Feillor: God of Lammas (Sons of Herne, #6)

by J. Rose Allister

  “It is only I,” he said. He stretched out his hand and spoke words to bring forth energy. A small shimmer appeared in his palm, illuminating the space around him with a tiny ball of light. “I did not mean to startle you.”

  “Feillor,” she said, clutching her chest. “You scared me.” She scooted up and snapped on the lamp on the end table beside her. “What are you doing, standing there in the dark like that?”

  He extinguished the light ball by cupping his hands together and then releasing the energy. “I...couldn’t sleep, knowing you were out here on this couch while I took over your bed.”

  “I thought we went through all that. There’s no need to feel guilty. The couch is actually rather comfortable.”

  “Then it should be good enough for me.” He crossed his arms.

  She sighed. “I suppose neither of us is going to get any sleep until you have your way?”

  He lifted his chin. “I am a god.”

  “And I am exhausted.” She stood up and gave him a curtsy while stifling a yawn. “Very well, my lord and god. You’re welcome to the couch.”

  She wandered off to the bedroom, and Feillor sat down, watching her go. Her nightgown fell to the floor, just thin enough to make out the outline of her legs beneath the fabric. Her door closed softly.

  He picked up the blanket, which carried her scent, and he inhaled it while he switched off the lamp. His eyes, immortal as they were, made do almost as well in darkness, and he stared at nothing in particular for a fair span before at last drifting into a strange, almost troubled sleep.

  Three hours later, he was wide awake—and so was a most uncooperative erection. He went into the bathroom in the hall, making use of the facility with difficulty. He knew why his cock was eager to celebrate the sabbat early. He had been dreaming of sex, waking up right in the middle of a particularly rousing fuck dream. He was back on the farm, chasing Salina through a rolling green meadow. It was shearing time, and he pushed her down into a pile of fleece before plunging his stiff rod into the warm, welcoming heat of her pussy.

  Gods did not often dream, and when they did, there was usually a greater purpose than merely indulging carnal fantasy. But then, he was on earth now, so perhaps the usual rules no longer applied. He needed to clear his head.

  There was a shower in the tiny room, and he managed to get hot water flowing before stripping off his waist cloth and boots. His dick flew straight out, eager for his fist to wrap around it for a little relief. But such was not permitted so close to the sabbat, so he gritted his teeth and ignored it.

  Getting into the shower proved tricky. He pushed back the curtain all the way, ducked under a metal rod, and twisted his head to get his horns through without catching them. Once inside, he found himself facing the wall, and when he tried to turn around, he snagged himself on the curtain rings.

  Flustered, with his cock throbbing and his jaw clenched, he tugged and felt around his horns, trying to free himself.

  “Damn this!”

  Finally, impatience won out. He gave a vicious yank on the metal rod, and the entire thing came off the wall, hitting the floor with an enormous clatter. Moments later, the door flew open and Salina stood there, eyes wide, taking in the sight of a dripping wet god with a giant hard-on and curtains at his feet.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, her gaze appearing to be stuck below his waist. “What happened?”

  “I apologize for waking you. My horns got stuck.”

  A swirl of steam rose around her reddening cheeks, and he watched her swallow down a grin. “It’s okay. I’ll fix the curtain later.” She paused, her hand still on the doorknob, and glanced up with a guilty look when she met his eyes. “Sorry I, uh, broke in on your shower.”

  The door hadn’t even shut all the way when he heard the giggle, a lilting sound he would have found more endearing if it hadn’t come just after she’d seen him naked.

  ***

  Salina had just flipped bacon over in a cast iron pan when Feillor arrived in the kitchen, his hair wet and his expression grim. The sight triggered another ill-timed chuckle, and she swiveled around to hide it by pretending to focus on their food.

  “Breakfast will be ready in a minute,” she said, keeping her back to him while pressing the sizzling meat flat. “I hope bacon and eggs are god-approved.”

