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Chapter 22
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That moment the Vulture had dared touch her, placing his vile lips and tongue upon her flesh, Jareth's bloodlust riled. Hammering out of its cage, it flooded his veins with molten fury. He'd barely controlled it, tried to telegraph his intentions when her uncertain eyes met his.
The discordant vibrations of her power plucked the bare wire of his emotions, making his control ever more tenuous. If only he could harness it as he did when he healed her, but consciously, with deliberate intent. He'd hardly known what he'd done but hours ago. He'd reacted on instinct … reacted…
Before his body could argue with his over analytical mind, Jareth threw his arms over Sarah and pulled her close. The buzz of her power jolted through him, as potent as his own but scattered and ill-defined.
Great Danu! What a sorceress she'd make with proper training! Startled eyes looked up at him, her bound hands smashed to his chest. And for those few seconds, as their enemies rallied and threatened, he saw something else reflected up which bade him to leap the last few inches—it looked surprisingly like trust. He gave him a triumphant lightness in his chest which competed with his violent darkness.
Jareth didn't question, he acted, pressing his lips to Sarah's with as much vigor as he dared given their circumstances. It was like tasting pure magic: crisp, clean, with a zing of spice. His bloodlust howled victory, making conscious thought difficult.
Mine! Power flowed into Jareth, cycled to Sarah then back. It filled him, tasting comparable to his magic but foreign, yet highly delicious. Or perhaps the enjoyment stemmed from the source, and oh what a source! It would be so easy to lose himself, to forget the danger and why he chanced this.
Sarah's lips complied with his demands (eagerly if he failed to delude himself—one could hope) and the shouts of alarm surrounding them receded until only she existed in his awkward embrace. Her fingers twitched, then dug into his chest through his shirt. He felt, more than heard, her gasp as she opened her mouth to him, their tongues sliding along one another creating bone-shuddering friction. Her fingers dug harder, pinching his skin. He growled low in his throat and pulled her tighter to him as her magic overwhelmed his senses, tweaked his nerves, then streamed out of them in one concentric blast.
Focus! he screamed at himself since every caress of her lips sunk him further into her spell. Directing the borrowed magic, while so utterly and wonderfully distracted, took every ounce of his discipline—borne of decades of strict training under the highest tutelage.
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Now you'll be grateful for all those grueling years of study you hated me for." A disconnected, neutral portion of his mind heard his father's smug comment and responded with a mental –"uhmgh". He saved his sarcasm for later because Sarah shivered in his arms, deepening the kiss and pulling him from his pointless thoughts.
Only seconds had passed, it seemed longer, infinitely stretched out …
Hands grappled their arms, yanking harshly.
The first thing he engaged the power to accomplish, as it zoomed outwards, was burning away their bonds. Hardly free and he flattened his palms to her lower back as she snaked her arms around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging at his scalp as he slightly arched her backwards.
Guttural voices rasped vague threats of violence which he ignored.
He felt the power wave engulf the Vultures attempting to separate them. Screams cut his haze of bloodlust and pure lust. It continued rippling and speeding to those farther out, to Sam and Pierre and the ill-fated Sally. Jareth tried to pinpoint the blast to Vultures only, but it was too wild, too quick and he was too preoccupied and far too tired.
As fast as it happened, the magic crackled to a rubber band snapping finale. The backlash struck them hard enough to crash through their combined fog. Silence hung like a velvet curtain, between them, around them…
Sarah stilled, her lips and wandering hands immobilized, yet she didn't pull away. Reluctantly, Jareth moved back, his mouth slightly open as he gazed down at her shaken, yet enticingly flushed expression. He wanted nothing more than to resume, but the trust in her eyes had been replaced with fragility.
Too soon, too fast… he chastised himself. Though he had little choice, and he regretted nothing … and yet… Gulping, he struggled to slow his breathing, noticing hers was as rapid. With a flip, hope nestled in his staccato heat beat. He rested his forehead to hers, slowly exhaled.
"Sarah …" he said intimately, his nose lightly brushing the bridge of hers.
How do I explain? "Don't," she answered, short and brittle, then stepped back. Her arms slid from his neck to drop to her sides, leaden.
Cold shrouded where her warm once existed. He'd never felt so alone. Not even in the forest as a child hiding from the Hunters.
Jareth pursed his lips, and with a will, nodded once before he released his embrace and moved away.
We don't have time for romance anyway, he thought with a pang of sour disappointment as he panned his head.
Vultures lay haphazardly in warped and damaged piles. Limbs were mangled beyond recognition, those still attached … as for their features. Jareth cringed—blood, so much of it dripped, splashed and pooled in the dimly lit cavern. If his bloodlust hadn't already been satiated indirectly, Jareth would've feared its unbridled reaction to the expanse of mortal fluid. Even now the salty zing teased his nose and watered his tongue. He shook it off with an irritable huff and watched Sarah leave his side.
"Sam," she whispered, her hands trembling as her jaw clenched. Warily, she approached the huddle of Sam over Sally. His daughter's lacerated arm peeked out from beneath Sam's protective, mutilated torso. Jareth watched her crouch, then hover a single wavering hand over Sam's torn body, unrecognizable but for his clothing.
