Saurimonde

By Amaris St. Hilaire

Like a bird in a gilded cage, Saurimonde is trapped between a brutally abusive husband, Gilles, who treats her like a possession, and a lover whose name she doesn't even know. The only thing she longs for is an escape. But to where? She should have been more careful in what she wished for because the day Gilles spies her and her lover together is her last mortal one. With the aid of the local wise woman, Elazki, Gilles gets his hands on a dangerous ancient potion. He figures out the perfect way to serve it to her – cooked into her lover's heart. One bite has dire consequences.

Left for dead by her husband at the river's edge, Saurimonde awakens to a whole new existence. Now she has become a part of the river itself. Days are spent in erotic encounters with unwary passers-by. Nights are spent in predatory pleasure, feasting on those she has seduced.

As the body count begins to rise in the village, Gilles starts to suspect his wife is still alive. He enlists the help of Elazki, who has secrets of her own, and her darkly handsome nephew, Sordel. Newly returned after being banished by his magus master in the black lands, Sordel unknowingly holds the key to all their fates. One will die, one will wish they were dead, and the other will fulfill their destiny.

Danger awaits them at every turn as they enter a realm where nothing is as it seems. Each will be forced to make terrible sacrifices. Will they be able to break the spell and stop the beautiful demonic creature Saurimonde has become? Can they possibly save her? Or will they too find a brutal death beneath the deep dark waters...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amaris St. Hilaire
• Release date: May 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301920204

Amaris St. Hilaire

Scarlett Amaris likes playing devil's advocate on the dark side of the moon. She spends a large amount of time tracking through ancient ruins and decoding old texts in the Pyrenees. Her more esoteric work can be found at www.shadowtheatre13.com and www.terraumbra13.blogspot.com. She's also co-written scripts for the anthology film The Theatre Bizarre, the documentary The Otherworld and the upcoming feature films, H.P. Lovecraft's The Colour Out of Space, Replace, and Black Gate. Saurimonde is her first novel and she's currently finishing up Hidden Montsegur before getting started on Demon Priest, her next erotic endeavor along with the next Saurimonde story. To read more, visit her blog: scarlett-amaris.blogspot.com.Melissa St. Hilaire likes to bask in the center of chaos watching supernova explosions. She spends most of her time daydreaming, researching, and scribbling. She wrote film and music reviews for The Heights Inc. Her poetry has appeared in the periodicals Shards, The Outer Fringe, and The Laughing Medusa. She co-authored several scripts for Tone-East Productions. Her debut book, a memoir titled In The Now, was released in 2012. Her current projects include a sequel to Saurimonde, a follow-up to In the Now called Medicated, a fantasy series called Kaleidoscope Moon, and a sci-fi epic called Exodus. To read more, visit her website www.melissa2u.com.

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SAURIMONDE

By

SCARLETT AMARIS

&

MELISSA ST. HILAIRE

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Scarlett Amaris & Melissa St. Hilaire

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Moonlit Landscape with a View of the New Amstel River and Castle Kostverloren

Aert van der Neer (1647)

Oil on panel, 22 1/2 x 35 5/16 in.

The J. Paul Getty Museum

(Used with permission.)

DEDICATION

For those who still dream awake.

CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Cover Art

Dedication

Acknowledgments

1 And So It Begins

2 What A Difference An Afternoon Can Make

3 What's The Fun In That?

4 Dead To Me

5 Tricky Bastards

6 The Possibilities Are Endless

7 One Step Further

8 Don't Be A Fool

9 So That's What It's Like

10 Here It Comes

11 The River Is Your Lover

12 Without A Trace

13 This Will Never Do

14 Those Aren't Real Demons

15 Too Close To Home

16 Something To Remember Me By

17 None Of That In Public

18 Always Be A Next Time

19 No Peace In This World

20 You Don't Know The Meaning Of The Word Hate

21 Her Name Is This Place

22 At Least They're Alive

23 Maybe She's Dreaming

24 Monsters Out Of Molehills

25 Let Them Look

26 One Of Us Is In Dreamland

27 But Fear, No

28 Not Entirely True

29 So Dark I Cannot Follow

30 The Last Time

31 You've Come Home

About The Authors

Bibliography

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks to Michele Bigler for the original cover artwork for the first edition, and to everyone else who helped along the way.

