by Hickory Mack
“Stop,” she frowned, pulling away. The satyr tilted his head, his eyes puzzled.
“You don’t want me?” he asked, sounding hurt. That was the problem. She did want him. She wanted to strip off all her clothes and ride him right there on the forest floor, uncaring of the growling wolf standing less than twenty feet away. He was gorgeous, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen his equal before. Elsie couldn’t believe how strongly this creature called to her.
“Your magic isn’t supposed to affect me,” she said, offended. This was clearly more than a chance encounter with a pretty face. She’d never wanted to jump on anyone more in her life. Not even Saint. And that told her that something was wrong here. She’d ached for her mate to the point it was painful. Nothing should have been stronger than that.
“It isn’t only our magic, little reaper,” he breathed, that softness back in his voice. She could see that. Everything about him called to her. It was like he was made for her, straight from her dreams. He was too perfect. With a shock, she realized his build was almost exactly like Saint’s. His skin was lighter, his hair far too straight, but his lips were the same, and the angle of his face, the line of his jaw, and those soulful eyes…
“Get out of my head,” she hissed, and he gave her a cocky grin.
“Figured it out that quickly, did you?” he laughed, dancing away when she swung at him. “Why are you displeased? I was only trying to give you what you want most, in the only way I can. I thought it would make you more comfortable. Happy.”
“You were trying to take advantage of me,” she growled, yanking the charm from the chain around her wrist. Her scythe felt heavy in her hand as she held it in front of her defensively. The spell he’d had on her was broken. She convinced herself that she hadn’t wanted him; she wanted the man he’d been pretending to be. The man no one, especially not a satyr, could ever live up to.
“No more than you would have taken advantage of me,” he sang out, his voice lighter, filled with laughter. His skin darkened, making him resemble her mate even more. “Is this more to your liking? I can make all your dreams come true. Wouldn’t you like a chance to live the fantasy? You can be with your lost love,” he crooned. His words hurt.
They’d been separated for nine years. At least, for her it had been that long. For Saint, it was only four. Elsie rubbed the place in her chest where he still lived, time having done nothing to dull the pain. The broken nub of a bond that had shattered but never fully healed. She still clung to the hope that she’d be with him again, and the punishment for that was feeling the pain of his loss, every single day of her life.
“You will never be him,” she ground out between her teeth.
“I’m not supposed to be. You’re supposed to be mine because of who I am,” the satyr said. “Let me convince you.”
Elsie yelped when he strode forward and pressed his body against hers. She had grabbed his arm to throw him to the ground when pain jolted through her abdomen. Gasping, she released him, folding over in pain.
The satyr cocked his head, letting her go and taking a step back to watch her with wide eyes. “What is wrong with you?” he questioned, kneeling in front of her.
“Cursed,” she choked. It felt like the worst period cramps of her life, but ten times worse. Frost growled again, creeping up behind her, his steps stiff and threatening. The satyr ignored the gigantic wolf completely, his eyes on Elsie.
“You have a curse that attacks your uterus?” he questioned. Of course a sex demon would know where the pain was coming from. The pain was making her head spin, so much so that Elsie felt bile rising at the back of her throat.“Random organs, one at a time,” she wheezed. The satyr held his chin thoughtfully for a moment.
“I can fix you,” he said.
“No,” Elsie growled. It would come with a price. It always did. Frost was right behind her now, standing over her, his great head above hers. His growl rumbled in her chest, and she leaned against his furry leg. She didn’t have to trust him to know that he’d protect her.
“I’ll do it for cheap,” the satyr offered. “I’d be willing to accept a kiss.”
“A kiss?” Elsie scoffed, then felt herself go pale as her uterus spasmed and white light danced across her vision. She wished she’d just pass out until it was over. Couldn’t the universe give her that one kindness?
