Chapter Five: Nothing Ever Hurts Again
His gaze wandered over her as though she was some foreign land. Unexplored and unknowable. Fascinating.
His eyes lingered over every inch of her, but finally came to rest the iron in her hand. That knife. The one flaw in his plan. He had calculated every scenario. Spent weeks, months, picturing them all in his head. It was the best way to trick her, he knew it. He knew that she would not be able to resist the sweet temptation of peaches.
Getting the peach to her had been surprisingly easy. In his years of watching over her, he had observed that humans had frequently sent each other gifts, especially around the advent of their birth. And so, he had simply waited until the stars aligned. Then, it had been a simple matter of sending her his gift, hidden in plain sight in a decorated basket full of different fruits.
In every scene, he had imagined her lifting the peach to her lips, breaking through the skin with her teeth, greedily tasting the juices.
He had never dreamed that she would use a small knife to split the fruit. That she would be holding it the moment the fruit touched her mouth. Perhaps he had been too eager. Teleporting her immediately, bringing her to his realm as soon as he had the power.
Still, he could not find it within himself to regret his blunder—she was here now.
His attention was captured by her movement.
She stretched her leg out and rolled the ankle gingerly, testing it. The leg peeked out from under her long skirts, and Jareth could see the muscles in her calf flex as she moved her foot. As she pressed the sole of her foot flat against the stone stair. Put a little weight on it. Then, she stood, shaky, still clutching the knife. She patted up and down her body, dislodging the dust and dirt she had collected. Slightly rearranged her skirt.
She looked up to see the King staring at her, not trying to disguise his hunger. Curious, she tilted her head to one side, studying him and trying to decipher his strange behaviour.
"Why were you chasing me?"
He shrugged tightly. Wasn't it obvious? "You were running."
He could see that she was still tensed, ready to run at any moment. The sight made something coil inside of him, made him want to roll onto the balls of his feet, ready to pounce when she made her move. He forced his stance into something more at ease.
"Your hand is hurt," she said.
It was his turn to be surprised. He was so sure she would start running again. That she would run as soon as her ankle was healed. But she was still standing there, not too far away, on the same step as him. And she had spoken to him, talked to him as though she cared. He looked down in wonder at the bloody mess of his palm. He had forgotten it.
"Can't you fix it?"
"No. Even Healers cannot heal their own injuries."
A pause, the length of several heartbeats.
She slowly lowered the knife. "May I?"
His lips twitched. "May you what, Sarah?"
She bent, knife in her hand. Then, she cut at the hem of her skirt, tearing a long, uneven strip of material away. She bundled the cloth in her hand, and moved towards him.
"Put out your hand," she commanded.
He extended his hand.
"Now, I'm not very good at this. You have to tell me if I hurt you," she said, looking up at him with luminous eyes.
Then she touched him softly, wrapping the material over and around his palm.
"At this moment, Sarah, I feel no pain." He closed his eyes and breathed her in. It was the closest they had ever been. And it was by her choice. Every nerve in his body had moved to his one hand, greedy for every brush of her skin against his own.
He opened his eyes. Looked down into her own eyes, busy at her task. He had always loved those eyes. He could build a world in those eyes. They seemed especially lovely at the moment, lowered and absorbed in binding his hand.
And then her gaze flickered up to his and he was shot through with a bolt of green under long lashes. For the first time, he saw the flecks of gold around their centre. As in dreams, where bizarre thoughts become certainties, he could see the hint of a question hovering around the edges; just for him.
The healing magic must have drained him more completely than he expected. His body felt strangely buoyant, like there was nothing to hold him down except the bare hand that she held. Her hands passed over his again and again, almost but never quite joined. Then, too quickly, it was over. She tied a knot in the makeshift bandage and dropped his hand.
He looked down at it, thinking. It was a clumsy job. He could have done a better job himself using only one hand. Any Healer would tell him to replace it. He looked at the dirty rag, sealed with her studious caresses. He flexed his hand lightly. He knew that the rag would have to rot off before he removed it.
He raised his head and moved his other, gloved hand towards her face.
Surprised, she flinched away from his reach. One hand fumbled for the knife in her pocket. Moving backwards, she could not see the castle wall behind her. He slid forwards, a silent warning on his lips. She jerked backwards at his movement and ran into the bricks, narrowly avoiding a flaming torch bracketed to the wall, but hitting her head hard against the stones. She swayed. A soft moan of pain crossed her pale lips, but she stayed standing. She even managed to raise the knife in front of her in a protective stance. The fire from the torch next to her threw harsh shadows over her features.
