Jorandil: God of Beltane (Sons of Herne, #4) Read online

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  Jorandil: God of Beltane (Sons of Herne, #4)

  JORANDIL: GOD OF BELTANE | SONS OF HERNE 4 | J. ROSE ALLISTER

  JORANDIL: GOD OF BELTANE: SONS OF HERNE 4 J. ROSE ALLISTER

  *The End*

  Read on for a look at the next tale- Devinmar: God of Litha: | ABOUT DEVINMAR: GOD OF LITHA:

  EXCERPT FROM DEVINMAR: GOD OF LITHA:

  Titles in the Sons of Herne Series:

  JORANDIL: GOD OF BELTANE

  SONS OF HERNE 4

  J. ROSE ALLISTER

  A woman is in danger because she surrendered to his passion...

  It is the time of Beltane, and Jorandil, half angel and god of the sabbat, knows that the fate of worlds rests on his wings alone. He must find a virgin for the ritual of Beltane, an act that will seal the dangerously thinning veil between realms. But he secretly longs for a woman who will feel his touch. And when he finds Cadence, she stirs something deep inside him—even before she responds with a passion he will never forget.

  Cadence is so stressed out with college studies that she wonders whether she hallucinated giving her virginity to a dazzling, erotic angel. When she can’t put aside her feelings over the hot, but all-too-brief encounter, she decides to do something crazy to see Jorandil again. But she has no idea she’ll be putting her life in jeopardy to do it.

  Jorandil learns his lover is in grave danger, but his father refuses him passage to the mortal realm. He must risk everything to make a deal with an old enemy, crossing the veil to save the woman he cannot deny he wants for far more than a sabbat fling.

  About the Sons of Herne series:

  The god Herne has appointed eight of his most virile, headstrong sons as keepers of the pagan holidays. To honor their sabbat, each must join with a mortal female in a ritual to maintain the balance between worlds.

  It is the year of The Thousand Seasons, and the Fates have secretly conspired to mark the end of an era by granting the gods one thing they lack—a true union of male and female that will last well beyond the fleeting passion of a sabbat joining.

  Herne’s sons will wrestle with the conflict between sacred duty and their own yearnings, a struggle that will not only challenge their beliefs, but may threaten the success of rituals that must be observed lest the realms of mortal and immortal collide in chaos.

  Genre: Erotic Romance/Fantasy

  Length: Around 37,264 words

  Copyright © 2016 by J. Rose Allister

  Second Edition Publication: July 2016

  First Publication: April 8, 2016 (limited release as Fire of Beltane)

  Cover design by J. Rose Allister

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2016 by J. Rose Allister

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: You do not have the right to distribute or resell this book without the prior written permission of the author. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred.

  JORANDIL: GOD OF BELTANE:

  SONS OF HERNE 4

  J. ROSE ALLISTER

  The restless pulsing in Jorandil’s cock would have clued him in to what was happening even if he hadn’t been standing in front of the veil watching the anomaly unfold. It happened every year the same way, starting as a vague ache in his loins coupled with an impending sense of doom. A warning crawled over his skin, pricking up gooseflesh beneath the quills of his wings. Then came the arousal, the writhing, grinding urgency to plunge his cock inside a female until the universe fell back into proper alignment.

  It was the night of Beltane, a sabbat few humans still marked on the calendar, and far fewer still grasped the danger of two worlds hanging in the balance. Should Jorandil or the others fail in their task, humanity would discover that truth—but too late to do anything about it.

  The shimmering opalescence of the veil grew more translucent, the waves of energy thinning under tremendous forces. The worlds were near colliding. He reached out with his thoughts into the mortal realm, sifting through echoes of voices. Some were angry, others frightened or despondent. All were unaware of their current plight. He pressed on to find the ones he sought—those busy celebrating the sabbat with raucous laughter, song and dance, and though far less frequently these days, with giant bonfires and sexual revelry. Beltane was a time to rejoice in the mating of god and goddess, and some still honored that tradition by fucking themselves into oblivion. What they did not know is that they were instinctively mimicking the act required to close the veil and preserve their world for another season.

  Jorandil heard the men first, rutting and grunting as they thrust their rods into pussies or asses as though the fate of the universe depended on it. He allowed himself a tight smile at that, for he understood the imperative all too well. Still, his attention quickly drifted to the females receiving such attention, and his cock began stiffening more rapidly when he found them. The veil stretched tighter, and he could see them through the mists. Willing women in the throes of passion, like the one with her skirts raised as she lay on her back on a grassy hill. Another knelt on all fours with her hair hanging in her face. A third with long nails and a loud cry was clutching the back of her mate while he brought her to a place Jorandil had never been able to take a woman. He watched her for a brief while, letting the sounds of her passion wash over him, imagining what it would feel like to elicit a response, any response, when he was buried inside a human female. But no woman would ever writhe beneath him. None would cry out his name as they soared to climax together. The women he joined with each Beltane would not feel his passion. They would never even remember he existed.

