Framed by his dark hair and beard, his harsh features were made all the more appealing, and Agatha had the inexplicable urge to taste his lips.
A shrill sound burst around them, snapping them out of the moment as Veli darted into the room with a small griffin, little more than a ball of fluff with a pair of tiny wing sprouts and beak opened wide, rushing after him as it warbled at a decibel just shy of painful. Veli sagged to the floor at Aquilo’s feet with a resigned hiss, compliant as the griffin cub tackled him and began to nip at feathers and tufts of fur.
“Galus, you escaped your dam again,” Aquilo commented in a mild scolding.
The cub looked up at him, a beakful of feathers gripped in its mouth as it purr-chirped at him.
Laughter burst from Agatha strong enough that her shoulders shook with it, and tears of mirth stung her eyes. Although their moment was lost and the coldness returned to his features, Aquilo smiled.
Not a quirk or an amused curve of the lips. It was a full-on devastating grin that made her heart stutter and her mouth drop open for a moment before she managed to control herself. She didn’t even mind the way he continued to watch her like a hawk while they worked, or even during the meals they shared when Eltha brought them up to the study. In fact, she had to admit that she was disappointed when the day ended, and he escorted her to her room.
She peered back up at him as they stood outside her door. “Do you think it will happen again?”
His hand skimmed down her back. “Perhaps not. But if it does, return to me.”
Agatha turned until her back was flattened against the door and she gazed up at him. His eyes were like twin blue flames as he stared down at her, his pupils narrowing with his focus. As if he was a moth drawn to a flame, he leaned down until his lips brushed against hers again. The taste of him once again filled her as his tongue slicked over lips before plunging into her mouth to stroke deep with a heated passion that his outward reserve would never have indicated. She leaned into his embrace, returning his kiss with a fervor that surprised her, but she didn’t care anymore if it was right or even sane.
She wanted and a soft cry of denial left her when he pulled away, wonder on his pearly face as he drew a hand up to his pink lips, darkened slightly by their kiss. A shiver ran through him, and his eyes fell shut for a moment. Then they opened again and refocused on her like lasers.
“Rest and return,” he hissed softly. “I will be waiting for you come morning.” With that, he spun around and strode down the hall, his boots thumping loudly on the stone.
Agatha watched after him until he disappeared completely from sight before she went into her room and retired for the night.
She closed her eyes, and her world unpleasantly shifted to open again on the snows of Garden Tower.
“Fuck me. This is really happening,” she whispered.
Chapter 9
Aquilo knew the moment she left. He did not need to be standing outside her door this time to notice the absence of her warmth in his home. An icy sensation slid over his skin, banishing all sensation of warmth. He clung to the thought of Agatha, remembering the cadence of her voice as she spoke with excitement and passion, how animated she was with everything that she did. She filled the fortress with life just by being there. And sparked something within him too.
He lifted a hand to his lips as he recalled the heat of her mouth pressed against his and the decadent taste of her. A low, growling groan left him, and he leaned over from where he sat on his chair. The study was perfumed with a trace of her scent that he dragged eagerly into his lungs, seeking some comfort from it to keep the creeping coldness at bay.
It was not working.
He could not be without her. He had to take matters into his own hands.
Frustrated, he surged out of his chair and strode across the room, wings rattling with agitation as he headed to his work area that gravitated around a single writing table that dominated one corner of the room. He ignored the table itself, however, and stepped in front of a large crystal ball glowing beside it.
Within it, the scenery constantly shifted, showing him places all over the world where his season currently reigned, and the snows churned as they did over his mountains. Although Aquilo brought winter over the world himself and oversaw many matters personally, it was from the orb that he was able to send out his orders amongst the air spirits of his kingdom who heeded his command. They would be everywhere his domain touched, and he needed their eyes now. His breath exhaling over the orb, he fanned his wings wide and sent out his call.
The snow and ice swirled within the orb, and from its depths rose several frosty-winged spirits. With wings as intricate as the lacework of ice with which they painted everything they touched, they were a mixture of eerily beautiful and horrific. Their glowing cat eyes widened with curiosity and intelligence from perfectly oval faces with pronounced cheekbones.
Frost sprites were not among the fairer of the air spirits, despite the beautiful wings and flowing white manes of hair. Their faces, while pretty, on closer inspection had mouths that were by far too large, designed to contain many razor-sharp teeth. They rarely smiled; expressions solemn until they prepared to feed. On hands larger than what might be considered normal, they possessed long fingers tipped with thin, barbed claws. A single scratch from them could freeze something right through to the bone and bring almost certain death if not treated immediately. Frost spirits were carrion eaters, and as such were always hungry, a testament borne by their emaciated bodies that were almost always concealed by the long white hair that flowed around them.
Aquilo narrowed his eyes at them. He would have preferred almost any other. The chiones, though often called generally by a singular divine name, were the snowy daughters of the gusty spirit Oreithyia and would have been far more preferable. Those snow maidens were often called his daughters for the respect and affection they bestowed upon him and due to the favor that he showed them. And why not? Of all the spirits of the winter winds, they were the least mischievous and destructive. They were known for a patient and gentle nature that would have been far better to handle such a delicate task. He could not think of a reason why none of them came, since they frequently answered his calls. In comparison, the frost sprites often cavorted with the harpies during the winter months to feast and satisfy their appetites.
