DISCLAIMER: Alas, I DO NOT, Nor will I EVER own anything related to Labyrinth, David Bowie or Jim Henson and Co.
CHAPTER SIX
An owl takes wing.
A wish made.
He watches…
Her whimpering made his skin crawl.
He slid his trousers up his legs and rolled off the bed. The smell of sex, sweat, and tears permeated the air. The patter of rain tapped against the sill of the open window; the floral-patterned wallpaper under it would be permanently damaged. He didn't know the girl's name, but it didn't matter. She had served his purpose and slaked his lust.
Digging in his pockets, he pulled an extra coin free, flipping it onto the lavish bed at the center of the room. "A little something extra." It was less than half what she was worth, but he knew she wouldn't press him. She stared at him through damp lashes, as though she was just seeing him for the first time. Perhaps she was, since he refused to face her— not wanting to ruin the picture his mind had painted.
"Come now," he told her with unsympathetic eyes, the irises blending with the pupil. "The night has hardly begun. You cannot be worn through already?" He chuckled at her answering groan. Yes, she would do nicely. "I do hope you will enjoy yourself this evening."
He stood and pulled on the rest of his clothes. Now that the wench had tempered the rampant lust clouding his mind, he could begin to truly enjoy himself— and he had every intention to do just that. God, how he needed the distraction. Leaving the crying form on the bed, he left; a smile played on his lips as he made his way down the stairs.
The voices carried the muffled song of men laughing and regaling previous conquests; it was exciting. It was power— beating louder than drums of war, screaming like a bleating lamb for its mother it beckoned. His entire being was consumed with the desire to possess— to conquer— but his will was stronger. He would not possess for the sake of owning. He was far too controlled for such thoughtlessness.
He could afford to lose control here.
Lingering on the final step, he watched the hunger grow in their eyes, the eagerness turning to dangerous lusting. The noise faded away to a waring buzz of blood and sin, as they turned to him in silent acknowledgment. Too long he made them await his signal— none daring to test such wrath— and tonight they would satisfy the growling beast.
Were they not watching closely, they would have missed the slight nod to the men behind him. The waiting would all have been for naught— but they weren't even blinking. The two standing nearest strode carefully up the steps to retrieve the girl. She was still naked when she made her way down the steps, but her full breasts and rounded bottom were not (as she assumed) the reason for the lingering, lascivious glares. She stood frozen under their silent scrutiny, suddenly afraid.
He stalked to her, hands set carelessly behind his back, his mouth curved in a sickening, toothy grin. He brought his face inches from her; tears dripped and splashed onto her round cheeks, rolling to land on her clavicle. His tongue lapped at her jaw, drawing a lazy line to the corner of her eye. She cried harder as he licked her. He then pulled back, groaning deeply, savoring the taste of her fear. The smile gone from his face as he brought his hands, one clutching a blade, into view.
She stepped back, her feet trembling. Strong fingers viced her arms, holding her firm as the glinting steel moved closer. Her head thrashed wildly as she vainly fought against them, her efforts only serving to tire her rigid muscles. The cold blade kissed the hot skin of her stomach. She stopped moving. Her breath was entombed in her throat as the weapon lingered. He stepped back leaving her skin unmarked— perfect, as urine stained the floor beneath her.
"We are going to play a game." His voice was soft, gentle. "The rules are very simple. You last until sunrise, your life is yours— otherwise— well it hardly needs explaining." He turned, gesturing to the large grandfather clock at the opposite side of the room. "You will have the advantage— a head-start, if you will. The hunt begins at midnight."
The man stopped before her, bending down to match her level, his wild hair tugging in the breeze. He was smirking— his eyes searching her, watching. She strained to see more of his face, or him, half shadowed and so very strange. Her chest heaved in an effort to breathe, the ragged gasps the only sound. He leaned closer, studying her. His devilish eyes— mismatched— grew cold, calculated. Dark. He frowned. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"
Sarah said nothing, nor did she move. The silence stretched wide as she dug her nails in the dirt, every ounce of her body filled with strain. "I didn't— I'm not—" she fell silent again, the fluster of her words echoed by the tempo of her heartbeat. She swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat, her thoughts whirling. This is a dream. He can't be real. Yet here he stood, watching her as closely as she watched him, waiting for her reply.
