He overcomes their spell

Yes/No (Even): Can Gill resist the satyrs? | [5,6] Yes and...

He gets the upper hand and drives them away.

Gill’s gaze darts from one threat to another. Trapped. All three satyrs now looking at him. No more than a glimmer of recognition from the two women, still barely aware of their surroundings. Two against one with the element of surprise was already an unnerving prospect. But this…?

Then the singing starts.

It creeps in at the edge of his consciousness. Low and rhythmic and infectious. All three satyrs’ voices joining together, working their magic. He sees Rosabel’s and Shona’s eyes light up, pulling them out of their snake-charmed stupor and into the satyrs’ frenzy.

And he can feel it too. Pulsing in his veins, the heartbeat of life. Suddenly, he sees the strong, masculine bodies of the satyrs in a new light. He wonders what those muscles would feel like under his touch. The scent of them, primal and raw. What it would feel like if he were to…?

He’s not into that. Of course he isn’t. Of course he hasn’t ever had those kinds of thoughts, hanging out with the other quarrymen after a long, sweaty day of work. But what if…?

The satyr’s hand on his shoulder wanders up to stroke the back of his neck, sending a shiver through him, as his body tries to tense up and relax both at once. That hot touch against his skin, tormenting him. They don’t mean any harm. It’s just that contagious lust for life – and for other things…

His grip tightens around the club in his hand until his knuckles hurt. Fighting for control – and suddenly, it’s as if he’s not fighting alone. As if some flicker of Juniper, her cynicism and misanthropy, is with him now. And now, his eyes meet Rosabel’s, Shona’s – both enthralled, pliant, but there’s still just a spark of fear and uncertainty for Shona at least. She doesn’t want this. None of them really do.

No. Abruptly, the music sounds harsh in his ears, jarring. There had to be some upside to being a blasted half-breed, didn’t there? Like a wave, the fey charm breaks over him, and he is himself.

And he is angry.

He drives an elbow back into the soft gut of the stocky satyr behind him, and then springs forward. The short, red-eyed satyr has only a moment to react – then the swinging club connects with his hip. He howls and staggers, throwing the song into utter discord.

Torn from the spell of the satyr melody, Shona seems to find clarity – and terror. Screaming, she swats at the nearest satyr, the tall one, trying to push him away – catching him a solid hit below the belt that makes even Gill cringe. His startled, strangled cry joins the chorus.

The tables now turned, the three satyrs – winded, panicked, and doubled over with assorted pains – seem to decide enough is enough. They stampede for the door, vanishing into the misty gloom beyond; leaving Gill to catch his breath, Shona to finish screaming her lungs out…and Rosabel, still sitting inert, unmoved by the flurry of ****.