Chapter Seven

Jareth woke with Sarah tangled around him, so much so it was difficult in his bleary state of semi-consciousness to know where he started, and she began. He did know, however, her presence and warmth had resulted in a rather painful erection.

He shifted, attempting to slide out of her grip without disturbing her still-peaceful slumber. There were several times in the night she had awoken with bad dreams, and he had woken alongside her, holding her close and saying nothing until she drifted back to sleep. However, as soon as he began to move, Sarah stirred. "Mm," she murmured, her grip tightening and leg sliding up his. He could feel the heat from between her thighs and swallowed hard. "Is it morning?"

Jareth was still trying to figure out the logistics of how to extricate himself from her hold before she noticed his predicament when her knee brushed against it. Sarah went quite still, and he heard her quick intake of breath. "Apologies," he said, voice rough with sleep.

She pulled back from him, but only enough that she could see his face. Her gaze also flicked down, red infusing her cheeks though she could not truly examine him from beneath the covers. "It's natural," she said, her tone unreadable.

He frowned at her, but then she was placing her hand back on his chest, and her leg was sliding, rubbing against him so he breathed out a hiss, cock throbbing. "What—"

Sarah stopped his words with her mouth. It was hesitant, at first, as though asking permission.

He intended she know, here at least, she had carte blanche. With one hand, he grasped her hip and pulled her up against his body. She straddled him, the motion natural with his gentle coaxing. With the other, he held the back of her neck and tilted his face up to hers, meeting the kiss with an enthusiasm he hoped she might reciprocate.

She did. Moaning, she pressed against him, hands sliding to his shoulders, her nails biting into his back. Her crotch was a molten heat he could feel against the underside of his cock. She rocked her hips into him, and he growled, nipping her bottom lip and demanding entrance with his tongue. Her breath was a sweet, panting thing, small sounds like little whimpers falling from her lips. He wanted to drink it all.

But then he woke.

Sarah was not in bed, but the warmth he could still feel in the covers suggested she had been gone only a moment. Soft morning light filtered through the single window, and the fireplace was dead cold. He heard the sound of running water from behind a closed door. The sudden noise must have been what woke him.

Jareth fell back on his pillow with a sigh. He ached between his legs, an ache which begged for release. But while he felt no shame in the act, it was not something he wanted Sarah to catch him doing. So, begrudgingly, he slid out from beneath the warm covers and into the frosty air. His breath plumed slightly as he conjured a large fire and a basic breakfast of meats, fruits, and bread.

He made a cloak for himself and one for Sarah out of heavy wool. It should not have been this cold in the Labyrinth for this time of the season, but there was a lot about the place which was not as it should be now Kozack sat on the horned throne.

Sarah emerged from the restroom looking fresh and well-rested if a little chilly. She rubbed her arms and joined Jareth by the fire. Silent, he settled the cloak around her shoulders, lifting her hair out of it, so it did not get caught underneath. She took the attention without a word, but he noticed how her breath hitched when the tips of his gloves grazed the back of her neck. He nodded toward the breakfast arrayed on the small wooden table before he took to the restroom. "Get something to eat. We should start moving soon."

###

Sarah had found more clothes in the bathroom this morning which had been suited to her size and style. It was still similar enough to Jareth's so they now looked like a couple who always dressed alike. Only she did enjoy the way the flowing sleeves settled over her arms, the cuffs at her wrists plain compared to some of Jareth's ruffles and frills. She wore a bra instead of the offered corset, and a wide belt with an attached sheath for the machete-like weapon Jareth had told her this morning was called a utilen, a traditional sword among Queen Mab's honor guard.

"I had to serve when I was younger," he said as he made a quick sandwich out of a fistful of bacon and two thick slices of black bread. "It was the first thing I thought of when I thought of how to arm you. If it is not to your liking, I can make you something different."

Sarah had not wanted to be a further drain on Jareth's magical resources, though he said he was doing fine. She did not quite believe him, even now, even after last night. She flushed to remember it and how she had awoken so wrapped around him that she had almost been on top of him.

What bothered her the most was how right it had felt and how much further she had wanted it to go. She knew some of the dreams which startled her awake were ones where a certain Goblin King had turned on her, pinning her against a wall before he—

She shook her head, dispelling the images.

"Is everything alright?"

His voice brought her back to the present, and Sarah looked around to find a sheer cliff rising in front of them, the forest continuing on to either side to no discernable end. She had been standing here for some time, she realized, hands on her hips while she dwelled on the memory of heated kisses and pressing hands that had never happened. Engaged, she reminded herself, using the word as a mantra. Engaged, engaged, engaged. But, she had been ashamed to admit to herself; she had only thought about Michael out of a sense of guilt. All her amorous leanings were pointed squarely at Jareth, damn him.

"Sarah?"

