Through the Maelstrom (17 page)

There was never a truer word of advice than, "Be careful what you wish for." Those who hunted monsters would either go home empty handed or would find way more than they were equipped to handle. Oh, and making grown men scream like little girls...
So amusing.
He became particularly proud of himself if he could make them piss their pants, but even that had started to lose its appeal.

As he turned north, intending to head deeper into the wilds, a female's whimsical laughter halted him, and his cock twitched in response. Pan rotated toward the mortals. It had taken him centuries to fight the impulse to stalk anything female until he'd seduced them and sated the limitless lust of his
Satyros
nature. In recent years, he'd even bypassed women without so much as turning his head to appreciate their voluptuous curves. He'd become so efficient at resisting that he'd been celibate for nearly three decades. He was proud of himself for mastering the desire, the arousal that ruled him. He knew the others had not been as fortunate.

But that laugh...

It was a melody of carefree wickedness, and it spoke to his soul. A temptation which beckoned him more than anything had in a very long time. The woman it belonged to could very well be his undoing.

Then again, there was also that pesky little curse which made him an insatiable, rutting sex fiend, so mostly anything about a female could, in theory, spark a reaction from him. And thirty years was a long time, especially one with his
condition
. He wondered if he was experiencing a moment of weakness.

Pan strolled toward the voices, coming across a dark-haired man holding a video camera. The man was filming a redheaded woman as she attached a video-recording device to a tree. Many people ventured into the Pine Barrens to do the same. These people were tracking wildlife, hoping to catch a photograph of something in its natural habitat. They camouflaged the camera enough so animals would move close to it and not realize they were being observed.

The woman turned and searched the area, her gaze brushing across the cluster of trees where he stood. Pan wondered if she felt him watching her and concentrated on maintaining his glamour to shield himself from view. The female was beautiful. Her hair, the perfect combination of copper and gold, as though someone had poured a chest of ancient treasures down her back where it had softened into loose, lazy ringlets. She dressed for comfort in a pair of dark blue jeans which were tucked into a pair of brown hiking boots. Her yellow flannel shirt was unbuttoned with a lacy, white shirt beneath to softly accentuate her ample breasts. The sleeves covered her upper arms down to her elbows, leaving the rest bare except for a silver watch on her wrist.

He found himself gawking at her, entranced. Maybe he just wanted to hear her laugh again, and he imagined she did so because she was amused by something
he
had said. She'd later make wicked little sounds in the throes of passion, laughing in victory as she orgasmed astride him. All he knew was the sound of her laugh had grabbed him by his dick and pulled him toward her like a divining rod. Pan was tempted to march out into the open, drop every illusion he held in place, and proclaim himself the one she was looking for. And he might...if only she were alone.

Pan had a weakness for redheads, but he'd learned his lesson in that regard. He needed to turn around and walk away, avoid looking back. Unfortunately, he'd never been very good at doing what was right. It was why he always ended up in the situations he found himself. He was pretty much doomed the moment he heard her beautiful laughter.

The woman turned to her male companion and proclaimed, "That's the last of them." The man with her lowered his camera and hit a button on it while the woman spoke, "We spent the last two days talking to the locals and filming random spurts of narration. The birthplace ruins were great visual footage, but we really don't have anything to wow the viewers." She sighed. "We deserve an afternoon off. We'll check the camera traps in twenty-four hours, doing some walkthrough recording on the way to retrieve them."

The man mumbled in agreement. Pan hadn't paid him much attention before, but he studied him then. The man was of a good, solid build. What most females would find attractive. He had a Spanish look to him, but his accent was southern. Pan speculated if the male was in a relationship with the female and decided the thought didn't please him at all. He didn't know why it mattered if these two people were together or not.

Hell, scores of couples came into the Pine Barrens to fornicate. Though most of the time it was because Pan had compelled them to do so as entertainment. Sometimes watching was just as good as participating, and though he'd been celibate for so long, it didn't make him a saint. In some cases, voyeurism was much healthier considering the care, or lack thereof, humans took with their bodies in this century.
Shudder.
Luckily he couldn't catch any human diseases.

