Happy New Year, everyone!
I am pleased to announce the fifth (or first) and final story in my “Coven Chronicles” series.
“Lord of the Forest” goes far back to the mythical beginnings of the coven. Moira, a young woman, goes into the forest to search for a lost pig. In doing so, she draws the attention of the Lord of the Forest, a horny nature god who has to decide whether Moira is worthy of him, and of bearing his child.
This story draws on the myths which Claire Chamberlain and her children relate at one time or another during the four initial stories of “The Coven Chronicles.” Although it can stand alone, I think that anyone who has read and enjoyed Claire’s adventures will find this a fitting end to their stories.
The story is for sale in all the usual places, including Carnal-Pleasures. Feel free to read the last chapter in one of my favorite series. Or, if you have not read about Claire, John, Susanna, and the rest, buy this introduction and get acquainted with the story.
Word Count: 12,900
Like a cornered animal, brought to bay at last, she turned to face her pursuer. Her shaking hands held the staff, and her grip tightened, ready to fight.
“Come on out then,” she growled, fear and unwilling lust replaced by resolve. “Show yourself to me.”
A long pause, then the Lord of the Forest appeared.
He took the form of a mighty stag, picking his way delicately from under the shadows of the trees. Five feet high at the shoulder, he towered over her, even from a distance. His coat was a deep dark red, the color of blood, caught with burrs and twigs and leaf fragments. His eyes were a liquid black, beautiful in the dim light. A mighty crown of antlers erupted from his head, the wide span seeming to cradle the sky itself.
Oh. Now I understand. The mingling of fear and lust. Oh, Moira, don’t make a mistake now. If the old tales are true, you are about to be blessed above all women.
The stag walked closer, its hooves almost silent on the deep grass of the clearing. It bent its head, the wicked tines of its antlers lowering, until one pressed into the hollow of her throat.
Moira lowered her eyes respectfully. “I give you greeting, my Lord.” Mindful of the danger, she lifted the hem of her skirt in a graceful curtsey.
When she lifted her eyes, the stag was gone. In its place stood a man.
He was fully nude. His red hair, a match for the stag’s pelt, hung long past his neck, braided with feathers, shells, and small bones. His black eyes were deep and dark, but alight with mischief. His arms and legs, although bearing many small scratches, were clean, straight, and strong. His chest rose from the sculpted muscles of his stomach, making her pulse flutter. It was almost hairless, but the scattering of red-brown fuzz at his navel gradually broadened and thickened until it merged with the wiry hair at his loins.
And if her pulse fluttered at the sight of his chest, his cock made it take wing and fly. Long, thick, and hard, it rose from the nest of hair at his groin in a boisterous shout of male pride and power. Milky white at the base, dark red at the throbbing tip, it made her want a man as she had never wanted anything in her life. The thought of having it within her made her clamp her thighs together, almost groaning with frustrated desire.