“Just a kiss, and I can take your pain away,” he promised, blinking those soulful eyes at her. He was offering her an exchange, but it wasn’t exactly equal. The magic he’d spend healing her would be greater than the magic he’d gain from the brief contact of a single kiss. Elsie whimpered, tears threatening to spill over. The pain was so great the rest of her body felt it in shock waves, her muscles cramping with tension and fear.
The vial in her pocket could take it away, and for a short while, she’d be okay. But Marley hadn’t told her how long the reprieve would last. How many days would that tiny vial stop the death and regeneration of her organs? How much longer could she withstand the pain?
Holding onto Frost’s fur, she looked up at the satyr, his face eager, but with a hint of sadness. She wondered if he’d have offered the same if it was another organ. Fertility and reproductive organs were his specialty. Elsie closed her eyes and nodded as a tear fell. He smiled and inched forward, the wolf watching his every move.
Pushing his hand around the barrier she’d created with her knees and arms, his palm touched her abdomen, over her layers of clothing. His face grew serious as her belly warmed, but the pain didn’t stop.
The satyr closed his eyes in concentration, and though Elsie was completely vulnerable to him, he didn’t try anything beyond what he’d promised. There were no sneaking touches, though she figured it was the threatening presence of the giant wolf whose paws she was curled up between that stopped him rather than any sense of morality.
The pain rolled on, but it seemed to be happening in reverse. Each stabbing pain brought with it a moment of relief instead of the overwhelming desire to die. Those moments grew in length as the pain finally began to ease, the warmth of the satyr’s palm soothing her aching muscles.
The furrow in his brow eased and his eyes opened as the last of the pain disappeared. Elsie took a deep breath as he took his hand away and rocked back on his heels. The damned creature was still completely nude, his cock just as erect as before. He looked at her hungrily while she was still getting past how dazed she felt.
“You healed me,” she choked out. His magic had cancelled out the curse, and her uterus hadn’t actually died. “You stopped it.”
“I couldn’t take the curse away, however,” he said. “It’s too strong to be broken without its proper counter curse, and it will come again. You should stay with me,” he offered. “I’ll take care of you, little reaper.”
And he’d use her to his own satisfaction. No thanks. Elsie shook her head. She didn’t want to be beholden to a creature like this. “I can’t. I have somewhere to be.”
“Then I shall come along.” He smiled. “You were made for me.”
Elsie almost groaned at how cheesy that sounded. He probably said crap like that to every person he wanted to use for his personal gain. She wondered if it ever worked.
“I was made for myself. You’d heal me again?” she questioned, her eyes narrowing. What price would he demand the second time? “You know it doesn’t only affect my reproductive organs, right? Can you heal a kidney?”
He looked stumped at that question. “I cannot,” he said bluntly. “I can only heal that which is connected to fertility. And the price will not come as cheaply. We used up a lot of magic to heal you.”
“I figured as much,” Elsie muttered, noticing how he used I and we interchangeably. She sat up and stretched. Her muscles were still sore, but they’d heal far more easily without the added trauma of healing a dead organ. He licked his lips and gave her a smile. Elsie sighed. He wanted his reward, and truth be told, he’d earned it. She just couldn’t do it while he was still borro
wing some of his looks from Saint.
“Stop stealing his image. Can’t you look more like yourself?” she asked, chewing the inside of her lip. He gave her a single nod, then his skin paled until it was nearly as white as his hair. His height shrank significantly, though he was still several inches taller than she was. Then his body… softened. His waist contoured, his hips widened, and breasts filled in where his pecs had been.
Elsie stared with her mouth wide open. She was beautiful—lips full and red, white hair flowing nearly to her knees, big eyes a vibrant blue. Pale freckles dotted her nose and across her cheeks. Satyrs couldn’t change their genders like that. Come to think of it, they weren’t deer, either. Both satyrs and fauns were goats. She had no idea what this creature was, and that was a potential problem.
“You’re not a satyr,” she said thickly, and the woman laughed at her, her voice just as soft as her male form. “What’s your name?” Elsie questioned.
