Matchsticks: A Dark Spirits Fairytale

by S. J. Sanders

  When he bit the inside of her thigh, Agatha nearly came up off the bed, but when he sucked hard on her clit, her back arched high as a shout of pleasure escaped her. He didn’t let up. His arms circled her legs, pinning her in place as he feasted on her with such thorough eagerness that he brought her quickly to another orgasm. Only then did he release her long enough to shuck off his clothes.

  His pale body caught the light of the hearth, making him look every inch truly divine with an aethereal glow as she would have imagined a god to look. His wings spread wide as he allowed her a moment to look her fill before he stalked forward and climbed onto the bed and over her body. She shivered in reaction to the predatory gleam in his eyes and spread her legs wider in invitation as he caged her beneath him.

  His cock sliding into her made her eyes roll up into her head as he sank deep. Her breath shuddered out of her as she quivered against him, inciting a low, needy growl. His teeth clamped down on her shoulder, holding her in place as he drove into her. Her gasps turned to whimpers and soft cries as he pounded into her. He angled himself up just enough so he could alternately tug at her nipples and clit. His glowing eyes took in her every reaction as they brightened with appreciation at her every cry until he wrung another climax from her, her body trembling as it washed through her.

  He stilled then, holding himself deep within her as her orgasm faded. Dropping his head forward, his kissed her deeply, tongue twining with hers as he slowly rocked deep into her, his hips twisting very slightly as he filled her. The slow, deep rhythm made her feel connected to him, heart to heart, and her heart squeezed with emotion.

  “I love you,” she whispered against his mouth.

  His head drew back as he thrust again, making her moan.

  “I love you too, Agatha,” he said, voice husky with emotion.

  His wings descended around them as he drew her up into his arms, holding her securely against him as he increased his tempo, his deep, grinding thrusts. His mouth covered hers again, swallowing her scream as her hips jackknifed, driving him deeper than ever as another orgasm seized her. Her pussy spasmed hard, clenching around him in waves of ecstasy as his cock thickened and jerked within her.

  Releasing her lips, Aquilo tilted his head back and roared just as the faint pink of the coming dawn slid through the window.

  Agatha closed her eyes in ecstasy…

  …And opened them staring into a cruel, inhuman face.

  Chapter 16

  Agatha bit back a scream, the remembered pleasures from Aquilo fading to horror. The face staring down at her only had a vaguely human shape, long with a pointed chin and ghostly pale, the deep-set white eyes stared out at her from the dark shadows surrounding them. Blackened lips parted wide in an unholy smile, revealing rows of jagged teeth.

  Her eyes flicked to the side. Through the snow, there were people still passing on the street, but Agatha had been dragged even farther into shadows of the overhang. No one so much as looked her way. Their laughter, distant and cheerful, almost seemed to mock her terrible position. She tried to call out to them, but a cold, clawed hand bore down on her throat, squeezing in a clear threat.

  Her gaze snapped back to the creature as it let out a hoarse laugh. Lank black hair whipped with the breeze and her feathered black cloak rose higher around her. Recognition hit Agatha hard. It was the odd stranger she had seen before, the dark-cloaked woman, but the cloak wasn’t fabric. It shifted and moved around the creature until a pair of enormous inky wings stretched wide like those of a vulture, the tips of the feathers nearly dragging the ground. The woman was only human in appearance from the breasts up, but everything below her ribcage turned into a massive, dark bird. Taloned feet scraped against the street as she hopped inelegantly forward, much like a bird.

  The hand holding her throat released her only for the bony fingers to grasp her jaw, claws pricking her skin just hard enough that she could feel the hot upwelling of blood. A long, serpentine black tongue licked over the creature’s lips.

  “So, it is you. The little sprites were right.” She laughed. “The bride of Aquilo, winter’s goodly spirit. The hope of the Hyperborean Mountains—their long-awaited, beloved queen. Excellent. I am so very glad to make your acquaintance at last, and without any interfering spirits who might rush to your aid. A good thing I had the foresight to capture the creatures and imprison them with the chiones. They didn’t have a chance to tell Aquilo where you were, and only just accidentally let it slip to me, unaware that I had been following them ever since they were assigned to find your mortal body… and now you are mine.”

