The Hunt God’s Hound by AT Lander
Book 3 in the Of Gods and Men series
General Release Date: 23rd August 2022
Word Count: 26,393
Book Length: NOVELLA
Pages: 113
Genres:
EROTIC ROMANCE,FANTASY,GAY,GLBTQI,GODS AND GODDESSES,HISTORICAL,WERESHIFTERS
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Book Description
Heroes aren’t real, and neither is love…right?
Conall, a snarky and cynical Irish goatherd, just wants a boring life—no quests, no heroes and definitely no curses. That all falls apart when a chance encounter with a Fomori sorcerer leaves him trapped in the body of a female wolfhound.
Arlen, a kind and noble hunter of the Tuatha de Danann, is tracking his most dangerous target yet, but his skills are not enough. To track this magical monster, he needs someone touched by its power…someone like Conall.
They strike a deal—to hunt their mutual enemy while Arlen bends the curse as much as he can. Now a hound by day and a human by night, Conall’s heart and instincts draw him to his handsome rescuer. When he goes into heat, it starts a tempest of passion and emotion that will either bring them together or tear them apart.
Can these two unlikely companions overcome an ancient evil, or will their story end in tragedy?
Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of animal slaughter, violence and injury. There is a cursed main character and mentions of breeding the shapeshifted MC.
There was a light tap of wood against his forehead, then a tingling sensation that radiated from the point of contact. No pain, no horrible twisting, just two heartbeats of dizziness and it was done.
There were damp leaves under Conall’s palms and knees. He grabbed a handful of leaves, squeezed them in his fist for the sheer joy of having fingers again.
Tension he hadn’t even known he carried fell from Conall’s shoulders. He was real, he was human, he was himself.
“Oh fuck that’s better,” Conall said with a deep sigh. He opened his eyes to look up at his rescuer. “Thank you, Ar—”
The words froze in his throat, which was suddenly too dry to speak. He’d known Arlen was hot, but his canine body hadn’t reacted to it the way his mind had. Now, with his whole being involved, Conall could barely breathe. Arlen wasn’t just handsome—he put all of Conall’s wildest, horniest dreams to shame.
Arlen looked incredible in sharp, color vision. His shoulder-length hair was red-gold, shining brightly against the shadowed forest and his dark green cloak. His lips were pink, full, kissable, and his lethal cheekbones stood above faint fair stubble.
Even his storm-gray eyes looked different. The color might be the same, but now the details stood out—the dancing sparks of reflected firelight, the wisp of every lash, the way the pupils darkened just a touch.
Was Arlen interested? Conall desperately hoped so. He wanted to lick those chiseled cheekbones, clutch those broad shoulders, kiss those flushed lips until he couldn’t even breathe. Those strong hands that had just collared him would feel amazing on his hips, in his hair, around his cock.
Speaking of cocks, Conall was mere inches from Arlen’s. His wool trousers were just tight enough that Conall could see the shape…could extrapolate, imagine. All he’d have to do was rise to his knees, lean forward and bury his face against the fabric. Ask, beg, for the demigod to use him like the slut he was.
Wait, use him? Conall liked kink as much as the next extremely slutty man, but he’d always put his own pleasure first. He sucked dick because he liked it and it earned him favors in return. But now his body thrummed with the desperate desire to please Arlen as much as—or more than—himself.
“Oh dear,” Arlen said softly.
“Oh dear what?” Conall asked. He felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on his dick. That tone sounded too much like an ‘oops’ for comfort.
Arlen gestured toward his own head, apparently at a loss for words. Conall took the hint, sat back on his heels and slowly reached up with trembling hands.
His ears were too high on his head. They were large. Floppy. Furry.
Conall let out a cry of horror and scrambled to his feet. He patted every part of his body, searching for other canine features. He found two—the tough soles of his feet and a long tail currently tucked low in distress.
No, three, but the third one made no sense. He didn’t have a vulva anymore, but his ass was throbbing in that same cadence. Hot, slick, tender—the beginnings of a heat that a male body wasn’t built for.
“What did you do to me?” Conall yelped. He could feel his ears go down and back, tight against his skull.
“I failed,” Arlen snapped, the words clipped and harsh. “The curse is too strong—Lorcan is too strong.”
His face went tight, his jaw clenched and his eyes grew dark with rage. He wasn’t yelling or throwing things, but Conall knew anger when he saw it—knew it in old bruises and fear.
Conall took a step back, ducked his head to seem smaller. Running from an Aos Sidhe hunter wasn’t an option, especially with the collar, but if he didn’t draw attention to himself—
Arlen looked at him. Conall tensed in expectation of a blow, but instead those eyes went soft and the brow unknitted.
“Please forgive my outburst,” Arlen said gently. “I am angry at myself and our foe, not you.”
“Of course,” Conall said with forced casualness. He might not be the object of Arlen’s anger, but he could still be a target. It would be better to keep his distance.
There was a moment of silence, the air still and quiet between them, then a gust of wind blew through the small clearing. Conall was suddenly, keenly aware that he was buck-naked on a late autumn night. He shivered, hugging himself with one arm and cupping his freezing balls with the other hand.
“Here,” Arlen said. He unclasped the cloak from around his shoulders and held it out to Conall. “You need to stay warm.”
“What about you?” Conall asked, even as he reached for the cloak. It might be a trap, but he was too cold to care.
“Do not trouble yourself,” Arlen said. “I have warm clothes, a fire and centuries of training,”
“Fair enough.” Conall took the cloak and wrapped it around his own shoulders. The wool was as soft as a newborn lamb, still warm with Arlen’s body heat. It even smelled like Arlen, a mix of man and pine and storm-wind. Conall shivered again, but not from the cold.
Arlen mistook the gesture, and took a step toward Conall. Conall didn’t even think to be afraid, mesmerized by the scent and the warmth and those concerned gray eyes looking up at him.
“Here,” he said, taking Conall by the hand. “Lie by the fire. This day has been a trial for you.”
Conall obeyed, curling up in the cloak, which—is it longer than it was? It had stopped above Arlen’s boots, but now it enveloped Conall’s taller frame from shoulders to toes. Even when he pulled the hood up to properly cocoon himself, it stretched to fit.
Arlen’s scent was all around him now, mingled with woodsmoke, and it made Conall’s whole body tremble. His ass throbbed with need, silently begging to be filled, and he couldn’t hold back a whimper.
Then there was the faintest whisper of movement, and a strong, solid body pressed against Conall’s back. Warmth radiated through the cloak, even greater than the fire in front of him—Arlen’s body heat.
“Is this better?” Arlen asked. “If I am not overstepping—”
“Nope, y-you’re fine,” Conall stammered. His body disagreed—it was amazing, fantastic, and the clothes needed to be gone. Spooned up like this, Arlen’s dick was practically at his entrance, barely an inch from sliding in. Conall could imagine it so clearly that his ass clenched around a phantom cock, and his hips rolled back against his will.
Arlen drew in a breath, so close to Conall’s ear that the wool stirred in a phantom caress. Was that an erection against Conall’s ass? For a moment he was certain that it had to be. Arlen was about to tear the fabric away and plunge inside—
Arlen shifted, inching down Conall’s body just enough that his hips were no longer against Conall’s ass. He pressed his forehead against Conall’s shoulder blades with a faint sigh.
“Sleep,” Arlen said, his voice kind but firm.
That was a ‘no’, at least for now. Maybe, if he was a good boy, that might change? Arlen was the pack boss, and Conall was tired. It had been a very long couple of days, so this was an easy order to obey. Maybe he could earn a nice, thorough reward…
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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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