Heaving a deep sigh, Jareth averted his gaze from the private moment, choosing instead to busy himself searching the scattered bodies for their belongings and any useful, random items. While he rummaged, his attention darted into the shadows, looking and listening. Surely there were more Vultures lurking. This cavern, as large as it was, couldn't be their entire hideout. It was too bare, like a holding room. More must be hidden away, and what of the exit large enough to allow the wagon? They needed to find the way out, quickly, before more Vultures arrived.
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Sarah's thoughts and emotions jumbled into a quagmire. Too much battered her walls, weakening her resistance when Jareth embraced her. A second later, perhaps two, then his mouth descended and she fell into him. She felt her power course; everywhere he touched it flowed from her to him, to her and back again. Faster than the fastest thought, he drew her power, enhanced and controlled it when she had been too flustered to act.
Is this how magic tastes? It went straight to her head like the strongest alcohol with a tang. His kiss dragged every sensation she'd heard other women talk about (but she never experienced) from her: tingles sparked from her lips to her gut, heat swamped her chest and her skin tightened.
More!—was her prevailing thought as she wove her fingers in his silk hair, gripping and tugging. His bass growl and fingers digging into her back branded some part of her; she'd never be able to forget this or disregard him now. Things were changed forever.
A stinging slap was an icy shower, dousing her passion and power. The air thickened and she froze.
God, what am I doing? Jareth moved away, a pensive expression crinkling his brow. Her face burned with embarrassment.
What the hell? His forehead was hot against hers, his breath gentle on her face. "Sarah…"
Chills ran over her skin, fringing her hairs upright. Emotions swamped her …
I can't do this! "Don't," she whispered, the word scarcely cutting from her dry mouth as she withdrew her numb arms from his neck. She closed her eyes, refusing to witness the temperature drop in his expression. It was difficult enough to feel him become the imperious Goblin King, but she knew this version. They danced this waltz best.
Instead she looked around at what remained of the Vultures, then choked back the bile burning the back of her throat. Human bits and parts lay strewn in crimson piles. Had she done this? Or had they or he? She wasn't sure where her power ended and his control started.
But if he can control it then it must be magic. I have magic? That concept, accompanied with her reeling body, was far too much to absorb at the moment. Dazed, she slowly walked to the one person who mattered in her old reality.
"Sam?"
At the last, he'd struggled to protect Sally, though it didn't help either of them ultimately. Crouching next to Sam's arched over body huddled atop Sally, Sarah debated whether or not to touch him. She longed for the simple days when she might fling herself into his Sam's arms, begging to be understood and sheltered without the typical male demands or expectations. Now dead, his neck was obviously broken as his head was precariously perched on his neck while facing 180 degrees around. After everything, she wanted him back, in whatever illusionary form. As long as he lived, if for no reason other than to fight next to her.
Her hand came to rest on his chest; he was still warm.
Well, she thought,
he is covered in fresh blood. Then immediately chastised herself for being so hardhearted. Her fingers curled inward, dipping further into Sam's congealing syrup, catching on the edge of his jacket. Rotating her hand, she drew her fingers back through the sticky puddle and watched red dribble to her palm.
Why can't I feel anything? What's wrong with me? "We have to go," Jareth hissed in her ear.
She jerked away as she faced him. He was leaning over, arms full of weapons and gear—some not particularly clean, some familiar. Jareth's eyes darted left and right, and his hands gripped everything so tight his skin blanched. Was the Goblin King nervous? And then she heard it… A low thundering of approaching feet running over hard packed ground; its muffled echo filtered throughout the cavern. Sarah's apathy splintered, becoming crystalline shards of terror.
"Vultures," she spat, standing, her blood-stained hand reaching for an M-16 as Jareth shifted one to her with an extra magazine. She quickly checked both, then flipped the safety off. Jareth reorganized his stash, handing her a few more items, and she noticed the sheath at his hip.
"You got your knife back."
Jareth grunted and nodded. "It's a good blade."
"Yeah." She faced the oncoming noise, honing her fear to violence. "We can't leave without Toby," she said without looking at him, hardening her voice.
"I know." He pulled back the charging hammer, then released it with a metallic clack. Their conversation ceased as both stared straight ahead, positions prepped and dangerous. Shouts and screams could now be heard.
Sarah slowed her breathing while her heart pumped too fast.
Soon… live or die, we don't leave without Toby. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her lips to a line.
Jareth shuffled his feet, dropping the muzzle of his weapon, and Sarah glanced over. He was staring at her with something raw flickering in his eyes. Sensory memory flooded her body: his body planed to hers, his lips—firm yet gentle—opening up a new world for her, his long fingers pressed to her spine. She held back a groan, but unexpectedly her heart lightened. Her fear and apathy dissolved with the buzzing of her lips, and she grinned as the first Vultures rampaged into the cavern.
Oddly, she was glad Jareth was by her side, her ally. She wanted to laugh with fatalistic glee.
"You gonna fight or gawk, Goblin King?" she asked, aiming her weapon and pulling the trigger.
He grinned in return. "Fight, of course."
MYNA: YEAH IT IS! THINGS REALLY PICK UP NOW. SMUT IS GETTING CLOSER! ARKAAD V: COOL! GREAT SONG, AND YEAH... AS YOU CAN READ IN THIS CHAPTER, "BODIES" BY DROWNING POOL FITS RATHER WELL. THANKS! GLAD YOU'RE LOVING MY UPDATES. SMUT IS COMING, PROMISE!
