Page 2 of Can't Get No Satyrfaction

The tail wagged again and she laughed.

“I guess you like that. I don’t suppose you have an owner nearby, do you? Preferably a far less intimidating owner. Someone who could get me out of these vines?”

Fluffy’s head came up as if he understood what she was saying.

“Do you?” she asked hopefully. “I could really use some help.”

His head tilted as she gestured at her trapped feet, and he sniffed at the vines. A deep growl suddenly vibrated through that massive chest, and then he turned and disappeared into the bushes with an astonishing lack of noise for something so big.

She suddenly felt very alone. Had Fluffy gone to find help? Like Lassie going to report that Timmy was down a well, she thought, then shook her head at her foolishness. Bowser always came back for more petting—hopefully Fluffy would as well.

In the meantime, was there something else she could do to free herself? She did have a small hand axe in her backpack. It was a cute little axe with a pink and white striped handle, but she’d never used an axe before and the vines were bound so closely to her feet, she wasn’t sure that she could cut herself free without chopping off part of her foot. Maybe she should just wait a little longer before she tried that option.

The bushes rustled again, and she looked up eagerly, hoping that Fluffy had returned. Even if he hadn’t brought anyone with him, she would appreciate some company. Her optimism was unfounded.

The most enormous male she’d ever seen stalked out of the bushes towards her.

Thick, dark hair streaked with silver surrounded a face that would have been handsome if it hadn’t been twisted into a fierce scowl. A short dark beard accentuated a strong jawline and gave him a faintly satanic look. Rich brown skin covered acres of bare muscular chest, while the lower half of his body was coveredwith dark, silky fur. His knees went back at an odd angle, leading down to cloven hooves.

A satyr. A practically naked satyr, wearing only a worn leather belt with a knife on one side and some kind of flat pouch on the other. Not that he had any reason to cover that magnificent body, she thought admiringly.

She’d heard about satyrs of course, but she’d never encountered one before—perhaps not surprisingly, since they tended to keep to the wilderness, especially protected areas like the Elderwood. Although she was thrilled at the opportunity to talk to him, from the scowl on his face, he wasn’t equally as excited.

He came to a halt right in front of her, his big body looming over her as he crossed huge, muscular arms across that broad chest. Luminous green eyes glared down at her.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

CHAPTER 2

Thorn scowled down at the ridiculously small human female sitting next to the creek. Dark auburn hair had escaped from a ponytail to form a disheveled mane around a pretty, oval face dominated by two huge blue eyes. A pink t-shirt clung enticingly to slender curves and faded denim shorts revealed entirely too much bare, curvy leg.

His nostrils flared as a sweetly seductive scent drifted up towards him, and he had the sudden impulse to bend down and breathe in more of that enticing scent. Nonsense. He had no interest in human females.

“What are you doing here?” he growled again, annoyed by his reaction.

Her lips parted as she returned his gaze, and she licked them nervously. He found himself tracking that movement, wondering if she tasted as sweet as she smelled, and immediately wanted to slap himself for that stupidity.

Humans were dangerous, not sweet—with the possible exception of his nephew’s mate who, at least so far, had provento be an exception. Over the years he’d met a few other humans he could tolerate, but on the whole he neither liked nor trusted them.

“Well?” he demanded when she didn’t answer.

“I-I…” Her expression suddenly changed as Bront entered the clearing, and he swore under his breath. He’d told his dog to remain behind but, not unusually, Bront had decided to ignore him.

“Fluffy,” the female cried, a delighted smile crossing her face, and he felt an unreasonable annoyance that the smile was directed at his dog rather than at him. “You did come back. Is this the help I asked you to bring?”

She gave him a doubtful look as Bront dropped his heads into her lap and nudged her hand. To his shock, she immediately began cooing over the dog and scratching him behind the ears as his tail whipped ecstatically.Fluffy?

“My dog’s name is Bront.”

“Are you sure?” she had the nerve to ask. “He seemed to like it when I called him Fluffy.”

To his annoyance, Bront panted amiably and nudged her hand again.

“I know my own dog’s name,” he snapped.

“If you say so,” she looked up at him, still smiling. “Did he get you to come and help me?”

The dog had indeed urged him in this direction, but he ignored her question.

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