“No, I’m certainly not a satyr. I have more names than I could possibly remember. What would you like it to be?” She laughed again at Elsie’s expression. A small bird flew by, and her bright eyes lit up. “Let’s call me Wren,” she said in delight. Elsie glanced up at Frost with an incredulous look, but his eyes were on the completely naked woman in front of them.
“I’m glad we came across you when we did, Wren.”
“Oh, me too,” she purred, leaning forward. She cupped the back of Elsie’s head and touched their lips together. Her lips were soft, but her kiss was firm, demanding. Her tongue licked out, parting Elsie’s lips until she gave way, allowing her in. The shock of Wren’s kiss took her breath away.
The parts of her that had been in agony just moments before came alive with desire, and she lifted onto her knees, meeting Wren halfway, her arms twining around her shoulders. Gods, the demon was so soft. Wren smiled against her mouth and pressed their bodies closer together, letting Elsie feel all of those curves nestling into hers. Elsie moaned, tasting her sweetness and wanting more.
The kiss went on and on as Elsie grew more frantic, clinging to the demon like she’d drown in unresolved lust if she let her go. Wren purred, but her hands stayed still, touching the little bits of skin the robe left bare. Her fingers stroked the sensitive places along Elsie’s throat, her breath teasing along the reaper’s jaw as she moved from her mouth, leaving her whimpering, begging for another taste.
“Wren,” she whined, then yelped as she was yanked away by the hood of her robe and tossed aside. Sprawled out on the ground in a mess of need, she gave a small sob, looking over to see the demon flat on her back, Frost’s paw pinning her to the ground, his monstrous teeth inches away from her throat.
Frida stood in front of her, growling and lashing her tail. Elsie blinked in frustration and scrambled to her feet. Her traitorous body still wanted the damned demon, but her mind was starting to sort itself out. All she’d done was kiss her. Gods damn, she’d made her come undone so quickly it was embarrassing. She needed to get laid sometime soon, and not by that shapeshifting deer demon.
“Thanks, Frost,” she said, though her imagination was running wild. She wanted to shove that wolf off the deer and pin her down herself. “She was just taking the payment owed. You can get off of her now.”
“I think your pet here has bruised me,” Wren complained.
“You’ll survive,” Elsie assured her as the wolf backed off. She almost laughed at the small trickle of blood making its way down Wren’s cheek. Frost couldn’t have thought she was in mortal danger, which meant his life had not been on the line, but he’d protected her anyway.
An image took over her mind. She clutched her head, tears rolling down her face, an earth shattering pain in her head. Wren held her, and she watched herself die. The image ended, and Elsie rolled her eyes. He hadn’t been as selfless as she’d thought. Frost thought she’d lose her mind and stay with the demon, which would eventually make her lose her life.
“Fucking stop that! Give me some credit, I’m not that stupid,” she muttered, and he sneezed at her in a canine laugh.
Wren peeled herself off the ground, dusting herself off, then gave Elsie a wink. “You taste amazing, little reaper. Even better than I expected. I’ll be staying very close by, in case you’d like to barter for my services again.”
Frida’s fur raised, and she arched her back in the most threatening way she could, squeaking out kitty cat profanities. Elsie gripped the tiny vial in her pocket and nodded her permission. She might not be able to help her again next time, but if there was a chance she could, it would give her more time to get to Riven.
“Yessss,” Wren hissed, and Elsie held up a finger.
“First, put some clothes on,” she ordered, though she wondered if letting her run around naked would help her get over the appeal. A sort of desensitization through exposure. She held up another finger. “Second, do you know where we can find Riven of the water mages?”
“You’re looking for a mage?” Her brows furrowed. “What good are any of them to you?”
“It was mages that tied me to the wolf, and a witch who cursed me. I need a mage to help me get rid of them both,” she said, and Wren laughed until she was doubled over and Elsie was growing annoyed. She straightened up and looked her in the eye.