  Another raspy chortle escaped her, and Agatha made an attempt to shrink back—to no avail. Everything was suddenly very clear… Aquilo’s secretiveness about what she meant to him and the celebration of the lupi. She was more than just a lover or a wife. She meant more to Aquilo and that mountain, more still than she could fully comprehend. She remembered how upon their meeting he had played with her name, addressing her as a good spirit. It all made sense… and now it sentenced her to a horrible fate.

  “No. No. There will be no escape for you,” the female hissed, yanking her closer.

  “What are you?” Agatha choked. “Please, let me go. I haven’t done anything to you!”

  With a moue of her inky lips, her captor gave her a feigned look of regret, the hungry malice in her eyes belying her adopted expression.

  “It’s nothing personal,” she hissed. “A harpy needs to feed, and Aquilo is an unpleasant barrier between me and my desires. If he gets his spirit, his very soul, he will be even more impossible to deal with in regulating how my sister and I may hunt.”

  “What does that mean for me?” Agatha whispered, dread filling her.

  She already knew what that meant, but she held onto some sliver of hope that perhaps she was wrong, until the harpy grinned at her again.

  “We will carry you back to our cave and you will die, with your pain flavoring your flesh to feed me and my sister as we dine on you. We will savor you more than any other.”

  The dark depths of the shadows moved, and Agatha’s gaze snapped over to watch as another harpy, just as large and hideous, hopped out in their ungainly fashion.

  “Enough talk, Aello,” the newcomer spat. “I say we just eat her here and now. There are too many eyes in our world. There is too much to leave up to chance.”

  Aello snorted. “Fewer eyes without the sprites, but I concur, dear sister Ocypete. Humans are unobservant creatures, preferring to ignore what they don’t wish to see. These shadows shall conceal us well enough to draw out our feast through the night.” Her pale eyes glinted ravenously. “You won’t die for some time yet, little human.”

  “First things first,” Ocypete interrupted as she hopped closer, her bony hands reaching for Agatha. “We don’t want her soul escaping us and alerting Aquilo. Apollo has been interfering with the time flow between our worlds this season to unite his faithful Aquilo with his benevolent spirit, so she would have ample opportunity. Apollo is forbidden from direct interference in the lives of mortals, but there is still a danger from his gift if we are not careful. We need to keep her here with us if we want to escape discovery and for her to feel the agony that is coming.”

  With a jerky, abrupt movement, she drew out the golden pack of matches from Agatha’s pocket. Agatha’s breath caught in her throat and tears stung her eyes as the last match was plucked out and the head snapped off, discarded uselessly as Ocypete dropped it to the ground.

  Aello murmured her approval and scraped a claw down Agatha’s collar, dropping down to the top of her breast as she parted Agatha’s jacket with her hand. A brutal cold stung bone-deep, and Agatha glanced down, eyes widening as she watched the skin redden, shift to blue and then blacken as a howling wind buffeted her ears. She curled her lips back in pain. It had to be some sort of advanced frostbite from the bitter wind that dug into her at the harpy’s touch.

  The claw sank deeper, and she twisted, feet kicking up as she desper
ately tried to free herself. Her feet uselessly slapped against the feathers until the toe of her shoe came in contact with something hard, carried close to the body, beneath the harpy’s feathers. With a cry, she kicked in the same spot harder.

  Aello screamed as a loud crack filled the air, followed by a blinding white flash of light. An icy wind blew by her with the smell of snow and the sting of frost before it was gone again, leaving her facing the harpy’s fury.

  Ocypete’s angry shriek made her skin scrawl. The monster flopped back, with lacerations bleeding freely. As frightening as that was, Agatha’s heart hammered in terror as Aello, her belly and breast a bloody mess with ichor flowing onto the snow where it pooled like a stain, hauled her up off her feet, dragging her forward until they were nose to nose. The smell of decaying flesh and bitter cold assailed her.