  The god Herne had warned Jorandil in private and at length about the temptation of human females, a notion Jorandil had scorned when he had accepted his father’s appointment as overseer of Beltane. Now, however, he wondered whether the god of the hunt had known his son better than Jorandil had known himself.

  “Jorandil, son of Herne.”

  Andero’s voice jarred Jorandil from his thoughts, but he didn’t bother to turn away from the veil to greet his friend and the overseer of acolytes in the Counsel of Sabbats.

  “The time approaches,” Andero went on. “The torch must soon be lit. Have you made your selection?”

  Jorandil sighed and let the loudly climaxing female slip from his view. “Does it really matter whom I choose?”

  “I suppose not, assuming she is pure and untouched.” Andero’s dark eyes pierced Jorandil as the man came alongside. “You’re not still questioning the importance of your task?”

  “I do not question the importance of it. I simply no longer find the satisfaction in it that I once did.”

  “Saving two worlds is no longer achievement enough for you?”

  It should have been, Jorandil knew. His father had appointed eight of his sons to oversee the sabbats, and the wings inherited from his mother made Jorandil the perfect choice to assist other angels in sealing the veil on Beltane. Keeping the worlds divided when the veil thinned was a task that occurred twice each year, although the greater threat during the darkness of Samhain was the domain of his brother, Archipellus. He was not half angel like Jorandil. He was something else, and his methods for sealing the veil were his own. Still, his brother’s guardianship style would become moot if Jorandil failed to restore balance at Beltane.


  “Saving the worlds is not an achievement,” Jorandil replied. “It is a sacred duty.”

  Andero nodded. “Then make your selection. The other angels are already in position and preparing to join wings as soon as the veil breaches.” He paused, his eyes measuring Jorandil from beneath unruly brown bangs. “You do understand why your presence is not made known to the women involved?”

  “I do.”

  “Humans aren’t ready to know the truth.”

  “I said I understand.”

  “Sometimes I wonder.”

  Now, Jorandil turned toward Andero, his mouth set in a tight line. “Our realms would merge forever in chaos if the angels of the four corners fail to seal the breach on Beltane Eve. That is not a fate humans are ready to know about. There would be dangerous consequences if they were made aware of just how perilous our situations are when the veil thins. ”

  Dark eyes scanned him warily. “You say the words, son of Herne. But you are not convinced of them.”

  “I am convinced humans would not be happy to know that an angel comes in the night to use their women.”

  “The women give consent or not, as their will decides. Free choice is vital.”

  “Yet they feel nothing, see nothing. They are not even consciously aware they have consented to the sacrifice of their virginity.”

  “Their role is not to stroke your male ego, but to join with you to preserve the balance. One soul from each realm, united but separate, bringing forth the life force of an immortal and the virgin blood of a human. Within that act lies the power to seal the veil. Your body is designed to perform instinctively to that end, regardless of your partner’s interaction. Who cares if they lay beneath you as lifeless as my first wife?”

  A stab of annoyance melded with the restless churning in his gut. “So they needn’t know they were instrumental in preserving our worlds for another season. They go about their lives with the normalcy most humans seem to crave.”

  “Of course.” Andero cocked his head and raised a brow. “Although perhaps more’s the pity for the women you visit. One look at your flowing hair, broad shoulders, and piercing eyes of blue-gold and most women on the planet would happily sacrifice themselves to your cause. The other guardians standing at the ready around the veil are merely angels. But you are the handsome son of a god.”

  Jorandil frowned at him and ruffled his wings lightly. “You are not helping.”

  “Just trying to lighten the mood. You’re always staring into the other realm as though the weight of the worlds rest on your wings alone.”

  “I am my father’s chosen,” Jorandil said. “The god of Beltane. The fate of the worlds this night does rest on my wings.”

  Together they stood looking through the veil, and the tension drawing him nearer to the earth realm grew more taut and difficult to resist.

  “These women are hardly virgins,” Andero said, waggling a finger. “You’ll have to look elsewhere for your maiden, and fast.”

  A brief shudder went through Jorandil, and along with a surge of blood through his cock there was a faint pop of pressure in his ears. The breach was opening, pulling him in.

  “I needn’t bother choosing,” Jorandil said. “One is exactly the same as the next.”

  “And if she is uglier than the back end of a centaur?”

  Jorandil shrugged. He didn’t need her to be attractive. He didn’t need to be mentally present with her at all. Simply closing his eyes to call up images of those he’d been watching would offer better inspiration than a woman whose spirit would consent while she slept through the whole thing.

  “The choice matters not,” he said. “I’ll leave it to fate to provide a worthy candidate.”

  “Then light the torch, god of Beltane. Call forth the power to seal the veil.”

  Andero stood back, and Jorandil flexed his shoulders and back. His wings unfolded, massive and powerful, spanning his side of the veil. The wingspread would anchor him to this realm while his body pressed through the breach.

  He turned to the pedestal, to the jewel torch that sat in a holder, waiting. The white silk robe he wore, trimmed with the brilliant red-gold of a Beltane fire, trailed behind him while he walked. He drew the torch from the holder like a sword from its sheath, holding it aloft while he lifted his voice in the ancient prayer.