  “It smells quite good.” She heard the scrape of a kitchen chair against the floor. “I returned the metal rod to its place. But there is a small tear in the curtain.”

  “It’s just cheap vinyl. Don’t worry about it.” The heat coming off the pan mingled with what was rising in her face already. She kept picturing his hard body and the massive cock that had been dripping wet and glistening. Swallowing back the thought, she forced herself to turn around and face him. “It didn’t occur to me that someone with horns would need special accommodations.”

  “In my realm, bathing is done in a less confining space.”

  “Coffee?” she asked, grabbing the pot off the burner.

  “I have not tried it before.”

  “Then you don’t know what you’re missing. Here.”

  She pulled a mug from the rack and poured him a cup. He took it, sniffed at it, and nodded approvingly. When he put it to his lips, however, he made a face.

  Salina laughed. “Not a fan of taking it straight up? I’m not either.” She pushed the cream and honey his way. “Try adding some of each.”

  She hurried to get the bacon off the heat, draining it on paper towels when she noticed him going a bit overboard on the honey. “Whoa, there. That’s more than enough. Try it now.”

  He sipped gingerly and nodded. “Most acceptable.”

  She grinned. “A god with a sweet tooth. Who knew?” The pile of flyers was still on the dining table, and she moved them aside to make room. “I hope you like your eggs scrambled.”

  “I guess we will find out. I have not had scrambled eggs for a long time.”

  She turned around with a plate of bacon to find him staring at her. She glanced away and spotted something on the table. “What’s this?” she asked, frowning down at the strange necklace lying on the wood. The cord was black and leather-like, and the round stone on the end shimmered with an ethereal glow that was almost reminiscent of the small ball of light Feillor had conjured in the dark.

  Feillor glanced at it and abruptly rose from his chair.

  “Did you just put that there?” she asked. “Is it for me?”

  “It is a veil pendant. And it is for me.”

  “Where did it come from?”

  He took the necklace and fastened it around his neck. “Seems the Fates are finished with their little joke, thank the gods. You will not have to serve me breakfast after all.” He reached up for the glowing stone, paused, and said, “Thank you for taking me into your home. Farewell, Salina.”

  With a smile, he wrapped the stone in his palm and closed his eyes. Something bizarre happened, and her mouth fell open. He reopened his eyes and let go, returning things to normal.

  He took hold of the stone again. The anomaly came back, and when he let go, it stopped. “Why is it not working?” he asked.

  “I think maybe it is.”

  “No, I am still here.”

  “Try again.”

  “Yes. I shall focus harder on my objective.” He shut his eyes, and this time when he let go of the pendant, the anomaly stayed.

  Feillor scowled. “Why do I remain?”

  “So you’re supposed to vanish when you use the pendant? Like all of you?”

  He nodded. “The pendant allows me to phase back to my realm.”

  “I thought you had to wait three days before it was safe to do that?”

  “Veil pendants function on a different principle. Why did the Fates not mention this option before? They are rare, true, but not unobtainable. How did I not think of it?” He sighed. “But this one is not working.”

  “Well, you might not be disappearing completely, but part of you did.”


  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your horns.”

  He reached up, feeling around for the horns that were no longer there. He raced over to the mantle and stared into the mirror, turning his head this way and that. “How?”

  “No idea. That sort of magic is definitely outside my skill set.” She turned back and winced when the bottom layer of egg wouldn’t scrape free from the pan.

  “This is ridiculous,” he called out, and she knew he wasn’t speaking to her. “Stop playing games and send me back to my realm. All of me, not one piece at a time.”

  No reply came, and Salina kept an eye on Feillor, who was pacing back and forth, while she finished off the eggs and set the table.

  “I beseech you to end this,” he added. “No purpose can be served by keeping me from preparations for the sabbat!”

  “Are you certain you can’t you zap back?” Salina asked. “I mean, you said you couldn’t transport humans, but what about yourself?”