  “For that, you will truly suffer,” the harpy snarled.

  Chapter 17

  She had disappeared right from his bed, right from his arms as she lay beneath him at the culmination of their shared ecstasy. She had closed her eyes with replete exhaustion, and then she was gone!

  Roaring out his anguish, his wings extended wide as an arctic wind blasted through the room, dousing the fire. His summons rang loud in every direction. He had little doubt that even his far-flung brothers heard his command.

  At first, there was nothing, not even the frost sprites, and he stared ahead until a spark of light shifted and blast of cold greeted him with the fast approach of his spirits. Not just one or two—all of them! The frost sprites barreled forward, leaving frost on everything in their path as they weaved among the blasting chiones who whirled and danced with the frenzy of a blizzard as they hastened to his call.

  The snow maidens swirled around him, hissing with violence and anger, fanning his own fury.

  “Where have you been, and where is my bride?” he snarled.

  Their shrill voices spoke as one as they whirled faster around him and told him everything. They lamented their capture by the harpy, the way the frost sprites had been manipulated by the harpies in a pretense of extending aid, and in the end captured as well when they discovered the location of his bride’s mortal body.

  The frost sprites buzzed from where they mingled among the chiones. Although they were contrite about being deceived, he could feel their all-consuming, hungry anger that demanded retribution. Their combined anger drove Aquilo’s fury to new heights as the truth of the matter was revealed to him. The harpies had Agatha and intentionally sought to harm and kill her. They hunted her just as assuredly as he was now going to hunt them.

  “Show me,” he hissed. “Lead me to where my bride is.”

  Screaming, they rose up into the air and flowed out the door of the cottage. He flung himself out the door after them, his wings flapping as he prepared himself for flight. A battle roar escaped him, and it had the desired result.

  Opis, his longtime friend and first among his guard, charged from the longhouse, a heavy cloak flapping about him as he tossed it around his shoulders and pinned it in place. The club he lifted was of such size that one swipe could easily kill any mortal being, and painfully injure any immortal. For once, the male’s insistence of bringing the weapon with him whenever he and his mate ventured from the fortress walls did not seem like a ridiculous precaution.

  “What is it?” the ogre rasped as his one massive hand gripped Aquilo’s shoulder hard.

  Aquilo needed that. It helped him to recenter amid the storm whipping cruelly through him. The storm was already manifesting throughout the worlds. He could feel it even as he felt the winds as they howled around him now with every flick of his wingtips, emitting the power of his fury.

  “The harpies have Agatha,” he growled, and the male’s visage darkened as he cut a glare toward the frost sprites. “Pay them no heed,” Aquilo snapped. “They trusted foolishly but had naught to do with her capture. The only treachery here comes from the harpies themselves.”

  “Should’ve guessed they would be up to such a thing if word got around that you had found your bride,” the ogre grunted. “How do you propose we find her and deal with those creatures?”

  Aquilo nodded to the chiones swirling above. “They will be our guide, but we will need to move quickly. Too quick for this form,” he muttered as he glanced down at himself.

  Opis nodded in agreement. There was only one way for them to arrive in the mortal world with the greatest speed and for him to carry the massive weight of the ogre. He would have to take the form of the venti stallion.

  Although it had been ages since he last took the form, he felt his body melt and reform almost effortlessly between one thought and the next. There was a tug of his power as it reshaped him, adding bulk to his equine frame as a second set of wings sprung out of his back. His unnaturally large hooves struck the ground as he blew a hard breath from his nostrils. In this form, the winds seemed to flow off him easier, and Opis lifted a hand to protect his face as his long braids streamed behind him. No one else dared to come out from the longhouse, and he did not blame them, not when his winds howled and screamed through the air, rattling windows and doors with their ferocity. Each one of his people was feeling the full force of his turbulent emotions.

  From within the longhouse, he heard one horn and then another. The dragon horns were blasting, rousing the lupi spirit in solidarity with him. Aquilo’s heart thudded with emotion. He would get their queen back. He would return his spirit of goodness and hope to the mountain.