He paused mid-step, holding up his hands in an unconscious gesture of surrender. Really, the girl would be the death of him. She pressed her back up against the castle wall as though she could force her way through the solid bricks and escape him. He smiled. He could teach her how, if she stayed with him.
"Was that really necessary? I only mean to heal your other wound," he said, gesturing to her head.
"No, it's fine, really. You've done enough."
"Allow me to be the judge of that." One more silky step. "Trust me, Sarah."
She turned her head a little to the side, and her eyes narrowed as though she was listening to an inner voice. He wished he could hear what it was telling her, how he could best convince her. "Sarah. Your wound could be dangerous. Let me do this. Please." His voice tripped a little over the last word, and he realised that he had never before had cause to speak it.
And she seemed to recognise that fact somehow. She looked at him. Really looked. Eventually, she nodded with a quiet dignity and lowered the knife, but did not let it go.
He approached her carefully. She may be a wounded animal, but she still had claws. He moved slowly. So slowly that she had many chances to run, to resist, if she chose. It must be her choice. It would not be victory any other way.
She let him draw near, and still kept the knife lowered. He stopped a step away from her. So close yet again. He held his palm out towards Sarah at chest height. "The glove is tight. Would you help me?"
She looked from the glove to his bandaged hand. She looked up at him.
His lips turned up at the side. She never could resist a challenge.
With a wary shake of her head, she carefully tucked the knife away. She took a deep breath. Then, she wrapped her hands over his and worked the glove off his hand, pulling the leather over his skin, avoiding his dark gaze.
If she raised her head, she would see the hunger clear in his eyes. He wanted her to see it. And more than that, he longed to see it mirrored in her own eyes. He waited until her curiosity caused her to peek up at him through her long lashes.
Not moving away and never taking his eyes from her, he raised his freed hand to his lips. He gently sank his teeth into it, looking at her with the unblinking intensity of a wolf. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted a little, just enough so that he could see her pink tongue behind her teeth.
He slid the flesh of his palm in his mouth, and when he pulled it away, she could see that he had made a neat cut. He leaned into her and his mouth almost brushed her ear with his whisper. "Don't move."
He leaned into her a fraction, their bodies almost touching. He moved his hand within an inch of her skin, hovering over the injury at her hairline. He concentrated. This was delicate. He could not touch this wound, so it would require a greater amount of magic.
He called on the wind and it whispered in answer. It built quickly around them, wildly growing, pushing them from changing directions. Soon, they were locked in a powerful tempest—their own world of wind. She fought against it, seizing at her torn skirts as it wrestled her for control.
Struggling against the invisible force, she tried to move towards him, yelling words that the wind carried away before they could reach him. The gale pushed at them, buffeting them wildly.
He moved to shield her as best he could with his body, pressing her against the wall, protecting her. Her hair lashed in every direction, mixing with his, dancing together. Her darkness blended with his light.
The wind only gained in power. She clutched at the oversized collar of his jacket, fighting to stay standing; still weak from blood-loss.
It was time. The might of the wind was enough to feed his magic. He held out his hand, hovering it an inch from her head. The faint pulsing of the magic spread from his hand, growing, expanding, forming a protective bubble large enough for both of them—the calm of the storm where the howling wind could not enter.
The orange warmth of the magic surrounded them and sought out the injury—moving around the broken skin, and deeper, unseen, the bruised and bleeding tissue.
Jareth was not practiced in healing magic, but he knew that it was in its nature to bind and join, to make broken things whole. It was more powerful than he had expected. It seemed to be at work between the two of them as well—no part of his skin touching hers, but he had never felt closer to another being.
The roar of the wind died abruptly. The warm magic faded.
All he could hear was the sound of her panting breaths, mirroring his. She was so close that the air he breathed in mingled with the heat of her.
After a while, she let go of his jacket and leaned back against the wall.
He dropped his head, forced his breath to slow. Counted his loud heartbeats.
Then, he looked up again and studied her with burning eyes. One corner of his lips turned up. "Why are you trembling, little Sarah?"
She swallowed. "I… I must be cold. Your castle is cold."
The King stretched his arm out, lightly brushing the bare skin of her arm as it came to rest on the wall just above her shoulder. She trembled, her hand half-reaching for the knife. Then, still holding her eye contact, he gently reached for the nearby torch on the wall. He gathered the flame and scooped it down, cradling the fire in a ball between his hands, suspended in the air.
"Here. Try this." He took one of her hands in his. She did not pull against him, but let him guide it to where the fire burned above his hand. Closed within his larger hand, he held her in the flame, but did not let her burn. The warmth without the destruction. She looked up at him in wonder.
