Excerpt of Raine by Elizabeth Amber

Chapter 21

Raine lifted his silver gaze to the mirror that hung on the
wall in Jordan's bedchamber.

And saw himself.

Saw how horribly changed he was physically. Saw the soft
down of sepia fur that now covered his legs from thigh to
ankle. The fur not of a man, but of an animal. Having
sprouted with the onset of the Calling, it would not
disappear until the coming of dawn.

Though he wanted to turn away, he forced himself to look.
To see himself for the half-beast, half-Human he was. To
see the huge vein-roped man-penis jutting from his dark
thatch, its blood-purpled head straining in search of quim.
And to see its twin, a second ruddy penis angling high from
his pelvis a few finger spans above it.

It was the way of the Satyr and he had experienced such
changes before--at least a dozen times each year. But he’d
always avoided looking at himself when he was this way.
This was how his first wife had seen him. As Jordan would.

His eyes wandered over the bottles and vials on her
dressing table, the cushion she’d sewn for the chair, the
embroidery project she’d tossed in a basket nearby. Like
her, everything here was feminine and delicate. Fragile.

Tonight he might hurt her. At a certain point, he might not
be able to stop himself from taking her again and again,
whether she was willing or not. It was a horrifying thought.

Had it been some last shred of decency in him that had made
him come in here? he wondered. After all, he had salve of
his own, in his room. At times, he resorted to using it to
masturbate himself the multiple times necessary to assuage
his nightly need. It was makeshift, but at least he hurt no
one. Disgusted no one. Used no one, save himself. Maybe
fate was offering him a second chance to regain his self-
control before he made a terrific mistake.

If he could bring himself to climax a half dozen times or
so here in her room, perhaps he could take the edge off. It
was not too late to conjure Shimmerskins to relieve him if
that didn’t work. What was one more such night spent with
only his hand and conjured women for comfort? After a
modicum of satiation, he might even be able to make his way
to the glen to continue his fucking. The farther he got
from Jordan, the better.

He scooped cream from her jar. Half sitting on the dressing
table, he gripped his fevered cocks, one in each hand. His
brothers’ pricks were slipping inside their women even now.
Nick would be with Jane, in the sacred glen under the full
moon. Lyon would be secreted somewhere in Paris more than
likely taking Shimmerskins under him, unless he’d already
found Feydon’s third daughter. The rise in his brothers’
desire sent a new, sharp hunger churning in his gut. All
too soon his brothers would be in full-blown rut. Gods help
him then.

With unsteady hands, he began massaging himself, praying to
Bacchus he had the willpower to keep himself from the woman
who waited in his bed. Earnestly, he milked the engorged
shafts in his strong hands from root to crown and back. The
rhythmic pumping elongated and thickened him to the point
of pain. But the feel of a fist wasn’t what he craved. His
desperation mounted.

A sudden noise alerted him that he was not alone. Turning
his head, he saw that Jordan had followed him and was now
standing in the doorway between their rooms.