| Excerpt:
Satyr Estate, Tuscany, Italy
1823
It was
Moonful and a Calling night.
The Lords of Satyr met
silently in the sacred gathering place at the heart of the family’s ancient
vineyard. Instinct had driven them here. Need fueled them.
They paused beneath a
large statue--the most imposing of those that ringed the isolated glen.
Above them on a pedestal, Bacchus stood frozen in stone. Grapevines wreathed
his hair and a wine goblet was extended in one hand as though he were
offering a toast in celebration of what they were about to do.
The first shaft of
moonlight dispelled the murk, drenching the lords in its silver, revealing
their nakedness. Almost in unison, they were seized by cramps that rippled
cruelly over their taut bellies. They bent low, their features contorting
into grimaces. Raw groans that were a blend of pain and pleasure erupted
from their throats as the last physical change of the Calling night
occurred.
Nicholas, the eldest,
recovered first.
His eyes made a quick
survey of the glen. It was protected, he knew. Strangers never came here.
When Humans wandered too close, they were repelled by a force they didn’t
understand.
He willed himself to
uncoil and stand, relieved the turmoil had passed. He hated the feeling of
helplessness that always accompanied the Change. He couldn’t afford to be
vulnerable, even for so short a time. There was too much at stake.
It would be dangerous
for anyone to see him or his brothers like this. He was a freakish creature
now, fit only for a harem or brothel that catered to those with a taste for
the bizarre. Just the sort of place he might frequent, were he in a
particular sort of mood.
He
touched himself, slid a thumb and two fingers along newly awakened flesh
from root to crown. His thumb found the drop of moisture in the crease at
his tip and idly smeared it.
The last Change of
Moonful had gifted him with this new shaft of bone and sinew--this second
cock ripped from his own flesh. It extended high and hard from his pelvis,
and twitched with hunger. Only slightly smaller than the enormous cock
already rooted just below in his thatch, it craved relief as much as its
twin. He soothed it—stroking. Mimicking the welcome it would soon find
between female thighs, as he waited for his brothers to undergo a similar
change. |