Read Online Raine: The Lords of Satyr by Elizabeth Amber - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Amber
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embarrass the bishop. “Offering a reward does no good. Better that the French turn their prize money to relieving the hardships that Napoleon caused the people of Venice. They now suffer from poverty as widespread as the phylloxera.”
He gestured toward the ragged beggars and prostitutes who loitered in the shadows of an adjacent alley. Mistaking his gesture for a summons, the desperate surged forward. Since the bishop was the closest to them, he bore the brunt of exposure.
“Be gone, you poxed creatures!” he cried, batting them away. Two passing constables joined in the fray, quelling those whose only crime was that of indigence.
In the confusion, Raine slipped away from the group. They’d been talking of attending a conversazioni in the salon of an exalted acquaintance nearby. But he was tired of talk. He had no patience for idle gossip and certainly no gift for conversation.
Before he left Venice behind for the night, he had but one last piece of business to attend to. Sex. Quick. Easy. And preferably Human.
When the bishop turned his attention from the fracas, the group of vintners had dispersed. Aghast, he glanced around for Raine.
Spotting one of the others from the lecture, he raced to catch up with him. “Where has Signore Satyr disappeared to?”
“I would guess he is headed off along the Canalazzo to find himself a companion for the evening. The others in our group departed to do the same. On my part, I’m off to my wife. Buona sera.”
But the bishop hadn’t remained to hear his bid of farewell. He was already trotting down the Riva del Vin, in search of his tall, handsome prize.
Raine made his way along the Riva del Vin, the promenade formed by the foundations of the buildings lining the Grand Canal’s northeastern edge. The cargo of wine he’d seen earlier had been unloaded and whisked away to be sold to restaurants, hotels, and individual buyers in Venice and beyond.
The Rialto Bridge lay ahead, spanning the canal. On its far side were the Riva del Ferra and Riva del Carbon, where cargoes of iron and coal were traditionally delivered. His gondola already awaited him there, dockside.
But he didn’t signal to the gondoliers. He’d hired them until morning and they would wait.
Soft sirens’ voices crooned to him from above. The courtesans were out on their covered balconies subtly hawking their wares even in this weather. At the sight of him, they leaned over the decorative iron railings, fluttering painted fans and posing provocatively.
Unfortunately his control had slipped too dangerously to chance taking one of them. The blood of his ancestors boiled in his veins tonight, and he was in no mood for holding back.
Because of the hermaphrodite. It was she who’d dredged up this sudden longing to feel the warmth of Human female flesh against him. The sight of her had revived the fierce carnal need he normally kept tamped down. His cock had been hard ever since he’d spied her, and it craved relief.
It was on an evening when he was in just such a state that he’d managed to frighten his former wife into leaving him. It had been Moonful then, when she’d run to the neighbors with tales of his wickedness. Of his physical strangeness. Of the way he’d Changed before her eyes with the coming of the moon. Though Nick had followed her and used a mindspell to mitigate the damage, her words had set the gossips humming about Raine and his family. Regret for his part in that still haunted him.
He hadn’t found his ease with a Human female since that disastrous night. Instead, whenever the moon was full and overwhelming lust drove him to the sacred glen at the heart of Satyr lands to rut the night away, he’d taken other creatures under him. Unreal creatures the Satyr could conjure at will but who felt nothing. Shimmerskins.
A week from now when Moonful came yet again, he would do the same, here in Venice. He’d find a private, isolated residence to hire for the night where he would
He gestured toward the ragged beggars and prostitutes who loitered in the shadows of an adjacent alley. Mistaking his gesture for a summons, the desperate surged forward. Since the bishop was the closest to them, he bore the brunt of exposure.
“Be gone, you poxed creatures!” he cried, batting them away. Two passing constables joined in the fray, quelling those whose only crime was that of indigence.
In the confusion, Raine slipped away from the group. They’d been talking of attending a conversazioni in the salon of an exalted acquaintance nearby. But he was tired of talk. He had no patience for idle gossip and certainly no gift for conversation.
Before he left Venice behind for the night, he had but one last piece of business to attend to. Sex. Quick. Easy. And preferably Human.
When the bishop turned his attention from the fracas, the group of vintners had dispersed. Aghast, he glanced around for Raine.
Spotting one of the others from the lecture, he raced to catch up with him. “Where has Signore Satyr disappeared to?”
“I would guess he is headed off along the Canalazzo to find himself a companion for the evening. The others in our group departed to do the same. On my part, I’m off to my wife. Buona sera.”
But the bishop hadn’t remained to hear his bid of farewell. He was already trotting down the Riva del Vin, in search of his tall, handsome prize.
Raine made his way along the Riva del Vin, the promenade formed by the foundations of the buildings lining the Grand Canal’s northeastern edge. The cargo of wine he’d seen earlier had been unloaded and whisked away to be sold to restaurants, hotels, and individual buyers in Venice and beyond.
The Rialto Bridge lay ahead, spanning the canal. On its far side were the Riva del Ferra and Riva del Carbon, where cargoes of iron and coal were traditionally delivered. His gondola already awaited him there, dockside.
But he didn’t signal to the gondoliers. He’d hired them until morning and they would wait.
Soft sirens’ voices crooned to him from above. The courtesans were out on their covered balconies subtly hawking their wares even in this weather. At the sight of him, they leaned over the decorative iron railings, fluttering painted fans and posing provocatively.
Unfortunately his control had slipped too dangerously to chance taking one of them. The blood of his ancestors boiled in his veins tonight, and he was in no mood for holding back.
Because of the hermaphrodite. It was she who’d dredged up this sudden longing to feel the warmth of Human female flesh against him. The sight of her had revived the fierce carnal need he normally kept tamped down. His cock had been hard ever since he’d spied her, and it craved relief.
It was on an evening when he was in just such a state that he’d managed to frighten his former wife into leaving him. It had been Moonful then, when she’d run to the neighbors with tales of his wickedness. Of his physical strangeness. Of the way he’d Changed before her eyes with the coming of the moon. Though Nick had followed her and used a mindspell to mitigate the damage, her words had set the gossips humming about Raine and his family. Regret for his part in that still haunted him.
He hadn’t found his ease with a Human female since that disastrous night. Instead, whenever the moon was full and overwhelming lust drove him to the sacred glen at the heart of Satyr lands to rut the night away, he’d taken other creatures under him. Unreal creatures the Satyr could conjure at will but who felt nothing. Shimmerskins.
A week from now when Moonful came yet again, he would do the same, here in Venice. He’d find a private, isolated residence to hire for the night where he would
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