Chapter 2

Twyla hurried through the woods of Philadelphia's Fairmont Park, cursing the mayor and his stupid party. She'd promised her roommate Katie that she'd be at the Samhain ritual and she was pretty sure she was too late. She shivered and speeded up to a jog. She'd pulled off the tacky witch's costume on the way here and zapped it back to her apartment so she wouldn't offend any of the real Wiccan practitioners, but the tank top and running shorts she had on underneath were nowhere near enough for warmth on a chilly October night.

What had possessed Mayor Pendleton to insist that his entire staff work the children's Halloween party? Other than next year's election, of course. Did he have to include his team of paranormal advisors? Most of the mayor's staff thought Twyla was just an educational consultant - couldn't he have let her off the hook? Not that she minded helping out at a party for orphans, but did it have to run so late on the actual holiday? She'd told him herself that Samhain was a holy day to a lot of people. Twyla wasn't normally very big on ceremonies, but Katie's coven was inducting three new elders tonight, including Katie and Twyla had genuinely wanted to be there for her friend's investiture.

She reached the clearing that Katie's coven used for rituals and could tell immediately that it was too late. The glade was empty, but there was still a strong aura of residual magic in the air, along with the scents of sage, cinnamon and other incense.

She paused at the flat granite boulder the coven used as an altar and laid her hands on the rock, murmuring a short prayer of regret for missing the ceremony. The warm tingle of leftover magic crackled through her fingertips and pulsed through her body, straight to her core. It was almost as sexual as the jolt she'd gotten from the guy dressed as a vampire at the mayor's party. He hadn't felt black or empty, so she knew he wasn't a real vamp. But he had been - something. She had no idea what, but she'd never felt quite such a strong sexual pull in all of her six hundred years. One touch and her nipples had sprung to attention and her panties had gotten soaked. Fang boy had sent all of Twyla's senses humming with nothing more than a casual brush of their hands. If she hadn't been in such a hurry to get to the ritual, she'd have stuck around to find out who, or what, he really was.

Leaning over the altar stone and just thinking about the pseudo-vamp had her tingling all over again and her pussy actually ached for attention. Then she realized that a good bit of the sexual energy she was feeling was emanating from the boulder. There had been sex magic in tonight's ritual, damn it, which wasn't something Katie's coven of white witches usually dabbled in. Whatever the reason, Twyla knew she'd better head back to her apartment and her trusty vibrator. The zing of residual magic was like a feather brushing rhythmically against her clit. It was enough to keep her in a perpetual state of arousal, but not enough to get her off. At times like this she almost missed being at her mother's court, where you could always count on finding a randy faun or pixie when you needed one for a quick roll in the clover. Sex was a lot more complicated here in the human realm where she had to be constantly careful to keep her - er, family connections, a secret.

Twyla started to straighten, ready to return home, when she felt a sharp blow across her shoulders. She cried out and tried to turn, only to find herself pressed face-down into the rock.

"What?" She kicked backward, connecting with something hard and evoking a grunted whoosh of fetid breath from her attacker. "Let me go!"

"Looks like we got us a pretty one, Tirg. Feisty, too!"

The voice came from off to the left, so Twyla struggled against the weight on her back, finally managing to twist her head and get a look.

"Oh shit! Satyrs!"

Twyla might be feeling horny, but no way was she interested in being the filling in a satyr sandwich. Aside from being supernatural rapists, the goat-boys were known for inflicting pain on their victims. Real pain, not just harmless S & M games. And on top of that, judging by the one pinning her to the rock, they smelled like week-old shit. She managed to wriggle till she was facing that one, then slammed the heel of her hand up into his nose, not even caring when the blood sprayed down the front of her tank top. Not as long as he let her go.

"Get her boys," he grunted, clutching his face. Oh fuck, there were more than two! Before she could run, strong arms grabbed each of hers, stretching her out as if for crucifixion. She barely had time to register that indignity when she felt the sharp bite of cold iron clapped around her left wrist. The burning pain dropped her to her knees while the satyrs yanked both arms behind her back and shot the handcuff around her other wrist as well, doubling the sting.

Now she couldn't run and she wouldn't be able to cast a spell. The effect of the steel cuffs scrambled her sense and made it hard not to vomit. "What the hell are you boys doing in Philly?"

One of the satyrs looped a length of chain around the circular base of the altar stone, and ran it between the linked cuffs and Twyla's back before padlocking the ends together making a tight ring around the bottom. Now her hands were dragged down to the ground and she was effectively chained to a ton and a half of granite.

"Looking for fun." The one she'd hit licked the blood off his lips and rubbed his engorged red phallus, making Twyla swallow another mouthful of bile. "Only night of the year we don't have to put clothes on." Of course. On Halloween no one would look twice at the horns on their shaggy heads or the furry legs ending in cloven hooves. People would just assume they were really good costumes. Unless they got a look at those disgusting and oversized cocks.

"Help me pick her up, Jagron." She kicked at them as they lifted her body and turned her till she was lying on her back on the altar stone, her arms hanging down behind her head. Her wrists had gone numb, relieving most of the pain from the iron, but the rock was hard and rough against the tender skin of her wings beneath the thin tank top. Even worse, the sex magic from the rock was hitting her whole body now, making her go wet and pliant, even though she wanted nothing to do with these monsters.

The ring leader approached the rock, still pumping his rampant cock with his hand. Blood continued to drip from his broken nose, but it didn't seem to be slowing him down any. Twyla screamed as he reached down and ripped her tank top right down the middle, exposing her unbound breasts to the cold night air.