1 AND SO IT BEGINS

Staring into the mirror at the bruises beginning to form around her neck, Saurimonde reaches up to touch the spots lightly. The skin is reddening and it aches, but her reflection is as lovely as ever, although there's something sad and haunted in her dark, smoldering, upturned eyes, framed by lashes so thick and dark that she doesn't need to use makeup to enhance them. Her honey colored hair hangs tangled and listless. Once her beauty shone like the sun, but something in her spirit has dampened over the last few months and the light's grown dim. She's become pensive, introverted and, although she hates to admit to herself, she's become afraid. Of course, she has every reason in the world to be afraid, but she's always thought of herself as smart and fearless and able to traverse the paths of this tricky mortal world exactly the way she wants. Now she's trapped like an animal.

Playing the events of the morning's argument with her husband through her head again she wonders just exactly what it was she'd said this time to set him off. It didn't really matter. Anything she utters can bring out that shaking, uncontrolled emotional reaction from him where his eyes flash with anger and an ugliness that seems bottomless. And the crazy and paranoid things which came flying out of his mouth leaves her baffled. Then he'll lash out. This time's been particularly bad. He's never choked her before and it terrified her. She can still feel his large hands circling her throat and shaking her as his rings cut into her flesh. The worst is the panic of not being able to breath and knowing if she fights back or tries to defend herself it will only get worse.

A tear silently trails down her cheek. She knows it isn't her fault and yet each one of the bruises feels like another stain on her soul. There are so many now and he's getting worse and more irrational and increasingly violent. Nothing she does makes any difference. Sometimes she morbidly wonders how long it'll be before he kills her, not that she wants to believe this of him. But still... she thinks, taking a deep breath, she has to face the truth. He hates women. He hates her, and somehow, in his pathology, she's become the embodiment of every female who's ever hurt him in whatever way. His deeply buried rage has engulfed and twisted his mind. Once she'd been an object of his desire and now... she's the object for his revenge.

Picking up a golden backed comb, she starts through the knots in her long hair. The tangles hurt at first, but some of its former sheen comes back to life with each stroke. Sometimes there's comfort in the smallest of gestures.

Little did she know at the time that by marrying Gilles she'd made a devil's deal. How grand he'd seemed to her young eyes. His facade was perfect. His face a mask of kind attentiveness. His generosity boundless. He'd offered her a whole new world and she had eagerly accepted. There'd been signs, of course. A temper tantrum here or there, a drink thrown across the room, but she'd closed her eyes to it telling herself that no situation was ever perfect, there were always problems in any relationship, there's always a trade off in life. Never in her wildest dreams would she have guessed that he would actually cross the line and physically start to abuse her.

The midday sun throws creeping shadows across the mirror. Her hand freezes on the comb as her image seems to shimmer and lessen for a moment like she's slowly fading away. There's no turning back now, no erasing the past, she thinks. She has to find a way out and protect herself at all costs. How she wishes she had someone to talk to, someone who will take her into their arms and tell her everything's going to be all right, but that person doesn't exist. Not for her. And certainly not in this place. Gilles controls everything and everyone in this village, he's the undisputed lord and master of everything he surveys. The villagers are all a little frightened of him and certainly none of them would ever intentionally cross him. Not if they value what they have. Besides, he will lie and say that she's overreacting and turn the whole situation around to make himself the innocent victim like he always does. She's never sure whether he actually believes his sanctimoniously justified version of events or if somewhere deep down he knows the truth. It doesn't matter, because once it comes out of his mouth then it is the resolute truth and the rest of the world be damned. Nothing is ever his fault and he doesn't care who he hurts in his denial.

Taking another deep breath she wipes the tears from her face. On the table of the vanity, she lays a few pieces of jewelry which may be able to hide the large marks around her neck. Metal will be too rough and will hurt, so she chooses a wide, black, lace choker. It's a little gothic but it suits her mood. How appropriate, she thinks. Choker, choke her. She's never thought about the name before and there's a horrible irony to it. She quickly takes it off slapping it down on the table. She can't wear it. Every moment she'll feel it tightening around her neck and she will think of the feel of his hands crushing the life out her. Rummaging through one of the drawers she finds a lightweight golden scarf embroidered with delicate ivy. It's well worn to the point of being fragile, but it would do the trick. At least it's soft.

