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treading the same ground might sense nothing but the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot. He could hear bees humming in hives and skeps on the opposite side of the isle, and he could listen to the litany of ancestral voices carried on the wind and intuit threatening storms in the air when they were still days off. He could see into the hidden corners of this world and into other worlds as well, and sometimes into the future. But most startling of all was what occurred when moon-dark approached and he became aroused. Then his sense of touch, his ability to feel, and his sexual appetites became so acute, it was almost beyond enduring—a frenzy so rapturous it blurred the edges between pleasure and pain, a euphoria meant only to be experienced by the greatest of gods. That was happening now. There wasn’t much time.
    Linnea arched her back, swinging her long hair like a horse’s mane until its golden splendor teased his thighs. Marius could see the spirit of the antelope in her, in the way she moved. There was a delicacy to her gait, indeed, in every motion. The centaur in him recognized the nervous sideways and backward motions that took her now and then—and when they were not in sexual congress—the long-legged stride for speed. She could have possessed the spirit of a gazelle, a lithe, fleet-footed creature, she certainly had the lustrous eyes of that animal—or she could indeed be the spirit of the great curly horned antelope her Midsummer mask depicted, or any bovid for that matter. This enigmatic female goddess of the hunt riding his cock had taken his mind, his body, and his own spirit by storm.
    Marius gave a deep-throated groan as the orgasm took him. She knew just how to take him deep into sexual magic than any other female had ever done. That and pre-moon-dark ecstasy triggered a surrender that threatened his reason.
    He wanted to come again and again in that exquisite body. He wanted to keep her. What would happen when Midsummer madness was done? Would she stay with him? He couldn’t imagine it, a goddess like her remaining with the likes of him. He was cursed, both man and beast. He was only an attendant of the Ancient Ones, keeper of a primitive little spit of verdant land in an enchanted archipelago. What had he to offer that would entice her to stay? Worst of all, the great demon of the Outer Darkness wanted his hide—he could not put Linnea in danger— Her climax gripped him suddenly, triggering another groan. He felt her release, felt her potent pleasure in it. The scent of her musky-sweet essence rushed up his nostrils. He inhaled her, filling his lungs with her honeyed fragrance, a soft moan escaping as he found her lips and tasted her deeply. He couldn’t drink his fill, and when their lips finally parted, his came away from hers reluctantly, thirsting for more.
    Slowly, the madness in him was yielding to his rational side. The Midsummer fever raging in his blood would not be slaked, for the passion beat in him like the throb of a pulse—his own and that of the land. He could feel it in the forest floor beneath his feet as he swung them to the ground—a restless thrumming through the Ancient Ones’ roots. It was highly charged with pure sexual energy, just as it always was during the Midsummer revels, but this time there was something more.
    Something that reeked of death.
    The Otherworld would not be denied.
    “No more,” he said, rising. He reached for her hand, pulling her up alongside him. “We need to make an appearance.” What he really meant was that he needed to see if Ravelle would make an appearance. There was no need to alarm her, but his instincts were screaming now, silent but too clear to be ignored. “A brief stroll among the revelers, and then perhaps a refreshing bath,” he went on. “The hidden pool where we first met is not far. The mineral springs that feed it possess many powers besides the obvious. I go to it often.”
    “Like a babe to its mother’s