"You claim to know nothing?" he growled, his eyes glowing beneath his strong dark brows. His pale lips curled into a grin. "You make a poor liar."
She drew in a sharp breath and raised her chin, weakly masking the emotion with defiance— or the appearance of it. "I'm not— y-you're mistaken." Foreboding quivered under the icy surface of her skin, radiating across her senses with gale force.
"Am I?" He grinned deeper now. "I think not." If he could provoke her, what might she do to prove him false? To prove him true?
Her hand flew to her face hovering over her mouth, he wondered if she was holding back a scream or a sob in her trembling spot on the earth. The tiniest breeze tugged the wayward strands of umber back, gifting him a perfect view. The evening light had not diminished, nor hidden her beauty, but served to enhance the features he had long-hoped to forget. He should never have come. She might have forgotten him and her strange dreams if he'd had enough sense to let it lie. Curiosity killed, and he had plunged the blade in his heart the moment he answered her summons.
"Oh, God— I've gone mad." She whispered to herself ignoring him altogether, slender fingers tangled in the curling locks at her scalp, tears glossed her eyes. Sarah could not control the rampant tremors skating down her spine, would he hurt her like the masked demons in her dream? Or perhaps he only meant to frighten her with his domineering countenance? "I've gone mad!"
He laughed, a loud guttural roar that forced a shrill across every nerve, it was sharp but not unpleasant. Confusion must have read clear on her face, for as quickly as it started, the sound died, leaving a wake of ominous silence in its path.
The stranger stood, moving away from her, but his baritone carried as easily as if he stood at her side. "This is not what madness looks like, I can assure you."
"B-but you were a dream." The words were softer than her heartbeat, steadier now, though it still hammered like a caged bird batting against the bars. She looked up, her eyes drawing him in like a hidden treasure cove. Her throat tightened, thick with emotion and turmoil. "This is impossible— you can't be here."
He turned, a brow raised in arrogance, "Are you not enjoying my company?" He crossed back to her in a single stride, stopping mere inches from her cowering form. Watching. Waiting. A light gust of air swept between them, the dusky chill sliding across his face as he towered, pinning her with that haunting stare. Her small frame shook beneath her shopworn dress.
He made no move to help her.
"Who are you?" The question begged between long, slow breaths in an attempt to regain a semblance of power over the absurd situation in which she found herself.
He frowned, "You've claimed me nothing more than a dream. Does it matter who I am?" Waiting for her reply, his hands braced authoritatively on his hips as his looked down his nose at the woman in the dirt.
On purpose he extended a gloved hand to her. He was forcing her to remember her nightmare— not because he longed to touch her— he reminded himself. What did she matter to him now, after all this time? Ignoring the unwanted thoughts, he leaned forward, just slightly, letting his hand hover before her.
Sarah hesitated like she had before; the seconds pulsed around them until finally, she placed her small hand in his, letting him pull her to her feet as though she weighed no more than her threadbare dress, now damp with dirt and leaves.
Their hands met as casually as any had before and as many would thereafter, but his touch was a fire of emotion teetering on the edge of more. His hand, even through the glove, was warm and inviting. Hers was so small and delicate in comparison: she looked so pale against the dark leather. The contrast so stark, she hadn't noticed his thumb drawing lazily across her knuckles in a whispered caress.
With a gasp, Sarah pulled herself free. Her hand dropped, and the blooming spark yearning to be a flame became merely embers on dying coals as she clenched her fists painfully tight. Wild, terrified green eyes were swallowed in the sea of his peculiar irises, but neither dared speak. The longer they stood stalemated, the more palpable her worry became. Apprehension constricted her voice from forming any of the words she so desperately wanted to say.