The very last thing she wants is to have to face Gilles' rich friends who are possibly coming over later that night. Not that he really has friends, everything's a competition to him and just another reason to show off. Making small talk while she pretends everything is fine will be an endless agony. She casts an eye onto the soft, golden sheets covering her oversized bed. How she wants to crawl into them and wrap herself up in a cocoon and sleep for the next thousand years. Maybe I can feign illness, she thinks, it can possibly work, but then again, it might cause more trouble. It'll just give Gilles more incentive to be furious and that's the last thing she needs right now. Better just to get it over with and pray that her husband will drink himself into a stupor. Then she can slip away and hide in her room and lock the door. A ghost of a smile passes her lips. She knows he has a key, but she'd found it and hidden it so well the other week she doubts he's been able to find it yet. Foresight is forewarned, even if it comes too late, but at least she's been able to do that for herself. She takes one last look in the mirror and adjusts the lightweight scarf to make sure her bruises are well hidden, then she gathers up her painting supplies and silently slips out.

2 WHAT A DIFFERENCE AN AFTERNOON CAN MAKE

Saurimonde's hand drifts along the canvas with a life of its own as her thoughts wander. Painting allows her to go to places in her mind which only her imagination can create. She never likes to begin a picture when only the blank canvas stares back at her, but once it gets going the rhythm of careful stroke upon careful stroke, building and creating the landscape, transports her to these other realms. It's like dreaming awake.

The wild forest meadow runs riot with untamed splashes of color at every turn. Even though they have three different gardens at the manor house, a formal garden, a flower garden and then the vegetable garden, nothing can beat the natural beauty of this place. A white winged butterfly settles itself on her hand, forcing her back to reality for a moment. Its fragile wings beat slowly and contentedly as she smiles down at it. Hello little sister, she says silently, before giving the brush a little flourish sending the creature on its way once again. Even though its life is short, maybe a few days at the most, she muses, at least it's free and happy at this moment.

Her smile fades as she remembers snatches of her husband's conversation she'd overheard earlier. She didn't know who he was talking to and it didn't matter, just the patronizing, slightly nasal quality of his tone was like nails down a chalkboard to her. I was trained to be gentle and tolerant of other people's views and opinions... and to lead by example... How the words had made her stomach turn and she'd wanted to scream, You hypocritical, delusional bastard. You rule by fear, threats and tyranny. It's all just an act. It's all just a game to you! But scream to whom? It would make no difference. There's no justice, just every man or woman for themselves. The best she can do is to stay out of his way, never state an opinion, smile and laugh in accordance and then find a way to please herself in the meantime. Her first act of rebellion will be to shove him out of her thoughts. He shall not darken her day any longer.

Turning her attention back to the canvas she starts to sketch in more details, chewing pensively on the end of the brush as she tries to figure out how to make such a verdant shade of green. You can try and replicate Mother Nature, but the results are never as beautiful as the real thing. She has no idea of the lovely picture that she makes sitting amongst the flowers. The sunlight catches her golden hair and her light green frock, which is the same color as the leaves on young trees and is molded to the contours of her body and then drapes into pools around her on the ground. She looks like a fairy, or some other sort of magical creature.

Realizing she's been sitting in the same position for quite some time, she gets up to stretch and get the blood flowing once again, grimacing at the pins and needles. Hearing footsteps behind her, she nearly jumps out of her skin, grabbing the canvas protectively as she steadies herself, fearing the worst.

Whoa. Easy. I didn't mean to scare you. The voice is deep and soft, like it's used to soothing frightened animals. She stares up at the figure of a man, obscured by the sun. It's not Gilles, she thinks in relief, he's too tall and she doesn't recognize the voice.

The man reaches out and touches her hair gently running it through his fingers as she nervously takes a step backwards.

Sorry. I couldn't resist, he says cheekily.

