Satyr's Mate: Mated to the Monster, page 1
Satyr’s Mate
Mated to the Monster
By Maggie Mayhem
Copyright © 2024 Maggie Mayhem
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used in whole or in part, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the publisher’s prior written permission.
This is a work of fiction, and the characters and incidents found within are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or deceased, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Ivy
“They’ll never guess.” Iris met my eyes in the mirror. “The dress fits you perfectly, and you look exactly like me. Even Mom and Dad wouldn’t be able to figure it out from a photo.”
Even though Iris and I were not twins, just sisters a year apart, we looked so much alike that teachers had always gotten us mixed up in school. It wasn’t our first time pretending to be each other, but it would be my first time doing it at an event as prestigious as the Monsters & Magic Charity Gala.
The woman who stared back at me from the mirror really did look like my sister, not me. It probably helped that Iris had chosen the gown and done the makeup spell for the event. This was very much her style, not mine.
In true Iris fashion, the dress was bright and flashy. Boisterous. It was pink—not the soft rose I’d have chosen, but a bright Barbie pink. The bodice was cut low and encrusted with so many crystals that if a zombie apocalypse broke out during the festivities, I’d be screwed. This thing would weigh me down like an anchor.
The slit went up so high on my thigh that it was almost indecent. If it weren’t for the feather boa edging it, I’d flash everyone every time I moved. She’d even had a matching pair of underwear made in the same bright pink satin, just in case. In other words, this was exactly the type of gown Iris would wear.
I preferred more subdued colors and styles. We might look alike, but that was where the similarity between us ended. Iris was the social butterfly. She loved bold colors, big events, meeting new people, and heading out for a night on the town. I preferred curling up with a book on a Saturday night and maybe having a glass of wine or two.
“Thanks for doing this for me.” She eyed the expensive, custom-made gown longingly.
“It’s not too late for you to change your mind. I know you really wanted to go to this thing. You’ve been trying to get invited for years.”
My sister owned a PR company, and it had taken tons of strategic schmoozing with “the right people” for her to finally land an invite. Plus, the cost of the ticket made me physically ill. It felt wrong for me to be going given that she paid for it, but if I didn’t use it, the ticket was forfeited, and that was even worse.
“Yeah, I know. But I’m not going to chance it. Now that I’ve been invited once, they’ll invite me again. I’ll go next year”—she made a face—“when the risk of accidentally contracting a husband is gone.”
She made finding “the one” sound like catching a disease. The idea of settling down after a life of independence and fun just didn’t appeal to her.
Me? Honestly, I wouldn’t mind finding the man of my dreams and starting a family. But I was picky. I had too many book boyfriends to compare real men to, and I always found the real-world guys lacking. I didn’t have particularly crazy criteria; he had to have a job and show ambition, be a good person, and be open-minded. Unfortunately, everyone who’d met all my base criteria hadn’t met expectations in the bedroom department.
“Maybe the fortune teller’s wrong,” I said. “Maybe you won’t meet your forever and ever guy at the event.”
Iris shook her head. “No. Davina has never led me astray. Things might not happen exactly as you think they will, but ultimately, she’s always right.” She gave my shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “I know you hate big events. You don’t have to socialize all night with people like I would. I’ll post on my socials tomorrow that I was feeling a bit under the weather and wasn’t my usual bubbly self. They’ll understand. Show up, smile for the photos, make some small talk, and you’re golden.”
“And what if someone tries to talk to me about your work?”
“Just tell them it’s a party and you don’t want to think about it.”
Fair enough.
“And really, I’ll only know a few people there. Shelby, from Shelby’s Creations—”
“The one who made the dragon’s bride’s dress?”
“Yup, that’s the one. She made this dress for me.”
Okay, I’d recognize the dressmaker. Her face had been plastered all over the internet when photographers had snuck into the dragon’s very private wedding. That interaction should be easy; I’d tell her how lovely my dress was, and how gorgeous I felt in it. That would be something Iris would totally say.
“Did you know Shelby’s grandmother is also named Iris?” Iris paused for emphasis. “Now she’s a green witch.”
We’d been asked often if we were green witches before because of our names. We were not, but sometimes, I wish I had a more useful magical powers like plant magic.
“Then there’s René,” Iris continued, “the curator of Par Excellence, who got me into the event.”
Par Excellence was an art gallery here in Darlington that Iris had recently started working with. She’d already shown me numerous pictures of René, and we’d practiced what to say when I saw him.
With everyone else, I just planned on asking lots of questions. Everyone loved talking about themselves, right?
“They’ll sit most guests with people they already know. You’ll probably be at a table with other solo guests. It’ll be fine.”
She was probably right. Was I nervous to be lying to everyone about my identity? Yep, totally. But I figured as long as I kept things short and sweet, no one would bat an eye. It was a big event with lots of people and things to keep everyone distracted.
“Now for the piece de resistance.” She brought out an ornate shoe box decorated with velvet flocking and opened it.
