Tallisun: God of Ostara (Sons of Herne, #3)

by J. Rose Allister

  Table of Contents

  Tallisun: God of Ostara (Sons of Herne, #3)

  TALLISUN: GOD OF OSTARA | SONS OF HERNE 3 | J. ROSE ALLISTER

  TALLISUN: GOD OF OSTARA SONS OF HERNE 3 J. ROSE ALLISTER

  *The End*

  Read on for a look at the next tale- Jorandil: God of Beltane: | ABOUT JORANDIL: GOD OF BELTANE:

  EXCERPT FROM JORANDIL: GOD OF BELTANE:

  Titles in the Sons of Herne Series:

  TALLISUN: GOD OF OSTARA

  SONS OF HERNE 3

  J. ROSE ALLISTER

  They will hunt each other for a love they never expected...

  Tallisun has little interest in fulfilling his godly duty by bedding a woman for the ritual of spring. He would much rather be part of the Thousand Seasons hunt that his father, Herne, forbade him from attending. When Tallisun goes off on a hunt of his own, he nearly shoots a beautiful earth woman who wanders in front of his arrow. To retaliate for costing him his trophy, he steals her garments while she bathes in a nearby lake.

  Harper is camping solo when her clothes are taken by a handsome, well-built male who is sexy as hell, but clearly off his rocker. After all, who runs around the forest wearing antlers and claiming to be a god? But to her shock, Tallisun proves his antlers are real, and the god of Ostara has intentions toward her that are far less than platonic.

  He has an intriguing proposition: let him hunt her in the woods. If he catches her, she will become the spring maiden in a carnal ritual he has become more interested in than ever. Harper wouldn’t mind a one-time rendezvous with such a delicious morsel, except for his aggravating doubt in her survival skills. So she has a better idea. He will not hunt her. They will hunt each other.

  The contest of becoming both hunter and hunted will take them to a place of primal yearning, and their sabbat union will awaken unexpected consequences that complicate their mutual decision to part amicably after the ritual is through.

  About the Sons of Herne series:

  The god Herne has appointed eight of his most virile, headstrong sons as keepers of the pagan holidays. To honor their sabbat, each must join with a mortal female in a ritual to maintain the balance between worlds.

  It is the year of The Thousand Seasons, and the Fates have secretly conspired to mark the end of an era by granting the gods one thing they lack—a true union of male and female that will last well beyond the fleeting passion of a sabbat joining.

  Herne’s sons will wrestle with the conflict between sacred duty and their own yearnings, a struggle that will not only challenge their beliefs, but may threaten the success of rituals that must be observed lest the realms of mortal and immortal collide in chaos.

  Genre: Erotic Romance/Fantasy

  Length: Around 33,000 words

  Copyright © 2016 by J. Rose Allister

  Second Edition Publication: July 2016

  First Publication: February 14, 2016 (limited release as Spirit of Spring)

  Cover design by J. Rose Allister

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2016 by J. Rose Allister

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: You do not have the right to distribute or resell this book without the prior written permission of the author. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred.

  TALLISUN: GOD OF OSTARA

  SONS OF HERNE 3

  J. ROSE ALLISTER

  Stealth and might, awareness and respect. These were the qualities a good hunter needed to stalk the wise forests, and Tallisun drew on them all while he crept among the trees. He paused with his palm against the rough bark of a slumbering oak, scenting the air, listening to the sounds of the wild woods.

  The “wild” woods where he stood were, perhaps, not as wild as he would like. Far away in the eighth realm, his father was leading a merry chase through the endless woods that had earned their renown. But Tallisun, son of Herne, god of the sabbat, and master of the bow had been refused the chance to attend the Hunt of the Three Horns, arguably the largest in the series of hunts commemorating the year-long celebration of the Thousand Seasons. The insult stung, much like the narrow branch that whipped his face when he turned his head to duck through the dense forest. Making passage at present was no easy task, considering his antlers were at full size. Avoiding snagging himself among the trees was not his focus, however. His eyes darted every which way, seeking an outlet for the anger burning inside him.

  “Surely you do not mean to attend a hunt that will take you out of the realm when you have a ritual to prepare for?” his father had asked when Tallisun had been foolish enough to presume he would be taking part.

  “Of all your sons, I am the only one who should be attending,” Tallisun said. “I alone have followed the footsteps of the great hunter.”

  “A bit overstated,” his father had said. “You are a skillful archer, true. But a great hunter knows when the call of his prey does not come from the forest, but from the duties he must attend outside of the hunt.”

  Back in the mortal forest, another deep breath brought the sweet smell of awakening to his nostrils. He closed his eyes, giving in for a moment to the pull of the nearing sabbat. The forest had stirred from the slumber of winter, and along with it, Tallisun felt a stirring in his loins. Duties outside of the hunt, in his case, meant the duty of a sabbat god. He must find himself a female before the sun set on the sabbat and unite with her in a wild frenzy. He would fuck her in earnest, as untamed as the animals he put in front of his arrows, and not just to douse the rising, unavoidable surge of lust. He had to fulfill the ritual of Ostara, a sacred rite to acknowledge the burst of spring as all life gathered strength to fuel the coming summer. He would neither know the woman, nor would he even select her himself. The one who would become his ritual partner was chosen by the Counsel of Sabbats—had already been chosen, no doubt—based on criteria that rendered her suitable for the rite, not for his preference.