  “Mannai tomasta.” The words echoed through the chamber. “Adowai to-shai a Beltane, corunda bosh.”

  He lifted his other hand, aiming it at the top of the torch while he spoke the prayer into being. The fire sprang to life with a whoosh, bowing to the god of Beltane with a flickering dance. Jorandil held his hand there, absorbing the power of fire and feeling the magic in the flame, a fire that beckoned him to perform his calling, its crackling sounds conjuring whispers of the ancients. He returned the torch to the pedestal holder and turned to the veil.

  “The sabbat artifact has been called forth,” Jorandil pronounced. “The ritual of Beltane is declared.”

  He closed his eyes and sent his will out to the universe through his thoughts.

  “Don’t drink the water,” he heard Andero say jokingly as Jorandil pushed through the veil. It was well known by those who traveled realms that one did not dare eat or drink on the other side. It would tether the individual in that world forever, wingspan or not. Something his own brother, the god of Yule, had discovered not long ago.

  With a sigh, Jorandil opened his eyes and glanced around to get his bearings. The room was plain, even by earth standards, with little furniture and none of the clutter or artwork humans seemed to favor. He nodded in approval. A pale green comforter skimmed the bed, and on top of it reclined the woman who was about to sacrifice her virgin blood to save the realms.

  He looked at her dispassionately at first, but soon it was not only the power of Beltane Eve stiffening his cock like a Maypole. Her skin was creamy and pale, with long eyelashes resting on her cheeks as she slept. Her red hair splayed across the pillow in lustrous waves, and her very feminine curves were pleasing beneath a silken nightgown of pale pink. Most acceptable. Perhaps he should leave the choice to fate more often.

  Jorandil stared down at her, feeling his heart speed up as he drank in her beauty, her innate, wanton seduction. He didn’t need his powers to know she was pure and innocent, sleeping the eve away unaware of the many humans who were currently locked in a sweaty homage to the deed he was now required to perform. He moved closer, reaching out to stroke a lock of fiery red hair, and he wanted her. Not just the release that a year of celibacy demanded, but her. Her beauty would sate him, and the blood of her virginity combined with his semen would bring enough power to course through his wings and out to the other angels, knitting the veil and keeping her safe.

  He blinked. Not just her. Everyone. The worlds would be safe. He would fuck her until he came, the breach would close, and on a conscious level, she would be none the wiser for the part she played in saving the realms. He would never see her again, not even next Beltane. For then she would no longer be a virgin. He would have to seek another.

  Blood pumped harder through his body, rushing through his ears, heating his face, throbbing through his erection. He moved closer still, anxious to sink his dick where he could find relief. Yet he could not indulge in her purity without her explicit consent.

  He knelt beside her and whispered words that were not quite the same as his usual proposition. “I want you, my maiden. Grant me, the god of Beltane, your virginity so together we may heal the rift that threatens our worlds. Tell me I may have you. Do you consent?”

  The reply was soft, one word long, and sent a fierce wave of madness through him. “Yes.”

  The woman shifted slightly on the blanket, parting her thighs. She wore no panties, and the motion exposed red pussy curls and petal pink cunt lips. His breath caught at the sight of such an open invitation, and for a brief moment he let himself imagine that she’d done so while fully awake and aware of his presence. He went to her and slid between her knees. />
  His cock sprang out eagerly when he released himself from his leggings, and while he knew time was short, he couldn’t help pause for a moment to run a hand over her body. Her breasts felt supple, yet firm to his touch. Her lips were moist and full, and he brought his mouth down over them. His dick jumped when he pushed his tongue into her mouth, thrusting his hips against her and pushing her legs farther apart until the tip of his cock rested against her tight entrance.

  He closed his eyes, not to conjure memories of the other women he’d watched, but to imagine her coming to life at his touch. In his mind, she was clutching his back, moaning and meeting each grind of his hips. The imagery drove his pelvis forward, and he claimed her virginity inch by inch. He found her cunt hot and moist, as slick as though she’d been awaiting this fate, longing for it. He grunted like a human male when he finally bottomed out, and his cock pulsed like a wild beast, compelling him to rut her hard and fast.

  Jorandil bent his head to suck in her nipple and was shocked to find a hardened nub when his teeth grazed it. He bit down to tease the bud, and when she let out a soft moan, he pulled back with a start. The moisture from his mouth had left a wet ring on her nightgown, accentuating the hardness of her nipple.

  She was lovely, the one he had allowed fate to select, and he reopened his eyes to study the porcelain perfection of her features while he ground his hips on hers. His cock strained and throbbed, so ready to make an end of it, ready to mix his essence with that of a human to keep the veil from breaching.

  Long lashes swept her cheeks as she slept, and he found himself wondering about the color of her eyes. A bright green, perhaps, the shade of tropical waters or the green of sunlit grass. Or brown, dark and mysterious, guarding her secrets.

  He took hold of her breast, feeling his balls tighten, preparing for release. Her long lashes fluttered, and then her eyes opened, finding his. Her eyes were a crystal blue, the brilliant cerulean of the veil pendants some of his sabbat brothers had been gifted with.