She blinked. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

He was closer than he ought to be, real concern etching his features. "I asked which way we should go, and you stood here for five minutes without moving or speaking. I asked if you were alright. Are you?" His hand reached out, cupping her elbow. "We can rest if you need it."

"No," she said, too fast. He did not remove his hand, and, gods, she wanted it there. She wanted more than a touch on the arm, though, she wanted— "This way," she said, not looking at him as she turned and went to their left, toward what she perceived as North. The necklace pulsed above her breast, telling her in a gentle measure that she was correct. This was the way.

They walked for another hour without passing a word between them. But then his hand was on hers, the leather as warm as skin. "You haven't had a thing to drink since we started out. Here." He held out a goblet of clear water which had not been there a moment before. "You're still mortal, no matter what the pendant is telling you."

Sarah reached up to trace its curves and points, the metal heated as though left in the sun for hours, but accepted the water gratefully with her other hand. She downed it in a few quick swallows. When she tried to hand the goblet back, he flicked his fingers, and it filled once more, so she drained that one as well. "Thank you. Don't you need some?"

"Fae do not require as much as mortals," he said. "We are a hearty species."

Her lips quirked up in a smile. "So, you're like a camel?"

Jareth laughed, and it warmed a part of her to hear it. He had an amazing laugh. Rich and delicious, it made her want to join in, but as she was going to, she noticed a rustling in the trees above them.

A Firey peered down at them, crouched in the branches, its flame-colored head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed over its long hooked nose. As she watched, it raised its three-knuckled fingers to its mouth and let out a piercing whistle, and then the forest was filled with movement.

Jareth was no longer laughing. He stood close to her. "Sarah," he said. "I'm going to need you to follow my lead."

Firey's came out of hiding. Slinking between bushes and vaulting over boulders. They were dirtier than what she remembered, their previous gleaming orange and yellow plumage matted with soot and rust-colored stains. One of them had a rough-cut dark gray stone in one of its eye sockets, and it was this creature who stepped forward out of the pack which ringed her and Jareth.

The Firey looked up at the Goblin King, its remaining eye narrowed. "Jareth," he cawed, voice rough and crackling like fire.

Sarah noted they were surrounded, and they were all looking to the one who had spoken as though it were the leader. She took a step toward Jareth, leaving enough space so she could draw her weapon.

Jareth lifted his chin and peered down his nose at the filthy creature. "Jaksaw."

"You come to my forest, but you bring no gift? Or is this one for us?" the Firey crowed, turning his beady, glowing eyes on Sarah. "You—mortal! Who owns you?"

She sucked in an angry breath and spoke over Jareth. He said, "Me," as she proclaimed, "No one."

The Firey grinned, his tongue lolling from his mouth and his small, pointed teeth showing in a flash. He motioned his companions forward, and they surged. She felt hands seize her around the arms, the thin fingers digging into her skin like iron bands. She yelped and lashed out, dislodging the arm which held her from one of the Firey's. Jareth reached in and began flinging them off her as well, snarling as he did so. "Call off your goons, Jaksaw."

The creature growled low. "She has no owner, Jareth! She is our meat."

Jareth shot the Firey a glare, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "She is under my protection," he called out, and Sarah could feel the power in the words, vibrating through the pendant against her flesh. "You may not harm her."

The leader of the Firey gang chuckled and sauntered forward with a rolling gait, his expression unconcerned. His followers, seeing his lack of fear, began to creep closer once more. "Those are not the rules, sire," Jaksaw mocked. "Unclaimed mortals are ours to do with as we see fit."

She felt a hand slither up her leg, and she jumped, flinging away the offending limb which scurried back to its owner. The creature leered at her and licked its lips.

Good gods, Sarah thought, what happened to them?

"Sarah," Jareth said, voice gentle but laced with warning. "Tell them who you belong to."

She took a half-step away from him, reaching to the utilen at her belt. She drew it, holding it to her side.

Words matter here. Words have power.

She lifted her chin. "I belong to no one."

Jareth cursed.

The Firey's attacked.

Sarah swung upward at the first Firey who threw himself on her. Her blade cut through the closest limb, but it merely spun in midair, spraying blood, and dived back for her. She cried out as dozens—hundreds—of pieces of various Firey's came for her. Fingers and hands tangled in her hair, ripped at her clothes, and pulled at her limbs. Parts found their way under her sleeves, and they were searching, groping, and scratching as she slapped them away.

Jareth moved from the other direction, flinging the creatures out of his way. They paid him little attention, breaking apart as they hit the trunks of trees or the surfaces of boulders when he threw them bodily away from her. He managed to clear a path to her, and he was grasping Sarah, hauling her away from the dozens of figures still attempting to get to her.

Their progress was slow as the Firey's were completely disconnected, jabbering and leering as pieces of them pulled and dragged at her with each step they took.