  Head jerking wildly, he barely managed to stand in place long enough for the ogre to mount him. The moment Opis found his seat, Aquilo’s wings fanned out, and he took two leaps forward over the snow before he was flying through the air as a turbulent storm, his chiones and frost sprites flying around him as a great blizzard surrounded them. The storm swelled and broke loose with a vengeance as he jumped between worlds. His griffins would protect the mountains in his absence.

  Straining his body to the greatest of speeds, Aquilo panted as he scanned the mortal world slipping by as if it were on a string. He didn’t slow nor examine his surroundings too closely. A chione, her crystalline veils flowing around her, whirled through the air just ahead of his muzzle, showing him the way.

  When she slowed, it was above a small human town that stood next to a large, tiered garden. It had to be Garden Tower!

  He cast a cold glance at the streets as he swept over them. This place and its people meant nothing to them. He watched dispassionately as the people rushed off the streets into the shelter of nearby buildings in an attempt to escape his storm. The warmth within him was receding, and he knew that, wherever Agatha was, she was fading.

  He could not lose her! The world would not like the monster he would be if he lost his bride!

  As he followed the chione over the winding streets, that beast within him reared its head and a cruel bitterness swept through him. It brought with it a desire to make the humans suffer the way his bride had suffered and was currently suffering.

  He wrestled with the dark desire, knowing that it could obliterate all life in the northern hemisphere. He felt stretched thin with his anger battering at him, needing release. It bellowed and gnashed its teeth and howled when he spotted a familiar shape in the shadows of a building just ahead.

  He dropped down to the streets, hooves kicking up the snow around him. The moment they neared, Opis let out a shout, a call to battle, as he leaped from Aquilo’s back. His club swung through the air, catching a harpy firmly as she attempted to fly away.

  Aquilo smiled grimly as she fell to the snow. There would be no escape.

  Striding forward, he took his humanoid shape again as he approached Aello. The harpy was crouched over Agatha, teeth bared and talons curved wickedly as she hissed at him. He narrowed his eyes at her, his wings spreading wide around him and his retractable claws descending lethally from his fingertips.

  “Do you have so much desire for conflict with me, Aello?” he snarled.

 
An uncertain look crossed the female’s face. She backed away one step and then the other, but he did not allow her to retreat. With a wild whip of his wings, he sprung forward, his hand catching her around the throat. Holding her up with one hand, he met those milky pale eyes with a sneer.

  “You thought you could win against me. You presumed that you could steal what is mine and destroy her and me in the process. You are a fool, Aello. You have but one purpose, and it is my duty to control you. I will not tolerate your disobedience.”

  His words broke through the air, brittle as cracking ice, and the harpy winced fearfully.

  “You cannot kill me,” she rasped. “My sister and I are among the immortals.”

  Drawing her closer, he grinned down at her humorlessly. “Perhaps not, but that does not mean you cannot suffer, and so you will.”

  Opening his mouth wide, he stretched out his wings. Although the harpy was already injured from the bursting of the vessel that held his spirits, he felt no sympathy for her. Filling his lungs, he roared. His wings unfurled at that same moment and whipped through the air, the full force of his power blasting over the harpy in his grip. Her black wings snapped back, flapping uselessly as one feather and then another was torn free. The chiones and frost sprites tore at her mercilessly, serrating her flesh with their icy touch as black feathers flowed from her, torn from her until her wings were in messy tatters. Although the harpies were creatures of the winds, their power was nothing compared to his, and even she couldn’t escape the futility of her position as she lay stripped bare.

  Curling his lip scornfully, he dropped her to the snow at his feet, his nostrils flaring.

  “Feel fortunate that I do not do the forbidden and seek to end your existence. Come near my bride again and I will not be so charitable next time. For now, you can remain out of trouble, bound to your cave, for the centuries that it will take for your wings to regrow their feathers. Consider this my one and only act of mercy,” he spat.