  In fairness, he had long ago opted out of directing the selection process. There seemed little point when the woman would give her consent to a mere specter, a god who would come to her, then come in her, and then take his leave. When he was phased between realms using the power of the pendant, he would neither be seen nor felt, as absent in ritual intercourse as he felt in other times of his life.

  The heat of the sun had coaxed to life many smells in the woods, enticing scents wafting on a warm breeze. The aromas and sounds, right down to the gentle rustle of budding leaves, conspired to harden the bulk between his thighs. The wind teased at his hair, pushing the long threads of gold back over his shoulders the way he might do to a woman whose bare neck he wished to explore with his lips. He shook off the distraction to focus on the task at hand. Ostara was not, in his opinion, the time to celebrate the wet heat of a woman’s pussy. It was a time when the hunter celebrated a forest full of new life—by claiming a trophy and fortifying his body with the strength of seared meat.

  Even now, the day was waning, but not his desire to avoid the “calling”. Whether or not his father had allowed him at the Three Horns festivities, Tallisun would observe the hunt on his own, hopefully with a kill that would rival that of the great Herne’s. Perhaps that achievement might sate the need rising inside him. Perhaps his bow and arrow could distract him from the need to find relief inside the wet heat of a woma
n, for no other reason than duty demanded it.

  Hunter and prey warred inside of him, one struggling to survive, the other determined to conquer. What had it been like to drive his cock into a woman for the sheer pleasure of desiring her tender flesh, her warm embrace, the joyous sound of her moans and the reward of a contented smile when he had satisfied her? Too much time had passed to recall. He had become his father’s stud pony, performing on command at the whim of the sabbat. Even now, Ostara beckoned, sliding over the spring grasses like a snake. But he would retain control of his body—and his will—for as long as he could. He would resist the need building inside of him until he had gotten what he had come for.

  The hunt drew his attention once more, and he realized that he had an unfair advantage. His fingers slid to the pendant around his neck, finding the gem that vibrated on a frequency unique to all others. The stone, forged with the energies of the veil between worlds, kept him hidden in this realm, just enough out of phase that he could be heard, perhaps even smelled, but not seen. A definite advantage for a hunter, but not one he wished to exploit if he wanted a true test of his skills. Such also lacked respect for the prey who must be allowed a fair chance to see what lurked in the shadows.

  Tallisun tugged the pendant from his neck and slid it into his pocket. His experience of the earth realm heightened only slightly with him in phase, but the realm would now be fully aware of him. Prey would be scarce at this hour of the day, but he knew the most likely spot to encounter some. He made his way to the lake, crouching behind brush that gave him a vantage point to observe the watering spot. An erection throbbed in his leggings, dividing his attention in as many directions as the forks on his head. He bit the inside of his cheek and kept his eyes on the water. He was growing quite late for his appointment with the sabbat, but he would not engage that task until he had fulfilled this one.

  Minutes stretched by while he waited, motionless, willing the arrival of a worthy prize. Patience had been a hard won victory for Tallisun ever since boyhood. He had been taken on hunts by his father when his goddess mother had been too preoccupied with lovers, both male and female, to care for her son. Many aspects of the hunt had appealed to him, but the most important—the ability to maintain patience while awaiting the proper moment to strike—had proven a most difficult foe to conquer. The very notion of remaining still had filled him with dread, and his juvenile attempts had made his body quiver with unspent energy until he exploded in motion like a geyser. He had believed that if he stopped moving, that lack of action would rob him of control, a reason for being. Now, he knew that a steadfast pursuit of stillness was a true mark of discipline, proof that control of his faculties belonged to him.

  Shadows lengthened, shifting the perspective of the woods and turning sections of the lake to liquid ink, and still there was no sign of his quarry. His need would yet be slaked, for some must come to the water soon, indulging one final drink before retreating to wait out the night.

  The stillness took on an urgency, a deliberate calm that he recognized. The projection of quiet was not the same thing as actual lack of motion.

  Something was coming.

  His eyes searched the line of trees ringing the lake, and at last, he saw the brief flicker of movement. The animal took one step and froze, perfect in its discipline, near unfailing in its caution. Large, wise brown eyes scanned the tree line. A soft, dark nose quivered while it sampled the air for wafts of danger, but Tallisun was downwind so as not to be detected. The creature was a stag, magnificent and powerful, with a wide chest narrowing to slender legs. One leg was bent and poised off the ground, like a statue captured mid step, while the animal decided his fortune.

