  Rick shook his head. “Cindy and I do not drink, but Kat enjoyed the wine you sent. I believe she finished it all, though.”

  Excellent. Everything was falling into place.

  “We have some colas if you don’t mind that kind of drink. Or water,” Cindy offered.

  “No worries. I was just hoping for something a little stronger, and I’ve always had a fondness for wine.” He stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. “Had I known I’d be placing your friend in danger, I wouldn’t have asked her on to the assignment.”

  Dion’s apparent concern for Katerina Silverton seemed to win them over.
But there was only so much of this facade he could take. Pavlo excused himself to check in to the hotel. He would be back with the hotel keys, and Dion would be able to extract himself in order to determine how to proceed to the next phase of his little experiment.

  ***

  Pan picked out the last leaf, and all that remained at the bottom of the fountain pool was dirt and grime. Not wanting to waste time heading back up to the house, he summoned the broom and dustpan from the closet in the front hallway and began to sweep. He may not have been able to transport himself around as he did before the curse, but he could still move objects over a short distance with the limited telekinesis he’d retained.

  Katerina watched him, a curious expression on her face. He couldn’t tell if her slight frown was due to worry over her current circumstances, the magically appearing cleaning supplies, or for him. Pan really hoped she didn’t pity him, because if she did at the present, revealing his past would be painful for them both. Experiencing it again as the feature presentation, start to finish, was going to suck horribly.

  After Pan removed the loose dirt from the fountain, he tossed the broom and dustpan beside the pile of leaves. Having fixated his energy doing something hands on helped him prepare for the onslaught of memories, but he had to start soon before he changed his mind and didn’t go through with it. Pan dropped to his knees and rubbed his hands together, looking at the ground around him, contemplating how best to go about filling the fountain with water.

  “Now what?” Katerina paced, wringing her hands. Barely looking up at her, Pan put his hand to the ground and concentrated. The well water came from a creek not too far beyond the trees to the right of the house. He focused on the water there, putting all he had into calling it to him. Had he been a water god, no real effort would be necessary, but telekinesis worked better on solid objects more so than billions of molecules of water. As it was, he half-expected to have a nosebleed by the time he finished.

  The earth trembled beneath his hand, bending. A small furrow formed in the ground, and suddenly water flowed past and over his hand, up the side of the marble and into the fountain pool. Physics were a joke when one had otherworldly abilities.

  “Nice trick, Moses. I would say why don’t you let your people go, but since you won’t let me leave, it would fall on deaf ears.”

  Pan chuckled. She could claim sarcasm as a language of its own. But even though she sounded bored and unimpressed, the awe was written all over her face. She was riveted by the unnatural flow of water. “Moses didn’t enslave anybody. The pharaoh did.”

  “Details.”

  The pool would only hold about a foot and a half of water, and he stopped the flow once it reached that point. Pan stood up and wiped his hands on his thighs. The pool wasn’t as clear as he’d like it to be, but it was enough to cast a reasonable reflection. It would do. He motioned for Katerina to step forward, and she did so with some hesitation.

  “Find a comfortable position where you can see into the water. You may be sitting for a while.” He resisted the urge to pick the leaves out of her curled hair. The appearance made her look wild, like a nymph, though she wasn’t one. She sat on the ground, legs curled to her side, laying both arms crossed on the lip of the fountain. She laid her head on her arms and gazed into the water.

  “I’m not going to like what I see, am I?” She didn’t turn to look at him, but she watched his reflection when she spoke.

  “No, Katerina.” Pan lifted his pipes to the level of his mouth. “You’re not. I’m ashamed for my part in the memories you’re about to see. Know that, when you see them. Try not to hate me for what I have done, and for what I didn’t do. For what I allowed to occur when I could have prevented it.”

  He began to play, conjuring his memories and letting them pour from a melody in a series of notes invisible to the naked eye, yet soft and seductive to the ear. It coursed through him and out like blood from a wound. It had threatened to bleed from him for years, and Pan feared he wouldn’t be able to stop it even if he wanted to. As the murky water churned and formed the images that haunted his mind, he closed his eyes and just played, lost in his song.

  Chapter Ten

  Mount Kithairon, Greece, 1123 B.C.

  The tangled bodies writhed in the firelight. They moved out of sync with each other but maintained the illusion of one impenetrable whole, like ants defending a disturbed mound. Every so often a head would surface for air or to drink from the ever-plentiful wine. A delicate nymph would escape and prance away, laughing; a male form, erect and eager for the chase, never far behind.