  With a heavy sigh, he returned to the table and stood there. “My powers cannot transport me between realms. Not on their own.”

  “Can you use them to change someone’s mind? Maybe you can sway the Fates into sending you back.” A thought hit, and she sucked in a breath. “Say, could you convince the city council not to let Mars tear down the woods?”

  He shook his head. “The Fates are beyond my powers. As for humans, I would not attempt it even if I could.”

  “So your powers are limited.”

  “I possess magic others among the sabbat gods do not, largely due to my heritage. Still, controlling free will is not easily accomplished, nor is it advisable even in the best of circumstances.”

  She scraped some eggs onto the plate in front of his place. “What sort of magic can you use?”

  “I have some influence over the elements, healing energy, and telekinesis. I can alter memories involving myself. That sort of thing.” He heaved a sigh while rubbing a hand over his hornless head. “Do the Fates not think they toyed enough with my life without doing this to me?”

  “Don’t you get it? They did it to help.”

  “Help!”

  “Of course. Maybe they figured that if you have to stay on earth, you should look more the part.” She caught a glimpse of his scowl and dumped the pan in the sink. “Your horns aren’t all that’s changed, either. I think.”

  He prodded at his face. “What else is wrong?”

  She pushed him backward toward the hall.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  When he was in the dimly lit space, she met his gaze and nodded. “Your eyes are different too. They still aren’t, well, entirely normal. But the glow is definitely less. Now they look more golden brown.”

  Her hand was still on his warm, bare chest, the two of them close together, staring at each other. She cleared her throat and pulled back. “Anyway, I guess that’s what the pendant is for. To make it easier for you to pass as human.”

  Feillor hissed. “A final insult. Unacceptable.”

  She turned, and he followed her back to the kitchen.

  “The pendant is supposed to return me to my realm,” he repeated. “Not change my appearance.”

  “Well, they said you’d be here three days, didn’t they?” She pulled open the fridge. “So at least you’ll be able to shower without tearing half the bathroom down.”

  She stuck a spoon in a small bowl of chives and sprinkled the little green bits on his eggs. “Oops,” she said, stopping midway. “Sorry. I didn’t think to ask if you liked them.”

  He stared down at the plate and then sank onto his chair. “My mother prepared them this way.”

  “Your mom cooked eggs with chives?”

  He glanced up. “You remind me of her. She, too, practiced the old ways, including magic. That is why I have powers that others among Herne’s sons do not. Aside from my brother, the rest were born to different women. Including those who rule the sabbats.”

  “Your father sounds like quite the busy god.” Salina added chives to her own plate and sat down. “As for your mom, don’t all gods practice the old ways? Or goddesses, rather?”

  “She was no goddess.” He paused. “My mother was human, for the most part. She had a few drops of fairy blood in her veins, some generations removed. That is why her magic was so potent. The farm I spoke of, where she raised us, was right here on earth.”

  Her fork had stopped midway to her plate. “Wait a minute. You mean to tell me you’ve got all this prejudice against humans when you’re one yourself?”

  Glow or not, his eyes sparked at that. “I am no mortal human.”

  “Your mother was.”

  “And she was part fay.”

  “Hence your name, I’m guessing.”

  “A wise inference. It means fay god, in the ancient tongue.”

  “Still, you may have horns and powers, but human is in your blood. You were raised on earth by a woman who was mostly mortal. How can you be so hard on human kind?”

  “It is because I once lived here that I understand humans for what they are. They are brutal, reckless, and faithless, placing possession above presence, conquest over harmony. Look,” he said, snatching up one of her flyers. “There is proof of their malice right here.”

  Salina stabbed a glob of egg. “Or you could look at that paper and choose to see proof of our desire to protect nature, fight for what’s right. At least, you might if you were willing to view us as more than a race to despise.” She chewed her breakfast with unusual vigor.

