The Forest God’s Favor by AT Lander
Book 1 in the Of Gods and Men series
General Release Date: 21st December 2021
Word Count: 19,781
Book Length: NOVELLA
Pages: 79
Genres:
EROTIC ROMANCE,FANTASY,GAY,GLBTQI,GODS AND GODDESSES,HISTORICAL,MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS
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Book Description
Can the love of a man heal the heart of a god?
Fertility god Anthos, a shy and gentle three-hundred-year-old virgin, has grown up in the shadow of his brutal older brother Dryas and spent his life hiding from mortals, no matter how much his nature draws him to them.
Cleon, a humble farmer who always has room in his heart and his bed, knows that Lord Dryas is angry. The crops aren’t growing, and his family is going to starve if he doesn’t give the god a worthy sacrifice—his own body. But when he reaches the shrine, he finds a very different god, the sweet, untouched Anthos.
Eager to satisfy Anthos’ curiosity, Cleon shows him what sex is…and what a relationship between them could be, with their instant attraction blooming into love. But when Dryas returns with a vengeance and Cleon’s life hangs in the balance, Anthos is forced to make a choice.
Will he bow once more before his brother’s rage, or take a stand for the only man who has ever had faith in him?
Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of abusive behavior, double penetration, voyeurism, exhibitionism and violence.
Months passed, counting out the long Greek summer. Others came to the forest, hunters and travelers and holy pilgrims who journeyed from outlying villages touched by the new god’s growing power. Not all of them caught Anthos’ eye, and he never pushed himself on the unwilling, but Anthos was clearly getting stronger.
Not that he sat idly by between trysts. He had to make up for those first weeks of lost time, and did all he could to ensure a good harvest. At dawn and dusk, times of mystery and magic, he would dance between the rows of grapes and grain, playing his reed pipes. He would visit the sheep and goats, whispering words of power in their ears, and walk through orchards, touching every tree.
Sometimes people would catch glimpses of him, hear his pipes on the wind. It was important that they never see him properly—something about divine mystery—but even then, the rumors began to grow. Lord Anthos was here, he was real, he was sharing his blessings as Lord Dryas never had.
And it was true—what should’ve been famine had grown into a bumper crop, with grapes so large and juicy they were nearly falling off the vine. When harvest came, Cleon went to work in the fields and organize the festival. The villagers gave him so many supplies and offerings he had to borrow his family’s ox-cart to tote them back.
“I wish I could go to the festival this year,” Amara said, helping Cleon load the last basket into the cart.
“You’ll be old enough next time,” he said, patting her hair. Their family had never had an abundance of food, but now there was a healthy glow to her cheeks he’d never seen before. “My baby sister, all grown up.”
She giggled, and Cleon smiled softly. He had spent years dreading the day when she would become a woman, when she would dance before Dryas and possibly catch his eye, but she was safe now. He knew Anthos would never touch her unless she wanted it, and if she did, he’d treat her with the utmost care.
Anthos still hadn’t been with a woman yet, nor had he topped, but he was working up to it. Perhaps at the festival he would be able to overcome that last hurdle.
When Cleon returned to the sacred glade, Anthos was back in his oak-branch roost, playing a melancholy tune on the panpipes. He waved at Cleon, but didn’t jump down yet, lowering the instrument and swinging his hooves.
“Something wrong?” Cleon called, craning his neck to look up at his lover.
Anthos began to speak, then seemed to realize that being forty feet up made for poor conversation. He leaped down to the top of the bower, which didn’t even tremble under his weight.
“I’m just…” He sighed. “Just nervous. You said a lot of people are coming, right?”
“Yes,” Cleon replied, “but trust me, they all like you already.”
“I suppose,” Anthos said, staring down at the pipes and turning them over in his hands. “I just…I just wish I knew better what to do. I wish Father had lived long enough to explain it to me.”
“Your father?” Cleon asked. He’d only ever heard Anthos speak of his brother, nobody else.
“Pan,” Anthos said, holding up the pipes which the old god had invented. “He died when I was very young, and his kingdom was divided among his sons…except for me. I was just a baby, so I was given to Dryas to raise.”
“Ah,” Cleon said. “Not the best choice, really.”
“No,” Anthos said with a rueful smile. “I realize that now, but I suppose it made sense to them? We’re the only two with deer antlers, and we share the same mother…Despoinê.”
“I’ve never heard of her,” Cleon admitted.
“Most people haven’t, unless they’re in a mystery cult,” Anthos said. “I’ve only seen her a handful of times myself, and even then, she spoke in riddles.”
“I’m sorry,” Cleon said with a wince. “That sounds difficult.”
Anthos sighed, then hopped down to land on the steps of his throne. He sat, patting the step beside him, and Cleon went to join him. The ox was fine where it was, idly cropping the grass beside Cleon’s small hut. Anthos laid his head against Cleon’s shoulder, and Cleon tucked a hand around his waist.
“I envy your family sometimes,” Anthos admitted, biting his lip. “Your father, your brothers and sister, your baby nephews…you have a lot of people that love you.”
There was something in his voice, an echo of that fear and hesitation he’d shown on that first day. Cleon vividly remembered those downcast eyes, the anxious tremor in his voice. It sent a stab of pain through Cleon’s heart, and he pulled Anthos still closer, kissing the top of that tawny head.
“They love you too,” Cleon said gently. “Tomorrow night you’ll see how much we all love you.”
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AT Lander
AT Lander has loved stories, both the reading and the telling, since she was a child. Born in upstate New York to an English professor and a former librarian, she now lives in the queerest part of Massachusetts. She never leaves home without a knitting project or a pencil, and she’s never met a cat she doesn’t like.
She has worked as an history museum guide, a professional storyteller, and an actress, sharing tales of what was, what could have been, and what can only be imagined. World mythology is her driving passion, as what better way to understand a people than through the tales they tell?
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