Free Nicholas: The Lords of Satyr by Elizabeth Amber Page B

Signora Bich. She stirred a finger in her wine and then licked it. “I for one wouldn’t mind bearing a Satyr offspring, if I can first enjoy the begetting.”
    “The Satyr are too careful,” said Signora Nesta. “Though it’s said they sow their seed far and wide, no children have come of it. Men built such as those surely cannot be sterile.”
    The others nodded.
    “But if there is a child, will your niece give it over into our care?” asked Signora Bich.
    Izabel glared at her. Signora Bich could be such a stickler for annoying details that were quite easily dealt with. “When the time is right, we shall initiate her into our society with a set of the ancient rings. They’ll lead her into seeing our way of thinking on the matter. If Nesta still wants her after her she is ringed, he may have her.”
    “But if she’s truly inhuman, the rings’ powers may not affect her,” argued Signora Bich.
    Izabel rolled her eyes in exasperation. “In that event, we’ll arrange to have her judged an unfit parent based on her various abnormalities. But these are trifling matters, and we have much time ahead to consider them. On to the next order of business.”
    Signora Natoli clasped her hands in delight. “Ah, yes! Our good works.”
    Five heads turned toward the nearby grotto.
    Through the dappled shadows, a pair of dark eyes met theirs, the terror in them heightening.
    Izabel stood and moved closer to admire their captive. The others trailed in her wake. “I see we have procured the necessary ornament for our festivities.”
    The young man lay at a slight incline, securely lashed to a stone slab. Other than the handkerchief stuffed in his mouth, he was naked.
    Signora Bich nodded. “We rescued him from a difficult life on the waterfront.”
    “He ate hungrily,” added Signora Nesta.
    Izabel’s eyes narrowed on the fellow’s shrunken shaft. It was slack with fear but had definite potential. “A fine rescue.”
    The other ladies marked the direction of her gaze and tittered.
    Izabel stroked the captive’s stubbly jaw, her expression kind. His eyes bulged, and a shudder rippled over him.
    “Will you take wine?” she asked. It was a rhetorical question. The gag always made them thirst.
    His head bobbed. Behind her, the splash of liquid reached her ears. The ceremonial goblet was handed to her.
    “I’ll remove the cloth from your mouth so you may drink,” she told him. “But you must promise to keep silent.”
    Again, he nodded. She removed the gag slowly, making sure he was as good as his word.
    When she handed the cup to him, he drank thirstily. They watched to ensure he swallowed a sufficient quantity.
    “Enough,” said Izabel, pulling the cup away before he’d finished. The aphrodisiac properties of the drugged wine affected people differently. If he were too impaired, his performance would disappoint them.
    She brushed the hair from his eyes. They were a lovely brown, the color of a hazelnut.
    “What’s your name, signore?” she inquired.
    His lower lip trembled.
    “Come now, don’t be frightened,” she coaxed.
    “Carlo,” he croaked.
    “So strong.” She smoothed the backs of her fingers along his ribs and lower over his belly. His muscles jerked in repudiation. “And so beautiful.”
    “Please, signora, release me. Please.” His voice rose in distress.
    “Soon.”
    He twisted to escape the gag, but the ladies held him. When it was replaced, they left him again.
    Gold chalices inscribed with ancient symbols were brought out and filled with aged wine poured from a decorative urn. Together, the Sisters swayed in the soft sunlight, chanting their ancient runes.
    Ties and hooks opened under the caress of feminine fingers. Silk and linen clung and rasped and then slid away. Sighs of relief sounded as flesh, creased and marked from binding corsets, found freedom. With the easing of physical restraints came the further easing of moral ones.
    Izabel searched out Signora Natoli and watched as