harry’s beast

  Kat Baxter

  contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Thank you for reading!

  Excerpt from His Heartbeat

  Monster Between the Sheets

  About the author

  harry’s beast

  You know what they say about satyrs…

  Jace

  Like many of the people in Screaming Woods, I’m cursed. My plight goes beyond my hooved feet, horns and my tail. My problem–my curse– is a different kind of hard. The perpetually stiff kind of hard, if you know what I mean. Only true love can give me “release.” I know it’s too much to hope the pretty, curvy human is my fated mate. One touch and I could lose all control, and I can’t risk hurting her.

  Harriet

  Ever since my best friend fell in love with a monster, I’ve wanted one of my own. I’ve gone out with a few, but no one gets my heart racing like the brooding, mysterious satyr. Jace refuses to give me a chance though. I know he wants me, I can see the heat simmering in his gaze. We just need some alone time. Yeah, kidnapping him might be an extreme, but a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do…

  Harry’s Beast

  Kat Baxter

  Copyright 2023 by Kat Baxter

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Edited by: Emily Beierle-McKaskle

  Copyeditor: BookReadingJenn

  Book cover: Clover Book Designs

  With regard to digital publication, be advised that any alteration of font size or spacing by the reader could change the author’s original format.

  Created with Vellum

  prologue

  Harriet

  Kidnapping is wrong.

  I know this. It’s against the law for a reason. But sometimes there is no other choice. That’s where I am. In an impossible position where I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

  Which is why I’ve got my professor and friend, Jace—I think I can consider him my friend—tied up in the backseat of my car on our way to the gardener’s cottage behind Atticus and Vivian’s mansion.

  So, yes, while we can all agree kidnapping is wrong … just hear me out. A) He’s not a child, so technically it’s not kidnapping. He’s a man. So it’s mannapping. Except, he’s actually a monster. So, it’s monsternapping?

  B) He’s a big guy. I mean, monster. He’s a big monster. So, I’m like 99% sure he could have escaped if he’d wanted to. Okay, 92% sure. 89% at minimum.

  And also, C) I’m pretty sure he’s my soul mate.

  So, it’s not kidnapping or monsternapping. It’s soulmatenapping. And that’s basically just a honeymoon, right?

  Have I convinced you yet?

  No?

  Okay, let me back up a few months…

  chapter one

  Jace

  Once upon a time, I was someone special.

  I was respected and revered and important. At least in the academic circles I traveled in. I gave a TED Talks about musical composition theory. I gave lectures about using music in neurorehabilitation. People knew my face and my name.

  Then one fateful night I drank something at a local town’s Halloween party. I hadn’t even wanted to go, but my fiancée—at the time—insisted. Of course, she didn’t have any of the punch, so she didn’t transform into some mythic beast. Nope, that was me and a huge chunk of the town’s population.

  Then after transforming, I drank more, hoping it would change me back. That’s when the real trouble started.

  It’s one thing to grow horns and a tail and have the bottom half of your body turn into that of an oversized goat. That was curse number one. The second curse came after that second drink.

  I felt it immediately, though only one aspect changed in the physical sense. Animalistic intensity coursed through my being, altering my normal civilized and proper personality into one only focused on the baser needs.

  My cock grew and hardened, and it would be a few days after that I realized this was the real second curse. Because no matter how much stroking or tugging, nothing brought me satisfaction. Nothing brought release.

  You know that commercial that said, “if you have an erection for more than four hours…” I remember laughing at that when I was human. It’s not so funny anymore.

  I am a satyr.

  If you don’t know anything about the legendary beasts, perhaps you should pop into a museum and see some early depictions of my kind. Though some myths portray me as having equine-like features, the only part of my body resembling a horse is my dick. The rest of me is part man, part goat.

  The man I used to be is no more. Dr. Jason Ramsey now exists only in written lectures and those are getting few and far between. The longer I go without physical relief, the more my humanity wanes.

  I’m told what I need is my fated mate. The one person out there who loves me unconditionally and that I love in return. Supposedly when there is copulation in that circumstance, the curse is lifted and a satyr—though still physically a satyr—can at least receive the pleasure of a climax.

  But the night I was turned, I was with my fiancée. She even stayed with me for a week or two after my transition. She tried, but ultimately she did not love me. In truth, I did not love her either.

  I can’t try again because my needs are too far gone. I would rather rip my own heart out of my chest than hurt another living being.