I gawked at the pink platform stilettos. “You expect me to walk in those?” I said in disbelief. “I’ll face plant. Or rather, ‘you’ll’ face plant. In public.”
Don’t get me wrong, I wore heels. I didn’t live in the flat, sensible shoes I wore to work at the library. But none of my heels looked like this. These came to a point sharp enough to be confiscated by the TSA. And they had to be at least, what, five? Six inches high?
And she’d planned on dancing in those?
We’d practiced formal dancing together, but it had been barefoot in her sunroom. I had to admit that I’d enjoyed the practice and was hoping I’d find a dance partner.
“Don’t worry,” Iris said, handing me the shoes. “I had them enchanted. It’s not one hundred percent guaranteed that you won’t fall, but they will actively help you maintain your balance.”
I took the death traps from her warily and strapped them on. They were, in fact, quite easy to walk in, between the tall platform in the front and the enchantment.
She checked her phone. “The limo is here.”
I blew out a breath. This was it. The only thing I could do now was enjoy myself.
“Eat tons of food for me, and take advantage of the open bar. I had the bodice reinforced with extra boning for a reason,” she said with a wink as she helped me down the stairs to her front door.
“Please, for twenty grand a ticket I’m eating everything I can get my hands on. I’m going to be exploding out of this dress by the end of the night.”
She laughed. “Atta girl! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
***
I’d never seen the Darlington Museum dolled up like this before. But then again, I’d only been here once before, on a really boring date. History just wasn’t my kind of nerdy. Tonight the museum was just as glamorous and glitzy as I was. They’d rolled out a literal red carpet, and cameras were flashing at the entrance.
Living in Darlington, I’d gotten used to seeing monsters in their natural forms, especially since the fall of The Wall, the ancient spell that had allowed monstrous creatures and magic to hide in plain sight. It had concealed the shifters next door, the demons across the street.
But then one day The Wall vanished without a trace, and the world saw everyone as they were. It was chaos for a while—oh boy were those interesting years. But things eventually settled down to a new normal.
Some monsters and magical folk still preferred to go about their daily lives wearing illusion spells. But here, tonight, almost everyone was in their natural form.
Some, like the wolf shifters, looked completely human; only their eyes gave them away. The stodgy wizards from the WEC, the Wizards’ Elder Council, had a table of their own. Ugh. They looked just as pretentious in person as they did on the news.
After spending a little time mixing and mingling, I found my table, which was next to the one with four massive gargoyles, a demon, and their respective mates. Shelby waved to me from her spot next to Grayson, her gargoyle husband, and I waved back. I’d already talked with them earlier. I don’t think Shelby once thought that I might not be Iris when I gushed to her about how gorgeous the dress was.
There were already two others at my table. The first was a bubbly hearth witch who introduced herself as Jia as she handed me a card that read Jia’s Juicery-Traditional Recipes Modernized.
The second was an older gentleman who wouldn’t meet my or Jia’s gaze and only replied with one-word answers. The only thing we got out of him was his name, George, and that he was an artist.
Two young guys who looked and acted like rock stars found their seats at the table and introduced themselves as the Swift Brothers. They were eagle shifters who’d recently made it big with their new single, so I gave them one of Iris’ cards, plucked from my bra because she insisted that was where she always stored them, and the brothers lit up. Apparently, they were looking for someone to manage their socials. Bingo.
Jia grabbed a card, too.
That was when everyone started asking me a billion and one questions about Iris’s work that I couldn’t answer. I tried giving them the whole let’s-just-have-fun-tonight spiel, but the conversation quickly made its way right back to “my” PR company. Crap.
“Excuse me, I think this is my seat.” The low, soft-spoken words had both the brothers and I looking up at the newest arrival.
Like many of the monsters at the gala, the satyr was in his natural form. He wore a tux jacket over his top half, and instead of pants, he had a formal loincloth. It wasn’t the same material as the tux jacket, but it coordinated well.
He wasn’t the only one in a loincloth at the event. I’d already seen two orcs in them too. I never thought I’d ever use formal and loincloth in the same sentence, but somehow, it worked.
His furry legs had been groomed to be all sleek and shiny for the occasion, and I had a sudden urge to pet them, which was just super inappropriate. I kept my eyes firmly on his face instead.
A pair of ram-like horns jutted out majestically from his temples, right behind his pointed ears. I’d never thought of horns as sexy before, but on him, they were. He had a well-trimmed goatee that accentuated his panty-dropping smile. Full, supremely kissable lips, a chiseled jawline, and broad shoulders completed the package.
That immediately had me wondering if the rumors about satyrs were true and that his other package would be just as impressive, but I refrained from checking, no matter how curious I was.
I peeked at the placecard for the seat next to mine, which had his name and claim to fame.
Shane Satyr. Wildlife Photographer.
Chapter 2
Shane
I gave the ravishing human woman a wink as I sat down. I’d noticed her giving me a very thorough onceover, and I could tell she liked what she saw.