“What will you have of us, my king?” the middle sprite spoke, his voice hissing and brittle like a shard of scraping ice.
Aquilo growled irritably and slashed a hand through the air, dismissing them in a swirling gust that sent them spinning back through the orb. No, they would not do. He would wait, he decided.
He was determined to wait, to catch sight of one of his snow maidens. To his frustration, there appeared to be no new snow flurrying; rather, gusts were scattering fallen snow through the air like icy shards. He considered waiting it out and hoping that the chiones returned, but as time trickled by, he became increasingly distressed. Agatha was out there in the human world where he was currently unable to locate her, unprotected from his cold winds. He sent out his call again, and once more they were the only ones who responded. This time, their mouths curved in the beginnings of wide smiles as they bowed and waited for his instruction.
“Find and guard my Agatha,” he hissed as he removed a golden curl that clung still to his tunic from when he held her close to him.
He blew the hair toward the speaker among the frost sprites, and the tiny being caught it in his hand and scented it deeply before handing it to the next sprite. Tiny eyes flashed merrily before they zipped back into the orb, streaks of frost trailing on the nearest wall as they departed. Aquilo would not worry. Even if it took them days, they would eventually find her. Air spirits were widely known trackers and acquirers.
“Do you really think that was wise?” a deep voice rumbled behind.
Aquilo raised an eyebrow and glanced behind him curiously. Opis stood just a short distance away, arms crossed over his chest with a scowl on his
face that was notably fiercer than his usual disposition. Of all the spirits around the fortress, he disliked frost sprites more than any other, except for perhaps the kallikantzaroi.
He grimaced. Not that he could blame him. The creatures were a menace who indulged in every manner of trickery. Every year, like clockwork, the little beasts abandoned their gnawing at the world’s axis as the solstice neared and infested his fortress with a voracious appetite. It was maddening listening to the little furred rodentlike men scrabble through the halls and walls on little hooved feet, long black tails flicking behind them and long ears twitching, sensitive to any sound.
That reminded him that a few days ago, Eltha had commented about seeing one, the first of the little bastards, which sent her mate hunting for the troublemakers with his keen sense of smell and a handful of the best of Aquilo’s lupi trackers.
“The frost spirits will do what they are told if they know what is best for them,” he replied, ignoring the sound of disbelief coming from the other male. “What is the situation with the kallikantzaroi?”
The ogre’s face puckered with distaste. “Think I’ve managed to get rid of most of them, but there are no guarantees until after Apollo has come and gone, as you know.”
“Assign two of the lupi to patrol the halls around the storage room and keep watch for any further sign.”
Opis mumbled his agreement and scratched the thick beard framing his jaw. “I don’t think that the kallikantzaroi are the biggest problem. They’re just an annoyance. I think we should worry more about the frost sprites. What if they mention your interest in a human to the harpies? You know that Aello and Ocypete don’t like being subjected to your whims, or that their hungers are reined in during the portion of the year that you rule.”
“It is because they think that they should be able to glut themselves on death when the bitter season rules. I will not permit it.”
“Bad enough dealing with a damn strix,” grumbled Opis. “I’m glad that problem was taken care of for us. Too bad it wasn’t the harpies instead. The strix was a foul, murderous creature, but she didn’t eat like harpies do. And they resent you for having a tight leash on them. If they think there’s something they can use to control you, no doubt they’ll be very interested in it.”
Aquilo rattled his wings, eyes narrowing. “They would not dare betray me. They will find Agatha and keep her safe until I can find her and end this nonsense once and for all.”
“They may not see it as betrayal to casually mention it as they search. The fact that they’re looking will attract the attention of the harpies.”
A prickle of unease ran through him at the ogre’s observation. The male wasn’t wrong.
“I will remain here to see if I can call a chione.”
“All night?” Opis asked gruffly.
“Yes,” Aquilo replied, staring into his orb of swirling wind and snow. “All night. I will remain here until I find one of my chione or Agatha returns. Whichever comes first. But next time, I will make certain she has some sort of protection with her.”
His thoughts soured as he recalled that he had gifted his wind summoning whistle to someone else and neglected to get another made. That would have been the easiest solution. Now that it was winter, he was tied to his kingdom so thoroughly that there would be no opportunity to visit the Cyclops’ forge.
He would find something with which to protect her if she could not summon him to her side.
Chapter 10
The cold wind bit deep, and Agatha shivered. Was it possible that it was even colder than it had been last time she woke? Clearing her throat, she glanced at another woman who had scurried up closer to the fire, her shawl raised to wrap around her head and shoulders against the wind. She had a basket of her own filled with knitted goods that sat at her feet as she shivered. Agatha vaguely recognized her.