Clearing her throat she began as evenly as her trepidation would allow. "You have in-invaded my dreams— every night— for weeks. I d-don't know you and yet," her voice faltered. "Yet you have taken liberties th-that— " she blushed a fierce scarlet unable to continue. After a moment, she met his gaze, her jaw firmly set. "Yes, your name matters."
The stranger leaned forward; the tiny hairs on her neck stood at attention. "Can one take liberties in another's dream without invitation?" His voice dropped to a low, scraping whisper that felt more like a touch than a sound. Tremors spiraled through her, settling deep in the pit of her stomach in an alarming coil of heat and tension.
Her hand flew of its own volition, slapping against his cheek with enough force to make her palm sting and burn. The next moment she recoiled, wilting like a dying flower. He found no pleasure in her defeat. His anger subsided as quickly as it had arisen.
"I'm sorry— please—" Her words were small, eyes wide enough to cause pain, laced with fear. The fire he had admired so long ago had been snuffed out.
"You dare raise your hand to me?" He goaded her, waiting for this pathetic façade to falter. This was not his Sarah. This was a rouse meant to distract him from seeing through to the game she played. But he was not so easily fooled— not by her. Despite the guilt crawling up his throat her threatened. "If I can enter your dreams, I wonder what I could do to your dirty, little hands." His lips pursed, a brow rising in challenge.
Sarah staggered back, her ankle vaguely protested but she ignored it, bracing herself against the nearest tree to keep from falling. He is going to hurt you! She had temporarily lost the sense of her own physical presence, before the need to catch herself brought her back to the queer reality of the moment. Nodding her understanding, her head fell, and her eyes studied his booted feet— dread weighing heavily the pit of her stomach.
Surprise at her pusillanimous cast and whomever had put it there pulsed around his anger, forcing it to burst free. "Don't play games with me, Sarah! I invented them!" He stormed to her, a gloved hand snatching her jaw, forcing her head up. His eyes bored into hers, as her breath quickened. He didn't shout, but his voice was no less powerful. "Stop your incessant crying! Tell me what you are about!" He leaned closer to her, his eyes turning dark as his voice fell to a venomous growling whisper. "Admit you know me."
Know him? He was the usurper of her dreams! The impostor in the dark beckoned with a wish! Her lips trembled without consent as an unwanted tear rolled down her cheek splashing against his hand, still holding fast. She hated him— hated herself for her tears and the paralyzing fear overtaking her. She should be stronger. Braver. Sarah shook her head in protestation, unable to speak the words stuck firmly on her tongue. He wanted an answer she could not give, to a question she did not understand.
His grip firmed as he pulled her closer, her heels just kissing the ground as she tried to keep her balance. With teeth bared, he lifted his winged brows, flashing an insidious grin. "I've a gift for you." Never releasing her, his free hand moved into view, light collected at the tips of his fingers and vanished, leaving a crystal sphere balanced at the peak.
"Wh-why? What is it?"
"It is a crystal. Nothing more. But if you turn it this way, and look into it— it will show you your dreams." His eyes burned as he studied her, transfixed with the ball moving impossibly over his fingers. "But this is not a gift for an ordinary girl who takes care of a screaming baby brother—" Sneering, he waited for her recognition, ready to spit her lies back. I have you now.
Sarah's head shook in his hand, confusion her only readable expression, "You're mistaken— I don't have a brother— not anymore."
"What do you mean?" He snarled, pulling her chin to his. She grabbed his wrist to steady herself, rising to her toes to keep her breath. He was not hurting her, but how long would that last?
"She left— years ago."
"Why?"
"My father. He was a disgrace." She stared into his eyes, the one pupil dominating the iris, the other quite small, as though he was calculating her every move, no matter how minute or accidental. "He drank and gambled more than we had— his debtors came to collect and when we couldn't pay, they threatened her and the boy. They left at first light— I have not seen them since."
His head cocked, disbelieving. "Why didn't she take you?"
Her face fell, though not in anger or sorrow, but self-pity, "I am not her daughter. I was my father's burden, not hers." Glaring at him, Sarah pushed away, wanting some distance between them. His hand held firm appearing as though her struggles were of no more consequence than a fly, as he remained quiet.