Jareth let out a huff of anger and spun, holding out a hand. Sarah jumped when a concussive bang rang out, and all the creatures pursuing them were blasted backward. The forest underneath the Firey's turned to a sucking bog of quicksand, stinking of hot muck and steaming in the cold air.

She snatched fingers and hands out of her hair and off her face, tossing the pieces toward their larger brethren. The limbs struggled to extricate themselves from the sinking earth now beneath them, screeching howls and cries echoing out. Jareth's hands were on her, helping her, and within a few moments, she was free of the things.

He grasped her shoulders when they finished and gave her little shake. Her eyes snapped up to his, startled. "What is wrong with you?" he growled. "Do you know what they'll do to you now if they catch you? They'll tear you apart, Sarah."

Sarah clenched her jaw and bit out, "What would it have meant if I said I was yours? Nothing here is as it seems. Would I have had to stay here forever?"

His gaze was fathomless, the colors in his eyes beginning to swirl and change. The snarl which escaped his lips gave no question to his state of mind. "If we're going to do this, you're going to have to start trusting me."

"And you're going to have to stop being so damned enigmatic!" she yelled. "What the hell did you do?" she pointed at the bog where the Firey's were still struggling to reassemble in the sucking muck.

"Strong magic, but it won't last. We have to go." He held her arm and started back the way they had been going, the cliff at their right side as they began to move away from where the Firey's were extricating themselves. Sarah sheathed the blade after giving it a hasty wipe with a cloth Jareth handed her, sopping up the watery blood staining the steel. After only a few minutes, she heard a triumphant caw, and the forest began to fill with the sound of pursuit. The Goblin King looked at her, his eyes a little wide. "The magic wore out. Run."

They ran.

The Firey's toyed with them. The creatures were naturally faster than a human or a fae. Despite their head start, Sarah and Jareth soon found themselves surrounded by the hooting, shrieking figures, taunting and jeering as they swung from the trees like chimpanzees, calling out all the things they would do to her. She went pale and tried to push more speed into her burning legs.

They hit a clearing overshadowed by an enormous live oak, sprinting across it as the Firey's held back for what she knew would be a final charge.

She was going to die.

The pendant at her breast burned and buzzed, and she grasped it with one hand, intending to yank it off. Maybe Jareth would have more luck with it. The moment her fingers touched the metal, however, she felt a mantle of calm descend over her. She changed course, grasping Jareth's hand and tugging him toward the oak tree.

"Sarah, what—" he started, but they got to the trunk before he finished. A moment before they collided with it, she reached out, fingertips brushing the moss coating the rough bark. She passed through it, pulling Jareth in her wake.

###

They stumbled into a garden awash in golden sunlight. Sarah released his hand the moment they were through, and Jareth knew they had lost their pursuers. Birdsong and the gentle splash of a fountain rang in his ears, and his gaze was filled with the brilliant colors of dozens of different blooms.

Jareth turned in a slow circle, taking in the sight of this strange and new place. The garden was immaculate. Gleaming white flagstones were set into the earth, and marble rose into flower beds which supported plants from across the known worlds. Pure white statues rested in the soil of the largest, and a three-tiered circular fountain stood opposite the imposing live oak. The area could have fit at least three of his throne rooms within it, and for the first time since his return, Jareth could not see nor sense any sign of Kozack's corruption.

This place is hers and new, he realized with wonder. But it cannot be. She's mortal.

He looked at her. Sarah stood under the branches of the same oak from the forest, head tilted up to the warmth of the sun. Her chest was heaving, her cheeks flushed. Her hand was wrapped around the medallion, and a small smile played on her lips. Her eyes were unfocused, wavering. Coming up beside her, he reached out and untangled her fingers from the gold pendant. Her limbs were limp, her shoulders slumped and relaxed. "Sarah," he said, his voice measured. "What are you doing, Sarah? What have you done?"

Her head moved toward him, the movement languid despite her quick breathing, though when her gaze found his, her smile widened, and she took a deep, shuddering, calming breath. "Jareth," she said on a sigh. She slid closer to him, pressing the line of her body against his. He went still. "Can you feel it?"

He shook his head, movement slow. Having her this close was intoxicating. He could smell her, and his hands clenched into fists by his sides. "No," he breathed, trembling with the need to touch her. His lips parted. "What are you feeling?"

Her fever-bright stare locked on him, and a brilliant smile lit her face. "Let me show you."

Hands sliding up to his shoulders, Sarah rose on the balls of her feet and pressed her mouth against his.

Author's Note:

I haven't gotten back to any of you this time. Suffice it to say that life can be so godsdamn annoying sometimes.

But I have read all your comments/reviews, and they brought a big smile to my face and I appreciate them so much.

I hope you enjoyed this last chapter. I know a lot of you are wondering about Sarah's connection to the pendant and what it means. More will be forthcoming.

Thank you all so much for reading/reviewing.

Love and all the best,

CrimsonSympathy