Page 33 of Shiver Me Satyr

“—Was investigated before we arrived in Boston,” she interrupts, rubbing my knee to soothe the sting. “We take care of our own. Now that you are one of us, we will take care of you, too.”

We fall into an easy silence as I read the rest of the paperwork. Her eyes flutter closed, and her head rests on my chest as she waits. I’m glad she waited to show this to me. My ego couldn’t have handled it when I first boarded—although a part of me suspected as much. It stings that my father will find an orphan and groom him into the son he always wished he had. The family portraits will be recommissioned without me, maybe even including the new boy. Hybris will be erased as if he never existed.

Good riddance. What would my life have been like if I had always denied my satyr nature to please him? Would he have offed me the first time I stepped out of line anyway? Likely. Probably just as well that I lived a full life of hedonism; the endpoint would have been the same.

“Did they specify how to kill me?”

“No, but I had ideas…”

“Walking the plank?”

“No,” she says with her eyes still closed. “Slicing your smug smile from your face or beheading you with my whip were my best options.”

“Not ordering Chub to do it?”

“He offered—and that was before you set his wife’s kitchen ablaze—but I knew I had to handle you myself. I guess I didn’t do a very good job of it…seeing as you’re still alive, and I’ve taken a shine to you.”

Her affirmation of her feelings is all I need for another round. I hope the walls are thicker in this room because I’m compelled to take her right on these papers. We’ll seal another pact with our fluids to make this one null and void. I have a new identity and a new family…which I hope will be more than me hearties soon.

“Oh no, then you must practice handling me,” I reply, pushing the papers onto the floor to access her marriage box. I push my seed from before deep inside of her in hopes that something will take. “It’ll be my pleasure to teach you all the best ways to handle me.”

“Like that! More—” Her words end with a moan. She spreads her legs as wide as she can and bucks her hips.

“Yes, love, more every day as long as we live.”

17

Betts

4 Weeks Later

“I’ve waited long enough for you to get your footing, so now I must ask for the tea.” Catalina grabs my tray of herring from my hands and holds it over the stone oven as if threatening to roast it. “Take pity on the lady up the spout whose man is too afraid of hurting the baby to touch her. If I don’t get to live vicariously through your sexual escapades, I have nothing.”

“Well, what is there to tell—” I grab for the tray, but she turns her back to me.

“Honey, darling, sweetie, bestie, you are the talk of the boat. Anyone with ears has heard your cries of passion…several times a day.”

“A satyr’s appetite is—”

“I know! So don’t hold back the good stuff. I want sensory details. I want to hear the dirty talk. I’m dying here!”

“It started as hate sex,” I say with a shrug. “Not much foreplay, but we were worked up, so it didn’t really matter, I guess. We’d yell at each other, and then our clothes would fall off. It was more of a pounding our point of view into the other one than anything else—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Gretta wails as she leads Ilya into the kitchen. “If Betts is sharing the details on Flint’s monster goat cock, I want to listen too.”

“Wait for me!” Ilya whispers behind her. Ilya’s throat muscles still haven’t healed enough to recover her voice. As theSinging Lizard Ladyof the sideshow, she was forced to sing for hours without water, because her scaly skin turned different colors as she became dehydrated. She sails with us until she can find a home near a natural freshwater source, which unfortunately wasn’t in Boston.

“Gretta?! A proper lady doesn’t talk about her marriage bed activities. It’s rude and common.”

“But I don’t see any ladies here, and you’re not making the beast with two backs in a bed—marriage or any other type. Come on, I’m dying to know about the barbs. What do they feel like? Do they bend, or are you freaky and like the pain?”

“Gretta!” This time, Catty and I both yell at our friend.

“What? He’s a beautiful man who doesn’t know the meaning of the word decency. He’d whip out his rod and tackle whenever his fancy was piqued to wank away. Everyone who sleeps in the orlop deck wonders if those barbs get softer as they turn from white to purple. We had a wager going at one point, but then someone pointed out that the barbs would rip his palms if they didn’t bend.”

“I don’t believe this,” I say, dropping my face into my hands. My plate clinks against my tray as Catty places it in front of me. “No, knowing this crew, I totally believe this is the topic of your gossip.”

“Well?” Catty asks. “Is that your response?”

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