Greek Style by Stephanie Burke

Greek Style by Stephanie Burke

Greek Style

by Stephanie Burke

Razor’s Edge Press

eBook ISBN: 06527-02099

May didn’t know she was breaking a taboo and stealing male energy. All she wanted to do was take pictures of poppies in the mountains of Greece.

But when a satyr and a faun demand she gives back what she has inadvertently taken, the term get your goat suddenly tales on a new and deliciously naughty meaning.

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Chapter One

So much urine…
That was the only thought that went through May’s mind as she recalled her trips to the children’s petting zoo so long ago. There were pygmy goats going into heat, and there was urine everywhere.
So now, as she was tied to a tree watching a field full of goat-legged men dance and sing, she was both fascinated and horrified by the prospect of watching them mate.
Of course it wasn’t her fault that she was tied to this particular tree. No one ever told her wandering around the mountains of Cephalonia on her vacation to Greece would end up like this. She only wanted to see poppy fields, for goodness’ sake. No one had warned her about roving bands of fauns and satyrs and mating season.
She didn’t mean to crash their party, so to speak. She had just been taking photos and marveling at the majesty of the island that was said to be the home of Odysseus when she stumbled upon them in their poppy field of lust.
She couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying, but a bunch of goat-legged men carrying spears would be enough to grab and hold anyone’s attention. She was so stunned by this discovery that she never noticed the two… well… bucks, maybe… walking up behind her until they had her roped and hog-tied like the prize attraction at a 4H show.
They began babbling at her and she began screaming at them. That hadn’t helped matters, she was now willing to admit, because that got her tied to the tree and gagged.
And now she sat there, watching them build up a barn fire — burning poppies and what smelled suspiciously like marijuana — and dancing around like they had no sense.
She just wanted to go home. Forget going back to the hotel, she wanted to go home. There were no goat-legged men at home. There were no burning poppy fields making her feel like she was stuck in a Cheech and Chong movie. And there were definitely no mystical creatures carrying spears standing guard over her.
It was enough to make a woman cry… if she weren’t so damn high.
But before she could further contemplate her pitiful state, she saw one of the shorter males clip up to her. He spoke softly to the huge guards, and they grunted something.
This one was one that she classified as a faun. He — for his nakedness except for his fur left that abundantly clear — was about her height of five feet four inches tall and looked to be a bit gentler than the ones she classified as satyrs. The major difference in her classification scheme was that the ones she considered fauns had smaller, branched horns like deer antlers and cute, elongated elf-like ears. The satyrs, on the other hand, had massive curled ram’s horns on either side of their heads. Their ears hung low like goats’ ears, and the dudes were massive. They all stood at least six feet four and were more heavily muscled than their faun counterparts.
In fact, it was the fauns who were dancing and having a blast while the satyrs looked on protectively with their big spears, big muscles and big… well, hung like a horse could have been rephrased as hung like a goat. But no one was pissing on anyone, so that was a good thing in her book.
The faun approaching her had a head full of long golden-brown curls which matched the mat of curls that covered his groin and legs. His cloven hooves were almost dainty when compared to the soup plates the satyrs clomped around on. His eyes were a gentle brown, and he offered her a tentative smile.
Kalós órises?”
Mum gohn.. uuhuhang…” She tried to say she didn’t understand, but, you know, gagged.
His eyes, widening in what looked like amusement, only made her bite down on her gag and glare.
He reached out with his piano player’s hands and fingers, and in a few seconds the gag fell away from her. She opened her mouth to let him have it but good, but a clearing throat made her look up at one of the guards, who was staring down at her, his expression dark. It was then she decided that maybe yelling at the small guy was not such a great course of action after all. Instead she glared as he repeated his question.
Kalós órises? Pós légeste?”
“I don’t know what that means,” she muttered through her dry mouth. Who knew being gagged with cloth would dry you out so. All the gags she had at home for, uh, recreational purposes were latex or rubber and made her drool more than anything else.
He tilted his head to the side and, against her will, she had to admit he was quite adorable. His cuteness level dropped suddenly when he reached into a belt at his waist and produced a ground-up looking weed and then stared at her intently.
“Wha — Hey!”
She tried to squirm away but the little guy was fast. Before she could blink, he was holding her head steady. He must have grown a few extra sets of arms, because a hand was forcing her mouth open, shoving the thing inside, closing her mouth and rubbing her throat seemingly all at the same time.
She tried to hold her breath, but the plant thing was making her mouth water. He pinched her nose, and that was all she wrote. She swallowed the thing in one gulp.
“Oh, great,” she whimpered when he released her. “High, surrounded by goat boys, and now I’ve been poisoned.”
“The goji berry and althaea leaves will not hurt you.”
“Fat lot you know,” she mumbled as he continued to stroke her throat. “You’re a goat and…” She could understand him. “I can understand you.”
She knew her eyes were wide with shock, but she didn’t really care. She could understand what goat boy was saying, and that was really disturbing her.
“That is why I gave you the herbs.” He sounded smug.
“Why am I here?”
“You have treaded on sacred ground, human.” He stared at her as if she were a few donuts shy of a dozen.
“How was I supposed to know that?” She sniffed. “It’s not like I’m from this stupid island. I just wanted to see the mountains and maybe a poppy field or two.”
The sun was setting, and it made his golden eyes glow in an ungodly way. But then, she was talking to something that looked like a Christian’s nightmare of a pagan sexual deity.
“It has been determined that you are definitely not of the indigenous people.”
“What? My dark skin and afro give me away?” she snipped, glaring hard.
“You have the skin tone of one from the African Islands,” he noted. “Not from here.”
“Africa is a continent, goat boy,” she snipped. “Not an island. It’s way bigger than that.”
“But you do not speak any dialect we know. It sounds almost like Latin, but is Germanic and fixed with a cadence and undertones we do not understand. That is why it was decided to give you the learning herbs. They stimulate your brain and have the ability for us to psychically input our language. This is how you can now understand our words.”
“I am American.” She sighed. “I am a Black American in Greece, and I am tied to a tree. This is kidnapping and wrongful imprisonment, and I don’t know what else, but it has to be illegal. Let me go.”
“American,” he mused, his cute little ears wiggling. “I have never heard of your people, but what you have done is broken the law. This is our sacred mating rite, and you have contaminated our fields.”
“I didn’t know. And… oh.” She slumped a bit. “Ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking the law.”
“Yes.” He nodded.
“But I am not exactly a citizen here.”
“And that is why you have not been put to death.”
She froze at that. “Death?”
“To interrupt the mating right is to court death. Male vitality is not to be shared among the women. You have to give back what vitality you stole.
“I didn’t –”
“Your presence alone has stolen vital energies we need to reproduce. You must give it back.
“How am I supposed to do that?”
Suddenly everything she’d ever read about bloody sacrifices was coming to the forefront of her brain. She paled as she stared at her cute little goat boy. Cute little goat boy was going to kill her.
“Why, with sex.” He grinned. “The very thing you interrupted.”

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