Saurimonde gets her first real look at him and as she does her breath catches in her throat. Oh my goddess, she thinks, did I just conjure you out of the forest itself? He's so handsome that he can't be human. Deep sea blue eyes smile back at her, crinkling slightly in the corners. His chestnut hair is sun-bleached in places and perfectly tousled, hanging free just below his shoulders. But it is his smile which really grabs her attention. It's a wolf's smile, like he's just done something terribly naughty and it's infectious. Naked to the waist, he catches her running her eyes down the contours of his tanned torso and he flashes her that smile again. Knowing she's been caught caressing him with her eyes, she blushes.

Sorry... I didn't hear you... I thought you were someone else.

No need to apologize, princess. My heart nearly stopped when I saw you sitting there.

She stares at him questioningly for a minute until she realizes he's flirting with her. She can feel the heat in his gaze and the attention feels good and refreshing, like the first breath of wind on a stifling hot day.

Well, the feeling's mutual. My heart's still pounding. She raises her hand suggestively to the top of her gently rounded breast where her flesh meets the soft, cream colored lace edging her gown. His eyes follow lingering. Even though the frock is slightly faded and has a paint smear here and there, it still fit her like a glove and is one of her favorites. I don't think we've met. She holds out her hand which he takes, leaving a gentle kiss upon it.

Enchanté.

My name's Sa– He places a finger on her lips, silencing her.

Don't you think it's better without names? Make me whomever you want, princess. He looks at her, playfully raising his eyebrows.

You're teasing me, she says, her eyes downcast in false modesty as she subconsciously plays with the scarf around her neck. She's beginning to enjoy this scenario. How fun this is, she thinks. After the last few months she's nearly forgotten what it feels like to hold a man's attention, instead of being downright hated or pointedly ignored.

Indulge me... think of it as an innocent game. I'm waiting for my name.

I think I will call you Pan since you appeared like a spirit from the forest.

That's a virulent choice. I like it. Now all I need is a horn to charm you with. Or maybe you would fancy a set of horns? He tilts his head and brings up his fingers to imitate them.

She laughs shyly, Then what?

He smiles that lupine smile again and leaves the question to hang.

Well?

Well... I was just trying to decide what your name should be. It's going to be a tough call considering when I first saw you sitting there I thought you were the goddess made flesh, or some sort of woodland nymphette. Aphrodite seems too common and not exotic enough for those eyes.

She laughs outright at this. Oh, you are good.

You can't blame a man for trying. Now let's see... Hmmm, I think your name should be... Should be... Erato, the dryad and high priestess of the god Pan, and this is your sacred grove.

Flattering, most definitely flattering. You are full of surprises... It's a good choice.

They stare at each other for a minute as something unsaid passes between them.

I have an idea. Since this is my grove we should do something to consecrate it, she say as she playfully tosses her long hair.

Like give me the chance to worship at your temple door?

She catches herself wondering if he really is some kind of satyr in human disguise. Everything about him screams raw sexuality and that, coupled with the witty double entendres, makes him utterly irresistible.

Wow. Now I feel really boring. I was going to suggest that we choose a wishing tree and leave a charm, but now that I think about it, it seems kind of childish.

No. It's perfect.

Pan gathers a couple of twigs and fashions them together in the shape of a heart while Saurimonde adds a few dashes of pink and red from her paints and then twists some meadow daisies around it. Tying a makeshift cord made out of long grass onto it, Pan hands it ceremoniously to her.

Ready. One, two, three. Now make your wish.

She closes her eyes praying to the goddess, please get me away from Gilles. Please grant me a little happiness. Then, standing on her tiptoes, she reaches for the highest branch above her head and struggles for a moment to hang the charm, not realizing that the lightweight, golden scarf she's wearing around her neck has slipped off in the process. Satisfied by her efforts, she turns around victoriously. Her smile freezes when she sees Pan is staring at her neck. Self consciously she raises a hand to try and cover the bruises.

How could anyone ever hurt you, princess? His tone is so gentle and he looks so concerned that she cannot stop the tears from welling up. The most perfect of moments has been ruined by Gilles once again.

Seriously. Who could do something like that to a woman like you? It is