  Most were stripped of their garments, leaving several lengths of cloth littered through the grass and abandoned in the neighboring trees. Some merely lifted the ends of their chitons—too impatient to proceed with unwrapping their clothing—in order to plunge into the next willing body. The heat from the exertion and proximity to the bonfire only soaked the fabric to their flesh, hindering more than hiding. Many were so far gone in their cups they no longer cared who they pounded into, regardless of their sex, as long as they found the pleasure that made life worth living. Once they found it, they’d start all over again, often exchanging partners for another.

  The scent of wine and sweat, musky, damp, mixed in with the tang of the soil they rutted upon, permeated the night air. Bitter drafts of smoke coupled with the crackle of the dancing flame on the outskirts of the outdoor temple of trees, rock, and dirt.

  Moaning chorused with grunts of satisfaction. The whimpers of need urged on the triumphant cries. Moistened slaps of flesh pounded over and over in response. The cacophony of sounds varied in pitch and made up the notes for a song primitive in nature. Instinct. To find solace through pleasure. To give into temptation, living for the moment. That. One. Fucking. Blissful. Moment!

  Or several if it was done just right.

  Sensory overload. Intense satisfaction rolling like waves. The heat of it, buried beneath the perspiring flesh; thrusting, arching up to meet them. Brutal pushing and pulling, groping hands seeking purchase. Finding leverage in the earth, bracing themselves for the next onslaught upon their bodies. Greeting it with glorious relish.

  Pan threw his head back and laughed as he came, fisting the mane of the dark haired beauty as she took him with her mouth. She released his member and licked up his torso, around the indentions of muscle, and captured the sweat that ran like salted tears, not from the heat of the fire, as gods did not react to changes in climate, but from the exertion. She groaned as another male rocked between her thighs, and she groped handfuls of Pan’s backside as she reached her own climax. Pan pushed his drenched hair out of his eyes and pried himself from the woman’s grasp. Weaving in and out of the labyrinth of jumbled limbs, he made his way to a flat boulder with a clear view of the night sky and the landscape beyond the mountain. The grunting behind him continued, not disrupted by his departure in the least.

  He crossed his ankles and reclined back, hands behind his head. His still semi-hard penis stretched upward against his belly. The stars above were hundreds of jewels thrown against a dark cloth. Their beauty had always distracted Pan from his endless existence. He’d been alive for so many years he’d stopped counting. And while every now and then the star pattern would shift, they remained, for the most part, a constant in his life. Always there when he needed an escape. Always there.

  Someone clamped a hand on his shoulder, startling him from his reverie. “My friend, why do you hide away from the crowd?” Dionysus smiled widely, his pearly white teeth contrasted against his tan skin and sandy hair. Behind him, the shadows of the rutting humans undulated through the firelight, a great beast through the trees. “I bring you the best wine you could ever have the pleasure of tasting, the most beautiful nymphs of the mountains, forests, and rivers, and still you sit alone and stare at stars. Does my hospitality bore you?”

  Pan chuckled. “I’ve already sampled your nymphs this evening. Twice. And you know I cannot get drunk on wine.”

  �
�Twice you say? I’m amazed you didn’t wear them all out.”

  “It’s near impossible to exhaust a nymph.”

  “And here I thought I wasn’t doing it right.”

  Both gods laughed heartily at the jest. Dionysus conjured a golden goblet, more advanced in design than humans of the period were accustomed to. He filled it with deep red wine and handed it to Pan. “If you aren’t going to enjoy the pleasures of flesh any longer, at least do me the honor of drinking my wine. I can’t have you looking neglected over here—I have a reputation to uphold. You’ll drive the crowds away.” He flashed away without waiting for a response and reappeared where he’d erected a dais composed of rocks and upraised earth, standing tall and commanding attention. Having no structured temples to his name, Dionysus had fashioned his own to preside over his followers.

  Pan turned back to the stars. Dionysus had the habit of giving speeches about how he was honored by mortals’ love for him. How, as long as they continued to pay tribute and worship at his alters, he would continue sharing his wine and women and allowing his renowned orgies to come to their cities and villages. The humans may have cared, but Pan did not. He only participated because he had nothing better to do. Very little held his attention aside from lust and fun, and becoming a member of Dionysus’ circle of debauchers was the last thing on his mind. He was merely in the area that night. And, well, an orgy promised a good time.

  Zoning in and out of the present, hearing only bits here or there in the background, Pan enjoyed his blissful solitude. Varied cries of ecstasy would pull him from his thoughts with a sudden increase of volume that became soft whimpers after hitting their crescendos. Somewhere through the muffled moans, Dionysus droned on about how his faithful follower, Silenus, an old drunkard from Thebes, did him a great honor in allowing Dionysus first rights to his new bride.