  So … yeah. The only way for me to retain my humanity is to fuck a woman I love and who loves me. Do I dare risk unleashing my desires on a woman I care about?

  I think we both know the answer to that question.

  I may be a mythical creature, but I’m not a total monster. At least not yet.

  So I hide in my house, only venturing out at night when I can be swallowed up by the shadows and darkness.

  chapter two

  Harriet

  So, this all started when my best friend, Vivian, went to this town called Screaming Woods. That's not really the original name of the town, but it's what they call it now because it's a town full of monsters. I can't recall the actual name of the town, and maybe they’ve even officially changed it. The point is that everyone calls it Screaming Woods and rumors are all over the internet that monsters roam free here, walking and talking like the rest of us.

  Vivian and I had watched an online documentary about the town and we both became obsessed. Okay “documentary” is probably too a strong word for it. It was really just a guy with his phone camera taking some really fuzzy footage of what may or may not have been monsters in this town. Still, something about the whole thing was convincing enough. Vivian and I became believers.

  The fact that Vivian writes horror novels and I’m obsessed with mythology and lore probably helped sway our thoughts.

  I know. I know what you’re thinking—monsters aren't real. But in Screaming Woods they are.

  So here's the thing: after Vivian got to Screaming Woods, all this amazing stuff happened to her. Not all of it was good, but most of it was truly wonderful. Which is why I drove here myself. Obviously, I wanted to see the monsters for myself, but I came to help Vivian. She’s my ride or die. While I’m more than happy to let her ride into a happily ever after with a sexy zombie on her own, she was still in real danger and there was no way I was letting her die on her own.

  Which brings me to tonight. Here I am, on my rescue mission, simultaneously trying to be a badass and not get lost.

  I drive slowly because it’s super dark here. The towering trees that flank each side of the road block out any light that would come from gas stations or greasy spoon diners. The moon appears periodically, flickering between the trees.

  As far as I can tell, there isn’t any street lighting, at least not on this road. Then I pass by a sign nestled into the woods. “Welcome to Stream in the Woods” But someone has clearly marked through the Stream in the and changed it to Screaming Woods.

  My heart pounds and I know I’m probably smiling like an idiot. Because oh my goodness, I’m here. I slow down so I don’t miss anything, especially any of the signs indicating how to get into town. Basically, my car is crawling along the highway.

  But then something catches my gaze out my side window. There is a man—no, that’s definitely a beast of some sort—standing by the side of the road.

  Despite how slow I’m driving, he doesn’t notice me at first because he’s … um … preoccupied.

  And by “preoccupied” I mean, he’s gripping his hard dick, pumping his first as fast as he can.

  I suck in a breat h and nearly choke to death on my own saliva. I don’t consider myself a voyeur. The thought has never actually crossed my mind, but if possible, I slow down even more and stare openly at him.

  He’s beautiful. And completely lost in what he’s doing. Normally I would say that masturbating in a public place is straight up creepy, but the wince etched in his facial features speaks more of pain than need. So, it seems less creepy and more desperate. And there is something about that desperation that’s compelling.

  I hope nothing runs out in front of the car because I am not watching where I’m going. Nope, I’m straight up staring at the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen and… yep, my panties are wet.

  His face tilts upward just a little as if he’s sniffing the air. That’s when he looks over and our gazes lock.

  I want to stop and get out of the car, but that doesn’t make any sense. Instead, I drop my hand into my lap and press it against my suddenly aching pussy. I stare at him, biting down on my lip, wanting … something.

  Then, he turns and runs into the woods, not before I see a sleek brown tail whipping behind him.

  “Toto, we are definitely not in Kansas anymore,” I mutter to myself.

  chapter three

  Harriet

  A few months later…

  I’m on my laptop, sitting on the floor leaning up against the sofa in one of the many rooms at Atticus and Vivian’s house. Mansion… whatever. I’m sending a chat request to one of my former professors.

  And by “former professor” I actually mean “favorite professor.” Which is really saying something, because as a self-proclaimed serial student, I have had a lot of professors. For a lot of different topics. Over a lot of years and a lot of universities.

  Hey, you can judge me for my academic dalliances all you want, but if you were me, you’d probably do the same. I have a sizable inheritance that means I don’t have to work, and I love learning. So why shouldn’t I indulge myself?