  He glanced at the paper, now wrinkled from his hand, and set it aside. “Perhaps. But you are one woman among a sea of self-interested mortals.”

  “We’re not all as bad as you think.”

  They fell into silence while they finished eating.

  “This was most appetizing,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “Thank you.”

  She eyed his plate. “Considering the way you cleaned your plate, I’d say you were half starved.” She paused and looked up. “You know, you really do look different this way.”

  “Please do not remind me.”

  “I think it’s a good thing.” She grinned at the scowl she earned for that comment and rose from the table. “In fact, I’m taking you with me today.”

  “Taking me where?”

  “To the meeting, of course. I’d planned to leave you behind since you wouldn’t exactly have blended. But now I think you should be there.”

  “You mean to change my mind about your kind. It will not work.”

  “We’ll see.”

  She ran water in the sink. Feillor cleared his throat. “Shall I assist you?”

  “With what, washing dishes? No way. You may look different, but you’re a god and a guest in my home. You just hang out and relax.”

  He rose anyway and handed her plates before sitting down again. As she bustled about to clean the kitchen, she felt his eyes on her back, but she didn’t say anything. She had to go over the points she wanted to bring up at the meeting, but her mind was flying in all different directions. Little wonder. She hadn’t had time for her usual morning meditation and prayer, for one thing. She’d gotten distracted by the giant crash in the bathroom during Feillor’s shower—and mercy, there came that image again. Considering he didn’t wear much to start with, she’d seen his magnificent chest, broad shoulders, and thick, corded thighs already. The part that had greeted her full monty, on the other hand, would be forever branded in her memory. His dick was huge, definitely befitting a god, and it had twitched a stiff greeting in her direction when she’d crashed in on his shower. Holy triple goddess, he was very nearly perfect. His short-sighted opinions notwithstanding.

  So yes, Feillor was all sorts of sexy trouble. The kind of all male, all seduction type that made her lament the fact that she lived alone. If only there were some kids running around, a handsome husband to greet her at the door, that would banish her inappropriate thoughts of ripping the loin cloth off Feillor, god or
not. The son of Herne was well built, well hung, and well postured. What he wasn’t at the moment was well dressed. Most of the people coming to the meeting were pagans, but even so, he would stand out rather spectacularly in his current attire.

  She could fix that easily enough.

  “I’ll take a few measurements, if you don’t mind, and run down to the thrift store before we go this afternoon,” she said, tackling the counter with a dish cloth.

  “What is the purpose of taking my measure?”

  “Clothes. Men around here don’t generally walk around in loin cloths, unless they’re pagans during Beltane or their name is Tarzan. Jeans and a shirt, if I can find one to fit you, will be a better choice.”

  “Would it not be easier for me to accompany you to ensure the garments fit?”

  She laughed. “Take you into a store wearing little more than a leather mini skirt? No.”

  After drying her hands, she got out her measuring tape and a pad of paper. “Stand up, please.”

  Circling his chest with the measuring tape immediately warned her of the flaw in her plan. This put her hands more or less on his hard body, which was getting harder by the moment when she slid her arms around him to pull the tape around his back. His nipples stiffened when the tape measure brushed them, which was bad enough. Then his waist, which was dangerous territory, directed her attention low enough to notice he was aroused again. She tried to focus on the math, but when it came time to measure his inseam, she couldn’t ignore the bulge in the suede-like fabric.

  Salina held out one end of the tape. “Here. You hold this against your...well, could you put it against the top of your inner thigh? I’ll hold the other end by your feet.”

  He flashed her a strange grin. “You are being rather thorough in your measure of me.”

  “I need to know your size. Unless you just want to tell me you’re a thirty-four extra long?”

  “An extra long what, exactly?”

  Her eyes flew wide. “Never mind. Just stick this between your legs and let me concentrate.”

  Don’t look, don’t look, she told herself while he did as she asked, and she focused on the end that was hanging down by his inner ankle.