Page 1

CHAPTER 1

N o one threw a party like selkies. Satyrs threw the best orgies, but that wasn’t what Pan had been in the mood for when he’d gone searching for entertainment. He wanted dancing and bonfires and music and feasting, to be worshipped…and he’d found that on a sandy beach.

With their fur coats discarded, the selkies danced around the fires to drums and pipes. Their bare skin gleamed with sweat and firelight. His own clothes had been discarded several drinks and dances ago. Now he sprawled on a fur coat, watching as they danced in his honor.

He kissed the man on his left, then the woman on his right, basking in their delight at being chosen to worship him more intimately. They both had prayers they wanted answered, and he would get to them when the party was over…or, at most, a few days after.

There were always prayers and wishes and hopes floating around and getting caught up in magic. No god answered all prayers. Some answered those that would create the most trouble. He’d done that a few times because it was fun to watch an ill-thought-out wish come true. Sometimes, all he needed to do was send a little magic in the right direction, and the people took care of their problem themselves—and that was often more entertaining.

The selkies’ lips brushed over his chest and moved lower.

Sometimes, even prayers with the best of intentions went askew. Magic was unpredictable—more so at the moment. He’d first noticed it a year ago, a change in the vibration and a shifting of the colors.

Then there were things appearing from the human world on Tariko.

Some gods had traveled to Earth to have a look around, but there wasn’t enough magic in the human world for the humans to be doing anything. Which meant it was someone on Tariko. Another god playing a prank, perhaps?

There’d been meetings and discussions with the Strega.

And then things had gotten worse.

He leaned back as their warm breath ghosted over his dick. He placed a hand on each of their heads and let the magic flow through his fingers, filling them with his benevolence and giving them a taste of his power.

He tipped his head back to stare at the stars as his shaft became slick with their spit.

The stars…flickered. He blinked. What?

Then the stars winked out.

He pushed his worshipers away. They gasped and stared up at him as he stood.

Pan reached for the magic only to find that the golden rope was nothing but a few frayed threads. If he pulled on it, it would come apart.

“The tide!” a woman screamed.

Where there had been ocean only a moment ago, now there was just an expanse of sand, stretching for eternity as if he stood in the middle of the fucking desert.

The selkies murmured his name and dropped to their knees, begging him to do something.

“Bring the water back.”

“Bring the stars back.”

“Did we do something wrong?”

“What’s going on?”

He had no idea and no answers…which was terrifying.

The ground hummed as though he were standing on a beehive.

A bonfire collapsed, sending sparks into the air, and a log rolled out, landing on a discarded coat, which caught fire. The man kneeling at Pan’s feet screamed as he burned. Without thinking, Pan pulled on the magic to save him, but the golden strands disintegrated before he touched them.

“Do something!” The woman pawed at his legs, her face streaked with tears.

“I’m trying.” But there was nothing he could do without magic. He glanced up at the black sky. No stars remained.

The ground bucked, and he stumbled, falling to the soft sand. The fire spread, leaping from fur to fur. Selkie to selkie. “Grab your coats! Run!”

Where did they run to?

As the beach burned, he scooped up the fur he’d been sitting on and followed his own command, sprinting over the rippling, bouncing sand. The selkies followed him as if he knew what to do and where to go, but he had no fucking idea.

There wasn’t enough magic for him to escape this place, and the nearest town was a day’s walk away. Not that he walked anywhere.

The ground split open and rocked as though trying to toss him into the freshly opened maw. His foot slipped in the sand, and Pan scrambled back, but there was nowhere for him to go with so many behind him.

His world was tearing apart.

Like magic, it was failing.

As quickly as the chasm opened, it rumbled closed.

“Why aren’t you saving us?” It began as a whispered accusation and swelled to a shout.

It wasn’t just the selkies—all of Tariko screamed to be saved. He put his hands over his ears and dropped to his knees, expecting to be ripped apart.

There was no air to breathe.

His lungs burned.

He’d never expected to die.

* * *

P an opened his eyes and brushed aside the crow pecking at his arm. He squinted up at the pale gray sky and the equally pale sun, shooing away the crow again. He felt like a three-day-old turd. How drunk had he gotten? He reached for the magic to fix the headache, only to find there was nothing to grab.

What the fuck?

He sat up and blinked twice. Bile raced up his throat at the sight of the bloodied rocks and bodies.

This was not the remains of a party.

It was a massacre.

The bent and broken bodies of selkies were strewn over the pebbly beach. They lacked even their human-looking skin. He turned away and swallowed to avoid vomiting.

This wasn’t even the beach they’d been on.

And where were his clothes?

He’d taken them off to party…

Then he remembered the way the stars had vanished and the ground had opened. He checked the magic again, this time to find out where he was. Still nothing. Slowly, he turned, taking in the rest of his surroundings.

There were upturned boats of a kind he didn’t recognize that appeared to have been dropped onto the beach, and there were unfamiliar noises. A kind of wailing. Beneath all of that was a particular resonance he hadn’t felt in about two centuries. He huffed out a breath. It appeared that he was somewhere in the human world.

Not knowing exactly where was bad.

Not having clothes was inconvenient.

Not having magic was worse, as it meant he couldn’t solve the first two problems.

He glanced down to check what form he was in. His feet appeared human and were smeared with blood and sand instead of being hoofed. When he touched his head, the curve of his horns was hard against his fingers. That made no sense. He should have either horns and hooves or neither.

The cool morning air made his bloodied skin prickle, and it took a moment for him to realize he was cold. And thirsty. And hungry.

He put his hands on his hips. This was fucked. He was never cold or thirsty or hungry. Or if he was, it didn’t last long because he had magic. He reached for magic before remembering it was gone.

Awkward .

That also meant he couldn’t contact the other gods. Or a Strega.

He certainly couldn’t ask the selkies to worship him for a boost because they were dead. Which was probably a good thing, given their skinless situation. He refused to look at them in case his stomach betrayed him.

In case he screamed and lost his mind.

He was a god, so he needed to act like one.

How did a god stuck in the human world without magic act?

His fingers curled, and he gave into the panic breaking his chest and screamed his fear and frustration at the sky. How had this happened? Why had this happened, and how did he return home…assuming there was a home to return to?

He sucked in a breath, his throat raw. Without magic, what was he?