He wondered if these two would be the down and dirty, sweet and slow, or wild and acrobatic kind. With that redhead? Pan would ride her so hard into the ground there would be a crater when they were done. She'd be down and dirty, he was sure.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Pan followed behind them as they headed in the direction they had come from. Under his cloaking glamour, he could run circles around them while shrieking like a banshee, and they wouldn't bat an eye. They wouldn't see, hear, or smell him. They could stroll right through him like he was a ghost and not feel him. They damn sure couldn't taste him, though he wished the fiery-haired woman would do so.

"It's a shame we haven't found anything we can use. Cindy doesn't think we have enough to work with to stay the whole two to three weeks," the male was saying. They had another woman with them? Pan's mind went briefly into a vision of two beautiful redheads. While it was a pleasant thought, he knew the one in front of him would be enough as he studied her nicely shaped ass through the trees. He'd done the multiple partner acts, and the thrill was gone. He preferred a single partner as he could give her his undivided attention. Nevertheless, it would serve him best if he stopped thinking about all the ways he could take her. He adjusted the crotch of his pants.

She made an unladylike snort, but Pan found even that attractive. "Well, what did you expect? A bat-winged horse walking on two legs to step out and beg you to film it before showing you the location of his secret bat-horse-goat-cave?"

He halted in his tracks. There was no further question as to what they were hunting in the woods. They were looking for proof of his existence, but they didn't believe they'd find him. Yet he was close enough he could pounce on them. Pan
loved
messing with skeptics. He tried, he really did, not to do it very often, but he was never one to let such a prime opportunity pass him by. Besides, it would give him a reason to focus his energy on something other than his arousal.

All traces of his former boredom vanished. He'd put on a demonstration for her to give her a reason to continue her hunt for him. She'd have some interesting footage to show for it, but it wouldn't be enough to prove she actually found anything.

Pan mentally adjusted his cloaking glamour so he could be heard while remaining invisible. The camera would pick up the sounds, but neither it nor the two humans present would see him. Half the viewers of their footage would claim it was tampered with; the other half would come to this location seeking a repeat performance. They'd find nothing. He was never one to willingly repeat history. There was a reason he hadn't been found in several centuries.

And it would be a damned good reason not to have too much fun with the redhead.

He galloped to their left through the underbrush. He tried desperately not to laugh when the humans' eyes widened and their heads whipped around at the sound of hooves thumping as they fell heavily, hitting dirt and roots, kicking up dried leaves. His legs shook the low bushes as he tore through them with vigor.

"What the hell?" the male shouted.

Birds scattered overhead, feeling the pull of Pan's power.

"Look at those plants. It looks like a boulder tore through them. Turn your camera on!" The female pivoted and stood on tiptoes to glance behind her. Probably thinking another human was out here, not the very creature she sought.

"Cindy, is that you?" She turned back to the man. "Would she actually leave the van to pull a dumb prank like this after the attack last year?"

Pan pondered what she meant by "the attack," and experienced an urge to find the source of this aforementioned assault and harm it. The foolish male played with his toy, muttering in Spanish. Pan summoned the pair of dark wings from his alternate form, letting the leathery
whoosh, whoosh
startle his captive audience as he glided over them and into the treetops, kicking up dirt as he ascended.

He was showing off, and he found it exhilarating. A rush of warm pleasure fired through his veins, making his lips split into a grin. The need to draw attention was a trait Pan had gotten from his father. Hermes had a knack for disappearing mid-conversation or running people over upon his arrival to deliver Zeus' messages. He grimaced at the thought of his father, glad Hermes was slumbering the years away on Mount Olympus rather than being a giant pain in the ass still.

Below, the mortals frantically searched for the cause of the phantom noise, but of course they found nothing. They would flee soon, and he wasn't quite ready to lose his audience. For the finale, Pan grabbed hold of neighboring branches and shook them, bouncing lightly where he stood. Leaves rained down upon the two as they all but trembled with fear.
Ah, yeah. I still have my talent for the dramatic.