I’d been watching the table for a little while from a discreet distance, and it had been clear to me that she didn’t want to talk about her work. The two eagle shifters hadn’t picked up on that, however, and kept steering the conversation right back to it. After her third attempt to redirect the conversation to their music, I decided to step in. Some people just couldn’t take a hint.
Honestly, this was why I would have much preferred to be out in the wilderness with my camera instead of here, but the gala was for a good cause, and I’d been told I should make an appearance for “the optics”, so I just grinned and bore it. The team who organized the event tried their best to change the seating arrangement every year for those who came solo, so I never knew who I’d end up meeting. I tried to tell myself that it was just like bumping into new people on location; that made it a little more fun.
I already knew George. He was an odd duck, but that was almost to be expected. Most creatives were—myself included, I guess. The painter was famous for his interpretation of inanimate objects. Hey, at least my subjects were alive.
The rest of the guests at the table were new to me, but I’d done a little research before sitting down. Jia might not look or act it, but she was filthy rich. Her family had worked as renowned herbalists in China, mainly for royalty and the rich and famous. After a falling out with her traditional, conservative parents, Jia branched off and started a juice chain stateside that had taken the natural health world by storm.
The two eagle shifters were the Swift Brothers. They were set to be the next teen heartthrobs, even though they themselves had left their teenage years behind ages ago.
But the one who really caught my attention was Iris, who apparently owned a PR company. The woman was decked out in so much pink that she could give Barbie a run for her money. She was friendly and approachable, just as a PR consultant should be, but something about the way she held herself made me think that she was keeping back a part of herself.
We made quick introductions around the table and casually chit-chatted as we waited for dinner to start.
When the first course arrived, our attention was split between the food and the cirque performers contorting their bodies into impossible positions while suspended in the air. The conversation died down, and Iris visibly relaxed. She dug into her starter with gusto.
Her hearty appetite made me wonder if she had a similar zeal for other enjoyable physical activities (and I didn’t mean working out, though we’d most definitely work up a sweat). I looked away, trying my best not to imagine her plump, pink-lined lips wrapped around me instead of her fork.
Of all the times for my baser instincts to flare up, why did it have to be now, when I was in formalwear? With the recent trend of going back to our roots and embracing our monster nature, I’d opted for a loincloth version of tux pants, which the tailor had assured me was perfectly acceptable for this particular event.
While it was definitely more comfortable—I didn’t particularly like wool pants rubbing all over my goat legs—it did leave a lot of me uncovered. If I were to get an erection now, it would be quite obvious if I had to stand up. This had not been on my mind when I made my clothing selection.
I was grateful for the very solid, and not glass-topped, table.
There was a round of applause signaling the end of the aerial performance, and the emcee, a minotaur named Maximillian, took his spot on the stage. As he ran through the list of companies and businesses that had made contributions to the event, Iris excused herself. She stood, her matching pink clutch dangling from her wrist, and flashed me a generous look up her skirt to her equally pink underwear. The slit on her dress was cut dangerously, tantalizingly high.
She shimmied out from between our seats before smoothing her palms back down her legs. I clenched my fork to stop myself from helping her.
When she wasn’t back by the time the servers had started bringing out the main course, I decided to go look for her. I found her out on one of the balconies, watching the sunset over Darlington, wine glass in hand. Her silhouette against the colorful sky, especially if I imagined the dress in a more muted color, was beautiful, and I found myself wishing I had my camera with me. Odd. It was rare that I wanted to photograph human subjects.
She turned as I approached, a mechanical smile pasted on her face. When she saw it was me, she relaxed, and her smile became more genuine.
“There you are,” I said.
“Can’t be a social butterfly 24/7.”
“I know what you mean.” I stood beside her, leaning against the railing, and stared out into the city. “And this view is gorgeous, the way the sun sets between the buildings.”
“Isn’t it? I’ve been living here all my life, and I never noticed it.” She smiled. “Well, in my defence, my apartment faces east. I get the sun glaring in my eyes every morning instead.”
I chuckled. “Not quite the same.”
“Nope. I bet you’ve seen your share of beautiful sunsets all over the world.”
“I have. But most of the time I’m so focused on catching my subjects at just the right angle that I don’t really notice it.”
“Metaphor for life,” she grinned. “But for the great shots you get, I guess it’s worth it.”
“Thanks.” I’d spoken briefly about my work earlier. She must be familiar with it, since I had my most recent series on display at Par Excellence, and she did work for them.
We watched the sunset together, and it was nice to stand in silence with her next to me, our hips just touching. It was a perfect break from the hustle and bustle of the event inside. Before long, two women walked out, laughing and giggling, clearly already a bit tipsy.
“Come on, let’s head back in. Our main course must be getting cold.” I held my hand out to her.
The moment of hesitation was so short that I could have missed it if I hadn’t been paying attention. She took my hand, and we headed back to our table together.