“Oh, little reaper, your poor sweet thing. You’re going to need a lot more help than a water mage can give you.”
Chapter 9
“The binding is too intertwined. It was cast by multiple mages, so a single mage will not be able to counteract it unless they are one of the original casters of the encasement,” Wren explained as they walked through the forest, the wolf casting her dirty looks every time she moved too close to Elsie, which was happening frequently. Elsie could hardly keep her eyes off the woman herself.
Wren had taken the option of clothing as a suggestion rather than a requirement, though she had changed form again. From the waist up, she was still a living torment, a ridiculously beautiful woman with long white hair that helped partially cover her bare breasts, big blue eyes, and antlers decorated in gold. From the waist down, she’d taken the form of her deer. She was a freaking centaur, in deer style, and absolutely the most beautiful creature Elsie had ever seen.
She walked daintily through the forest on nearly silent hooves, casually brushing up against Elsie now and then, though she couldn’t possibly be getting any sustenance from the touch through the thick reaper’s robe. It was comforting.
“I still have to try. Maybe Riven will have friends who would be willing to help. I can’t give up just because it might be difficult. The only other choice I have is to die because I won’t give the hunters what they want,” Elsie said stubbornly. Wren looked at her gently, stepping around a puddle in their path, keeping her dazzlingly white fur clean.
She reached out and touched Elsie’s hair, gently plying it between her fingers before releasing it. “If that’s what you decide,” Wren said softly.
“Do you have any better ideas?” Elsie snapped, feeling bad when the demon glanced over at her in surprise. Wren shook her head.
“I don’t,” she admitted. “Lifting curses is not among my many talents.”
“What talents are those?” Elsie asked. “What are you?”
“I’m not sharing,” Wren laughed, batting her long lashes at her. “I don’t know you well enough to share my secrets with you.”
“Fair enough, I guess,” Elsie muttered, but Frost growled. “Yes, we get it. You don’t like Wren.”
Wren smiled and laughed, her doe ears perking forward adorably. “This one and I have never been friends. It’s possible he’s even moodier now than he was then,” she said cryptically, and Elsie nearly snapped her neck, whipping her head around to look at her.
“You know who he is?” she gasped, and Wren looked at her quizzically.
“Of course! Don’t you know who you’ve tethered yourself to?” she questioned in surprise, then yelped and jumped to the side when Frost’s teeth snapped in he
r face. “You aren’t still mad at me, are you?” she cackled, darting out of the way of a second attack.
“Frost, you big jerk, quit chasing her!” Elsie demanded, but he bound into the woods after Wren. Frida scrambled off of her shoulder and tore off after the demons despite knowing she had no hope of catching up until they either slowed down or stopped to face one another.
Images flashed through her mind at such rapid speed she couldn’t keep up. Wren as she was now, immediately followed by her as a male of her kind. A great nature spirit surrounded by animals, holding a massive bow drawn back, ready to let an arrow fly. A moss-covered statue of what looked like a faun. A man with dark hair drinking flagons of wine, his cheeks red, a smile on his face.
“None of that makes any sense!” she shouted at the wolf, continuing to follow their trail.
“It’s okay. He can’t hurt me the way he is now. Not that he had much luck in the past...” Wren said from beside her, and Elsie shrieked, leaping to one side. She skidded to a stop, glaring at the faun-satyr-centaur-beastie.
“How’d you do that? Are you part dryad or something?” she demanded, and Wren snorted at her.
“You’ll have to come up with a better guess than that,” she teased. “Dryads move like me, not the other way around.”
“So you’re fae,” Elsie surmised. It was so hard to get a good read on her. She didn’t feel like an ancient creature, and though she had a lot of power, she didn’t feel like the sort of creature that passed down a species wide trait, either. She’d expect something that old to be god-level strong, but Wren wasn’t. Wren’s only answer was a vague smile. “How am I supposed to trust you if I don’t know who or what you are?”