"Sarah," he breathed. "This I promise: if ever I find you cold, I will warm you." His hand tightened around hers, consuming the flame. He stepped closer, eyes flashing.
She flattened herself against the wall. "Wait… what are you doing?"
"Sarah, I thought you were dead. Gone. I need to kiss you now." Waves of liquid heat ran through him, warmer than any fire. His gaze was now fixed on her lips, still pale. He wondered if he could kiss the colour back into them.
Her hand moved to her pocket and closed around the knife. As if that could stop him now. The Beast growled his approval.
"If it is your wish to stop me from kissing you, you will have to use that knife."
He moved towards her, eyes flashing with a naked passion.
In the time it took for him to take the step, slow and steady, she had been busy. He found himself moving into the point of something sharp at his stomach. It made no difference. It did not matter now if the blade broke through his silken shirt. One way or another, he would lose himself to her tonight.
He leaned over the knife and reached for her. He held her head between his hands and pressed his lips fully against hers, moving them gently; part of him still afraid she might break. She made a small noise, at the back of her throat. It was so quiet that he might have missed it, if he had not been connected to her at the time. The vibration of the sound passed through him like a bolt of electricity.
It turned his world upside down.
She was stiff against him for a moment, then began to move her lips on his. He deepened the kiss, opening her lips, tasting her tongue. Her body leaned into him, her grip on the knife weakening.
His hand moved to her hairline, reverently touching the same skin it had healed only moments ago. His fingers tangled themselves through her thick hair, while his other hand moved to the back of her neck—seeking, deepening their kiss.
When they parted, he pressed his forehead against hers, close enough for their breath to mix. She shivered, eyes shadowed and powerful with something pure and unnamed.
He growled, an echo of his inner Beast. They were allied at last.
"I thought I told you to keep weight off that ankle." He moved a hand over her torn skirts, hooking a hand behind her knee and lifting her long leg off the ground, guiding it to wrap around his waist. He slid between her legs, resting her softness on his thigh. He kissed her, raw and wild, moving against her, and was rewarded with the same throaty noise from her; louder this time.
The knife dropped to the floor. Forgotten.
She moved now—her lips fighting his. Then moving along his jaw, scattering lingering kisses down to his taut neck. He felt her tongue wet against his pulse. He groaned brokenly. She broke the kiss, turning her head to look up at him with perfect, dancing eyes. "Are you sure it wasn't my other ankle?"
He was lost to her. He had always know it. His leaned into her, his hands moving under her, catching her other leg. He shifted his weight to pin her up against the cold stone wall and she locked her legs around him tightly. He moulded his aching body against hers; the perfect fit. He moved even closer, pressing his whole body against hers so that there was no space between them. In his hazed mind he no longer knew where he ended and she began.
Still too far, he growled in his head, feeling every curve of her body melt against him.
"Sarah," he rasped. "My Sarah. For me, there is only you. You are the only one I ever…"
She shook her head, brushing her lips over his. "Too much talking." Then, she opened her mouth against his. He kissed her fervently, hands moving to places he had always imagined touching. Down her sides, skimming soft curves. Her waist. Under her blouse, the smooth skin over her hip. Pulling her against him as he rocked his hips in a steady rhythm. Cradling her jaw, moving her head so he could kiss her deeper and deeper. He poured his whole heart into the way he touched her, silently completing his unspoken confession.
"Jareth," she breathed into his mouth.
His heart skipped a full beat at the sound. The fire blazing within his chest spread. It was on his lips and his hands as they moved over her. Every point of contact fed the fire and trailed a blaze back to his heart, consuming it with a scorching heat it had never felt before.
He did not stop kissing her, hot and hard, as he carried her still wrapped around him, up the stairs towards his bedchamber. He never wanted to be separated from those lips. Not now that he had known them. He had never felt anything more exquisite than this. He was kissing her, feeling her kiss him in return.
He would have her forever, he thought with a feral joy. Mine! his heart sang. Forever mine! He carried her down the hallway to the King's private room. The heavy door was closed, but that was no obstacle. Nothing ever would be again. He pushed her up against the door, shifting her in his arms so that he could press his sluggishly bleeding palm against the wood. They both melted through the door, locked together in a tangle of limbs and desire.
Only one more chapter to go!
ALL of the thanks! to Ellie101 for helping me as a Beta for this chapter and the next one. If you haven't already, you should check out her latest story, 'Cradle'. It's seriously awesome.
See you in the final instalment of this story—Chapter the Sixth: A Love That Will Last.