Terror grew to annoyance as she waited, and when she could bear it no longer she dared her own question. "Why should it matter?" With surprising force, Sarah dug her fingers into the leather, pulling from his grasp. He released her willingly, and she stumbled back with a grunt. Her steps were awkward, but she managed to right herself quickly; the lines on her forehead creased as she looked up at the impostor. A battle waged between them, neither knowing the stakes, both desperate to win.
She was innocent, in part— of that he was certain. This small, frightened thing before him was not the architect of some malevolent plot centered around his destruction. That knowledge however, did not provide respite, it only dug a deep hole of concern within his mind. If she was not he the offender— who was? Far too many questions needed answers and if Sarah couldn't provide them, could anyone?
She will be your downfall. He wouldn't deny the truth that waited in the shadows for his acknowledgment— he knew better than to cast it aside like an unwanted garment. The answer to this mess is staring me in the face!
Sarah was not the culprit— but she remained at the center of a mystery far too important to forget. He would watch it closely— let it brew, until he could decipher the message woven into the tendrils of the swirling fog. She had given him what he asked, and he would get no more from her. He did not understand how, or particularly why Sarah had called to him without an offering, but he would learn— tonight, however he was finished.
"Go home Sarah. You'll catch your death." Hiding his grimace, he lifted the abandoned crystal once more, but he did not toy with it like he had before. Instead, he took a step back and tossed it; her chilled fingers fumbled to grasp the small orb shining under the blue blanket of night. She studied it, as though it were a rare jewel, her hands caressing the gloss surface with such care it almost made him envious.
Bewilderment fluted her brow as she peeked at him through her lashes. The smirk he wore so well lingered on his mouth. "Forget me, Sarah." Spinning on his heel, he walked away into the dark glade.
Forget him?
Forget— the idea swirled curiously in her mind as the heavy sphere heated in her hand, spreading warmth through to her toes. Forget— Forget me—the word engulfed her in promise and security. Forget me— forget—
"No!" She shouted, as the space between them grew. Dashing after him, the crystal slipped carelessly into the dirt, shattering upon impact, glistening before it evaporated into nothing.
Sarah did not notice.
She rounded on his dark form, forcing him to stop in his tracks, her empty hands clenched in her skirt to hide their trembling. Though unsteady, she spoke clear, sounding far braver than she felt. "I gave you my answers. You will give me yours!"
Surprise flitted across his face so quickly, that she wasn't sure if she had seen it at all. "Go home, Sarah." He moved to step around her, but she countered, blocking his path yet again. His nostrils twitched as he scowled down at her, chin angled in challenge.
"Not without answers." Her spine straightened, though she had no doubt he could taste the fear seeping from her skin, permeating the cold dark air. It radiated off of her in waves; she felt them, hoping he would not prey upon it. Her father taught her that fear was a weakness to be exploited.
"Take the crystal." He pulled back the faintest breath, emerald met the sea of green and blue, his silence daring her to speak. The soft clicking of her teeth as she shivered tattooed between them. He whispered hoarsely, his voice betraying the swirling emotions in his chest. "You're freezing." He moved closer; Sarah fought the urge to step back. For a moment she considered making a mad dash through the trees to put whatever distance she could between them, but she held firm.
"And you're stalling."
Before she could blink, he slipped his hands behind her head, pulling her closer. Warm, innocent lips met his with confusion, then fear as they trembled under his touch. He meant to make it worse, to make her loathe him; it was the only way to take her secrets— to keep himself, and all he ruled protected. But the moment his mouth crashed against hers— hard, heated, demanding— his thoughts turned to mist. He didn't simply kiss her. He devoured her.
Suddenly it was over. She felt his hungered stare, but dared not meet it, fearing what secrets her own would divulge. Swallowed in the command of his kiss, her veins still burned with curious fire. His lips lingered close, their warmth caressing her heated face, still in his hands. His voice thick with lust. "Wish me back, and you'll get your answers."
A/N: To all those who review and favorite— Thank you! Questions, comments, and concerns are always welcome.