Marah, Mia… No, Miranda. Agatha didn’t know her personally but had seen her. She was a local seamstress, no doubt taking advantage of the poor weather in an attempt to make some extra coin by selling her knitted goods. She certainly didn’t appear to be suffering any being out there. Indeed, on closer inspection, Miranda wore newer clothes that were noticeably warm and well-made. The bright red shawl she had wrapped snugly around her was without a fray or stain as she pulled it tighter around her and warmed her hands at the fire.
Pushing aside her own embarrassment of how she appeared in comparison, Agatha picked up her own basket and drew closer to the fire.
“Excuse me?”
The woman glanced up at her in surprise, and her nose immediately wrinkled with distaste before she caught herself and gave Agatha a tight smile.
“Can I help you?”
Agatha stared at her uncertainly but eventually nodded. She was bound to sound crazy, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Has the seventh hour bell rung yet?” she asked as she tried to control another shiver.
Unlike many other struggling towns, Garden Tower had arranged a bell system which was overseen by a handful of individuals. It rang on the hour every day, silencing only for the span of time between the final bell at eleven and the first bell rung eight times to signal the eighth hour of the morning. It was the seventh hour evening bell that she listened for every day to release her from whatever task she had been assigned so she could go home. It must have been near that, though it was hard to tell with the heavy snow muting out the sunlight so that she couldn’t even determine the sun’s position in the sky.
Miranda’s eyebrows shot up with surprise at the question.
“Are you serious? What, are you drunk? The third hour bell only just rung a few minutes ago,” the other woman said in a bewildered voice. She eyed Agatha for a long moment before she shook her head and picked up her basket. “I need to keep moving. You might want to consider getting back to work too,” she said with a meaningful glance toward Agatha’s full basket. She looked back up at Agatha with some sympathy. “I know this life is hard now, but you won’t eat if you don’t sell those. We all have to pull our weight if we want to survive.”
Agatha stared after her as Miranda hurried away with her basket of goods to a group of people gathered a short distance away. Within moments, she had struck up conversation and began handing out material to be inspected. Agatha felt a pang of envy and scowled down at her matches.
She was hungry—odd because she only spent a short time with Aquilo—but she was also cold and miserable. Was that even right? Shouldn’t her hunger at least be sated if she wasn’t imagining all of it? A dark pit of uncertainty and nerves settled in her stomach, and Agatha shook her head, attempting to clear the confusion away. She longed to just pull out another golden match and strike it… but what if it was just a fantasy?
The last time she came back to Garden Tower she had been confused, uncertain if she was dreaming or not, but when she woke in Aquilo’s northern fortress she had been certain that it was real. She hated that she was doubting her own mind again, but that didn’t stop doubt from whispering insidiously into her ear.
If it was wrong, and it was just a fantasy, then Miranda would be right. If Agatha didn’t start selling, she wouldn’t have any fuel for her fire or food in her cupboard.
Perhaps it would be a good idea to make a few sales before she lit another match...just in case?
Drawing in a shuddering breath, she picked up her basket, holding it close to her body as she watched for customers. She hated this part. To get anyone’s attention, she had to practically ambush them like one of the many annoying kiosk salespeople. But that was what it took. She swallowed her pride and did it.
Five sales later, and the coppers carefully concealed in the pouch tucked inside her shirt, Agatha pulled out another match. Her hands trembled from the cold, and she sucked in a grateful breath at the flare of the flame’s heat over her hands as the match ignited seconds before it swept her away again.
Chapter 11
Wherever Agatha was going, it became clear that her consciousnes
s was suspended somehow to rest before she was returned to him. Aquilo knew that because, though she was gone all of the night, she returned moments before she awoke again in his fortress. He had felt the very moment that she returned. The tiny spark of warmth that she had ignited within him flared in response, heating his blood just enough that he felt the iciness within his muscles and heart slowly thaw in response. The intensity only grew when she eventually joined him in his study.
In its place settled a demanding yearning that inspired an ache in his heart and in-between the columns of his thighs. His cock had seldom responded over the ages, remaining just as cold as the rest of him, but now it was hotter than any other zone of his being, swollen with desire beneath the numerous layers he wore.
It was difficult not to respond.
As it was, it had taken all his willpower to not lurk outside of her chambers in wait for her, but now that she was there, he felt overwhelmed by his reaction to the richness of her scent as she kneeled in front of him, inspecting the numerous boughs that the lupi had brought in and spread over a large cloth. The entire experience of being so close to her, and her ass upturned almost invitingly would have been nearly unbearable if it were not for the pure pleasure on her face as she looked through them and explained how they would make the garlands.
With no one looking in his direction, he reached down and shifted the weight of his phallus into a more comfortable position in the woolen leggings he wore beneath his tunic. After wishing to feel what so many mortals and immortals experienced for so long, it was both exhilarating and uncomfortable. He had not realized just how… tight… he would feel. That was the best way he could describe. Outside of the welcome heat filling him, his thighs were tense and his balls heavy beneath his half-stiffened cock. If it weren’t for his clothing, his condition would be all too visible to everyone.
Matchsticks: A Dark Spirits Fairytale Page 7