  Three beats, then four, Tallisun waited while the stag almost echoed his own experience. A mirror image of himself, though the stag had only recently sprouted the small, velvety forks of new spring antlers. Tallisun’s had matured until they weighed down both his head and his consciousness. The god’s time for mating was upon him already, whereas the stag’s antlers would continue to grow until the autumn ruts, when his time came to lock horns, as it were, for the right to mate and bring forth a new crop of fawns the following spring. Yet another creature whose urges were dictated by the wheel of the year, his cock’s worth to the universe measured by a spread of antlers that would be shed when his purpose had been served. Indeed, by the time the sun had finished setting on Ostara, Tallisun’s rack would be shed and mounted in his sabbat chamber in the Counsel of Sabbats. Which was where he should be now. Assistants were no doubt whispering together, possibly already informing the counselors that the god of Ostara was missing on the eve of his sabbat.

  The thought of wide-eyed acolytes racing about in a panic brought a slow smile to his lips. His mother was a trickster goddess, and while little of her had been bestowed upon him aside from white-gold hair and a knack for flouting the norm, he did appreciate a bit of fun here and there. The occasional practical joke eased the monotonous routine of a sabbat god.

  One step, then another, and the stag came forth from the trees. His long, graceful neck swiveled as he looked this way and that, and Tallisun’s breath stilled as he watched the creature, king of the forest, make a most royal descent down the sloping shore of the lake. Matching the animal’s slow, sleek motion, he reached for the bow he had propped against a tree. The stag paused at the water’s edge, the heart-shaped swell of powerful back legs poised and ready to spring at the slightest disturbance. Tallisun silently pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back while the stag took one final measure of his surroundings.

  The arrow slid into the nock of the bow with practiced ease, but Tallisun did not lift his weapon until the stag bent down to nuzzle the surface of the water. The hunter hoisted the bow, took in a breath, and lined up the shot. His stance was perfection, his draw steady, and his aim true. Relaxing his muscles, he exhaled and prepared to send fate in search of its target.

  A crash through the trees barely had time to herald a disruption, and he had already begun releasing the bowstring when a woman burst through the woods and stopped right in his sights. He sucked in a breath and jerked the bow upward at the last second, sending the shot wide and up into the trees. The stag, as startled as Tallisun, bolted back into the forest, and the hunter’s steady heart exploded into a frenzy. Alternating surges of fear and anger shot through his veins as he glared at the intruder.

  That it had been a woman who had stopped short at the sight of the deer had been obvious in a millisecond. Flirty layers of dark hair spilled playfully from a high ponytail that swung when she walked, as did the flare of feminine hips encased in a shape-hugging pair of jeans. Now aware that she’d disturbed at least one creature’s habits, she glanced around belatedly before walking to the water’s edge. Tallisun clenched his jaw while he watched her sauntering motion, the careless swing of slender limbs as she moved. She apparently had no sense of being observed, no clue that he had almost sent an arrow through her heart. She must not have heard the missed shot that had gone sailing into an oak branch. No hunter’s instincts, that was for sure. Yet she was out in the woods alone, traipsing along as though she owned the lands and everything on them.

  He set the bow aside and folded his arms, stuffing his fists beneath his armpits while she uncapped a clear jug and filled it from the lake. She had no idea her thoughtless traipsing about had cost him the hunt—and nearly her own life along with it. How freeing it must be to stumble through existence, unaware that one’s actions bore consequences to those around them. No doubt she had never been given the lectures about sacred duty, how the fate of worlds hung in a delicate balance that must be maintained by the will of the gods. Humans had long ago abandoned the cause of caring for the earth and the magic that could help preserve it.

  She set the jug down and bent lower, scrubbing her hands in the water. She bent from the waist, giving him quite a view of her ass in the process. She straightened and turned, grabbing the jug on the way, and he got his first look at her full on.
The cascade of brown hair tied back behind her had fallen forward when she’d bent at the lake, and now it rested over one shoulder to brush one of the generous breasts straining the bounds of her clingy top. Her eyes matched the spring green of the shirt’s fabric, bright and possessed of an alertness that seemed impossible considering the way she’d blundered onto the scene moments before. They were like doe’s eyes, delicately curved, sensual, with long lashes and a twinkle that he hadn’t expected. Her nose was slender, with a light dusting of freckles and a gentle upturn at the base that gave her expression a turn of mischief. Her waist dipped in seductively, and at her belt, he was surprised to note a knife tucked inside a leather sheath.

  Her breasts jiggled invitingly as she headed back to the woods, humming a lilting tune to herself before disappearing between a pair of large trees. Tallisun stood there, starting after her, knowing that his mission had failed. He had not succeeded in procuring the meat he wanted to sink into before he was relegated to sinking into something softer. Moments passed, each one nagging at him to cross through the veil and fulfill his obligation. He should leave now, return to the Counsel of Sabbats, and prepare for the ritual of spring.

  He took hold of his bow, slung it on his back, and ducked quietly through the trees in the direction the female had gone.

  ***

  Harper plunked down the plastic water jug beside her and rubbed her hands on her jeans. Camping close to the water had made matters easier when it came time to refill her supply, but she’d been so focused on the task that she’d scared off a deer that could have been a more dangerous animal. Perhaps that was unlikely at this hour of the day, but the sight of the beautiful stag had frozen her in place and sent her heart into her throat. It had bolted before she’d gotten a good look, which was a shame. She wouldn’t have harmed it, not a creature that big. The game she hunted was a fair sight smaller, like the rabbits hanging from a tree nearby.