Satyr from the Shadows








Long ago, a nymph fell in love with a mere mortal destined to become a legendary hero. Until the gods saw fit to tear them apart and tamper with fate.

Everyone has heard the story of Daphne and Apollo, of her transformation into a laurel tree to escape his obsession. If only it were so simple. Held prisoner for thousands of years, Daphne is close to death until a last minute rescuer smuggles her out of Olympus and to Melancton, the satyr she loves.

Melancton has always preferred to be on his own, keeping to the shadows and maintaining a stoic appearance. Only Daphne can be the light to his darkness, and now that she’s returned, the fear of losing her again shakes him. With grave danger lurking on the horizon, Melancton and the satyrs of The Aegean Inn prepare for battle, but the odds are stacked against them.

Meanwhile, Apollo enlists the aid of Dionysus in his determination to reclaim Daphne and punish those responsible for her disappearance. Is it possible to survive the fury of the gods?


The mattress shifted as he moved away from her. She almost shouted at him not to leave when brightness washed over the room. It was the electric light from before. She’d forgotten about it and slammed her eyes shut. Melancton scooped her up and returned to the bed with her across his lap. He overwhelmed her senses with the security of his arms and the scent of man and evergreen. Her man. Her Satyros.

“Daphne.” His breath tickled the minuscule hairs on her ear. “Open your eyes.”

She bit her bottom lip and cracked one eye open, turning her half-gaze toward him. The second eye opened by pure reaction. “It is you!” She lifted her hand to touch him, but her arm flopped into her lap like a fish. Ugh, I am as helpless as an infant.

Melancton smiled, revealing the hidden dimple on his left cheek only visible when his happiness was genuine. Only visible for her. He lowered his mouth to hers and she melted into him.

Kissing Melancton was different from anything she’d experienced before or after she met him. It wasn’t merely warm, soft lips pressing together or tongues tangling in an attempt to taste and feel and fill. It wasn’t about passion so explosive it set her aflame and made even the brush of his hand over her arm nearly orgasmic—though she appreciated that quite a lot. With each kiss, what he provided was not an obsessive need for her that only sought a one-sided release. It was more than all of that, bigger.

Their desire for each other infused every movement, every taste, every sigh. He made Daphne feel cherished. Wanted because of her. For being who she was, and not because he found her attractive and wanted to claim her. If Melancton wished to brand her as his, she’d let him. He was hers too, and that was what mattered. The mutual awareness of each other and appreciation. She was not his possession, but the woman he loved. Or at least she hoped that was still the case.

An expression of wonderment crossed his features as his eyelids fluttered open to keep her in his sight. The soft violet color of his irises so different from anyone else she had ever met. How had she managed to have such an effect on such a glorious male? She didn’t deserve him, but she was far too greedy to argue that fact.

Thankfully, whatever damage had been done over the years hadn’t affected all of her body. Her stomach fluttered with what felt like the wings of hundreds of butterflies and liquid heat gathered between her legs. Melancton had been the last person she’d had sex with, and it had been so long.

Too long.

Nymphs thrived off two things: nature and sex. In her current state, she would take weeks to heal. She didn’t want to spend weeks in a bed lying there like a lump. She wanted to be herself again. Oh, gods, to feel like herself in her own body again. To stand, to walk, to move around.

“Undress me,” she said, making up her mind. She couldn’t wait any longer. This helplessness? It was over. Melancton would make love to her, and then she would return the favor. Multiple times most likely.

A muscle tightened in his jaw and his smiled faded, his secret dimple hidden once again. “No.”

His control was another thing she loved about him. Apollo wanted her for sex, but Melancton fought his desires. His stubbornness had a time and a place though, and after so long apart she needed him to put it away.

“I must insist.” She arched a brow. Would he really turn her down when she needed him the most in order to prove he wanted more from her than physical gratification? He had attempted to save himself for marriage, after all.

And you messed that up, didn’t you?

He narrowed his eyes and looked her up and down. “You are in absolutely no condition to even consider such proclivities. It would be barbaric of me to humor you.”

She turned her head into the curve between his neck and shoulder so he couldn’t see her silently laughing at his outrage. She liked when he was barbaric, but it wasn’t a good time for it. “I’m a nymph. I practically live for such ‘proclivities.'”


“Please?” She peeked up at him. He appeared scandalized.

“I cannot…you…you are injured.”

“Yes, I can tell. My body feels like it was dropped out of Olympus while fastened to a boulder and then crushed between that boulder and another boulder… I can see this discussion isn’t helping my cause any.”

“Not in the slightest.”

© 2015 Rebekah Lewis.