"Tell me you're getting this on tape," the female hissed.

"I am, but I can't tell what it is. I see the branches moving, but there is nothing there."

Pan fully cloaked himself once more and fluttered down, landing directly in front of them on his hoofed feet with a soft
thud
. His wings faded into nonexistence.

Damn, the woman was stunning even when she was afraid. Pan leaned in and inhaled her scent. Her shampoo had left her hair smelling citrusy and tropical. She glanced around, eyes wide. They were pale blue, like a cloudless morning sky. Earlier, before he scared her, they had been slanted like a—

"Kat, I think it's gone," the male said. How apropos that her name was feline in nature. Pan assumed it was short for something longer. He noticed humans had the tendency to minimize their names into single syllables. Some of the satyrs who were formerly human had done so themselves. Pan reached out a hand and brushed his fingers lightly against Kat's delicate pale cheek.

She shuddered and rubbed at her face like she had felt it, even though it was impossible. Her hand went through his, but the contact sent sparks down his spine, straight to his groin.

I have to have her.

At least once.

A Wonderland Adventure

––––––––

H
atter bit the thread he held taut and smiled at the reassuring, subtle
pop
when it snapped. He jabbed the sewing needle into a large pincushion on the table in front of him and, with both hands, collected his finalized masterpiece in order to examine his work. It was a lady's hat with a wide brim, slightly turned down in the front to shield the eye from the harsh light of the sun. Puce, with a plum ribbon. A feather from the Jubjub bird accented it on one side, providing a chaotic burst of color.

Satisfaction coursed through his veins at the result of his craft. Flawless, as ever. Yet trepidation hovered in the back of his mind, suggesting his impeccable talent for creating wasn't enough. Everything he made came out exactly how he envisioned it. Where was the mystery? The challenge? The
wonder
?

In a place known as Wonderland, wonder surely existed for its own inhabitants, did it not?

The miniature bell above his front door jingled, distracting Hatter from his thoughts. He placed the hat upon a wooden peg roughly the size of a woman's head to set in his show room later. Then he turned toward the door. He clasped his hands over the well-worn, scuffed surface of his worktable and waited for his guest to approach, but nobody appeared.

With a frown, he fidgeted on the stool. Still, the doorway remained unoccupied. Was he being robbed? How very curious. He'd never been robbed before and couldn't recall the last time Wonderland had a theft. The crime rate had diminished since the Queen of Hearts met her fate.

"
Ahem
. Down here, Hatter."

He splayed his palms against the smooth wood, rose to his feet, and then peered over the edge of the table. A gray-and-black striped cat grinned up at him, swishing his fluffed tail across the smooth floor Marchy had swept up for him the day before.

"Oh, you again." Hatter pursed his lips in distaste. Devrel, the last of the Cheshire cats, a race of Boojums, visited only when he sought something, which happened often. "When did you start using the door?"

"I was in here earlier and you ignored me, even when I spoke to you, so I tried a different approach." He vanished, and Hatter reclaimed his place on the stool as the cat reappeared atop his table from thin air. Since the cat sat nearly two feet in height, the feline's blue gaze met his evenly. "I need your help." Devrel lifted a paw and licked between his claws.

As he'd suspected. "No."

"Pardon?" Devrel's ever-present smile faltered. "And here I thought we were friends."

"I said no." Hatter reached to the side and picked up the teacup and saucer he'd left there. Holding the saucer in one hand, he brought the cup to his lips and... He sighed, glancing into the empty cup. Once again, he'd forgotten to pour tea in it. Sixth time that week.

"Hatter, it's not for me. It's for Gareth."

Of course it was. Gareth, slayer of the dreaded Jabberwock, was Devrel's companion. Well, not his
companion
companion, but they were known for traversing through Wonderland together. Much like Marchy and Hatter were considered a duo themselves. Regardless, a mere mention of the man's name conjured resentment he couldn't move past even if Gareth couldn't be held completely responsible.