At first, the motions were slow—measured steps that traced the perimeter of the circle. Hooves pressed into the earth in deliberate rhythm, each impact aligning with the strange pulse Salem felt in his core. The flute’s melody seemed to dance as well, twisted and doubled back on itself, never quite repeating.
Then Zaq joined in, also playing a flute, but his was low and resonant, vibrating through the ground and up into Salem’s bones. The fauns kept dancing, their movements grew faster, more intricate, their bodies tracing arcs that seemed to bend the firelight itself.
Then, abruptly, they stopped.
Silence fell—not empty, but dense, expectant.
Aurin sucked back a breath, not knowing what was happening. He reached over and gripped Salem’s hand.
Drawn from a pipe, thin and reedy, yet impossibly clear, a high note drifted through the trees as if answering a call from the faun. It wove through the night like a thread of gold pulled taut.
And out of the trees, emerging from the darkness like a vision, emerged a female faun. She was smaller, daintier, with a pretty human face and long brown hair covering her breasts. Two more came in behind her, each playing a flute. The music softened into silence.
Pax met her by the fire and bowed, lowering his head toward his hoof, and she responded in kind. Neither one of them spoke. Everyone watched and waited.
Aurin was transfixed.
Then one of the female fauns stepped forward, lifting the instrument to her lips. The music was serene. It told a story in a language all its own.
Then Fyn stepped forward, his flute to his lips, and he replied in harmony.
Cern clapped in sheer joy, and the herd of female fauns filed out, and both herds began to circle the fire, dancing and rejoicing.
Such a sight never failed to take Salem’s breath away.
The fire responded as the rhythm sharpened, orange flames high and embers meeting the starry sky. Hooves pressed into the ground in deliberate patterns. Circles within circles. Theground seemed to reply, the mountain itself joining in, a subtle trembling that travelled outward. Salem felt it through the soles of his feet, a steady thrum that matched the beat in his chest.
As the night went on, they drank more mead, laughing and clapping along, eating roasted sweet potatoes and candied berries. They celebrated life and time, the wonderment of nature, and the marking of a new season.
Salem was renewed, his purpose restored. And the last thing Salem remembered, as the dawn of a new day was breaking over the mountain, was taking Aurin to bed. Enamoured and amorous, drunk on love and far too much mead, they made love. Aurin gave himself so willingly, eagerly, and Salem took him the way they’d done so many times before.
But not like this.
Nothing like this.
Chapter
Four
AURIN
Aurin woketo a room of blistering sunlight and a sharp throbbing in his head that felt offensively personal.
Salem was a warm weight against his back, and they were—he lifted the blankets to see—yep, both naked.
He had a vague recollection of having sex. His body certainly ached in all the right places. He had flashes of memories of passionate kisses and wild fucking. He remembered the orgasm Salem had beckoned out of him...
Oh yes, he remembered that.
His body flushed warm all over, heat pooling deliciously in his belly and curling around his spine. But then the warmth didn’t subside. And Salem was getting warmer at his back, and then it was all too hot, and Aurin needed to cool down.
He needed water.
To drink, to dive into. To submerse himself.
To morph.
He needed to go home.