  My point is this: in all my years of being a student, one professor has stood out as my all-time favorite. I’ve taken every online class he’s offered. I would happily take in person classes if he offered them, but he doesn’t. I love listening to him talk. I love hearing his ideas. I would climb inside his brain and curl up in there if I could – metaphorically speaking, of course.

  So, am I hot for teacher?

  Um … yeah, pretty much. Alas, the professor of my (occasionally naughty) dreams is very professional and would never behave inappropriately with a student or a former student.

  And I gotta admire that kind of stern, uncompromising morality.

  I wouldn’t be reaching out to my professor now if I didn’t really need his help.

  While I wait to see if he’s available, I send a text to my little brother.

  ME: What’s up, dork?

  STEVEN: Hey sis.

  ME: Are you working?

  STEVEN: Always.

  ME: Working on a new song?

  STEVEN: Yes. But I can’t see it yet.

  My brother, Steven, is on the spectrum and has synesthesia. He can see the music he composes, and it comes to him in colors. I can’t say that I understand it, but the seven million followers he has on Youtube clearly get it. I mean, I understand that he’s talented. Like ridiculously talented.

  His music is amazing, even to my untalented ear.

  Our parents put both of us in piano lessons when we were younger, and Steven took to it like the proverbial duck to water. Meanwhile I think I still remember how to play chopsticks. Probably. At least, I’m sure it would come back to me if I needed it.

  STEVEN: They’re moving forward with the lawsuit.

  ME: I figured. I’ve got an idea. Dare I say an ace up my sleeve?

  STEVEN: It’s not illegal, is it?

  ME:

  STEVEN: Harry, I’m serious.

  ME: Me too. I don’t do illegal things.

  ME: Okay, I don’t do BAD illegal things. And honestly, speeding shouldn’t count. And that time I walked out with a mug from that restaurant was totally an accident. So that shouldn’t count either.

  STEVEN: Yet, they do, in fact, count.

  ME: I’ll keep you posted on my idea. Let me know if you need me to talk to your lawyers again.

  STEVEN: I know how to talk to people.

  ME: I realize. But other people don’t seem to know how to talk to you. At least not respectfully.

  STEVEN: Thanks.

  ME: Vivian says hi.

  STEVEN:

  “How’s he doing with the lawsuit?” Vivian asks.

  “He’s stressed and it’s clearly affecting his ability to produce.” I sigh, trailing my fingers over the keyboard, wishing I could give my brother a big ol’ bear hug, but knowing that he’d prefer a text or two even if we were in the same city right now. “He hasn’t put out a new video in two weeks. Aside from doing a few mashups of early ones.”

  “I hate that he’s having to deal with this. It’s completely frivolous,” Vivian says.

  Atticus comes into the room carrying canned sodas for me and Viv. “What’s frivolous?” he asks.

  “Harry’s brother’s lawsuit,” Viv says.

  “Why don’t I know about this?” he asks, taking a seat next to Viv. Immediately he puts a hand on her thigh. If he’s within reach of her, he’s touching her. Like she’s his lifeline.

  Watching them together, seeing the way he looks at her, always stirs a pang of yearning within me. I want what they have. I want to be that for someone.

  I wave my hand in Viv’s direction. “You’ll do a better job of giving him an overview. With me, I’ll get lost in the minutia.”

  “Basically, this has-been pop star is suing Steven for copyright infringement because of some chords in a song he had out like nearly two decades ago.”

  “So old,” Atticus says with a roll of his bright green eyes.

  Viv giggles and elbows him. “Not all of us age as well as you.”

  He kisses her forehead, then turns to face me. “How can I help, Harry?”

  And that right there? The way he jumps in to help automatically, because what’s important to Viv is important to him, even if he only learned about it ten seconds ago? That’s the stuff of fantasies.

  I just wish I had a something I needed help with. Instead, I shrug and try to make a joke. “Unless you can somehow make this one previous professor of mine appear so I can speak to him in person, I don’t think anything.”

  “What professor?” Atticus reaches over and grabs his own laptop.

  Wait. What?

  Can Atticus actually help? I guess it can’t hurt.

  “He was my music theory professor. Just brilliant and I think he could help. He knows more about this kind of thing than anyone. And if he could help me understand music theory, then he’d be the perfect expert to help explain it to the jury.”

  “But?” Atticus asks.

  “He’s a complete recluse. Like no one knows where he lives. He responds to emails. Sends in his video lectures, but the lectures are only ever of his hands on the piano or his notes.”

  “Give me his name and I’ll see if I can do any deeper digging.”

 

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