Page 49 of First Snow
“I’ll leave you now to ponder my words,” Jareth says, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “My slave is tired. He needs my attention.”
And with that, the music in Arttu’s ears stops and Jareth pulls out of him. Arttu hisses.
“Shh,” Jareth soothes. He shifts under Arttu, and, a second later, he pushes the plug into Arttu’s used hole, making him whine. “I’d like to keep my come inside you for a little while longer,” Jareth hums.
Arttu moans weakly. He’s too fucked out and too confused to completely comprehend what just happened. He wants to block out the implications of what he just witnessed and lie in Jareth’s arms a little longer. He doesn’t have a choice, anyway. He can’t let on that he overheard the conversation, and therefore has to play the well-fucked sub. So he allows Jareth to pick him up and take him to their shared room. And if he permits Jareth to spoil him a little and fuck him again later, no one has to know.
Chapter 16
Jareth
Sittingontheedgeof the bed in the darkness of the guestroom, Jareth is looking out of the large windows and idly playing with a soft strand of Arttu’s hair. His lover is snoring gently, oblivious to what really was going on at Lord Briar’s party and subsequently the danger they’re in. Jareth’s free hand curls around the hilt of his sword, resting across his lap. It’s a perk of his heritage that he’s able to summon the blade of House Blackrose at will. He has an inkling that he might need it.
Jareth had felt a dark presence as soon as they entered Briar’s private audience chamber. He could practically smell the dark magic saturating the air. Lord Briar had been sitting on the other side of a large round table, a young sub kneeling between his legs. Two other men were positioned at the table with him, flanking him on either side, both with their respective subs kneeling in similar fashion to Briar’s. Lemaire had stood behind his master like the dutiful guard he is. And if all of these wannabe sorcerers had their subs kneeling under the table to suck them off, Jareth just couldn’t do the same to Arttu. So he had maneuvered his pretty slave down on his lap, pulled out the plug, and pushed into his inviting heat. Arttu had let out a sensual moan, squirming in Jareth’s arms and forcing him to hold him still.
A slow smile spreads over Jareth’s lips. It had been so much fun to fuck Arttu slowly, making him come undone thrust by thrust, while watching Lord Briar dig his own grave. The idiot had long since broken The Truce by writing and distributing the spell book. And Jareth doesn’t doubt for a second that Briar has already used his wretched spells a hundred times for his own gain. Power, wealth, and sex. There is surely not one of these things Briar hasn’t already attained for himself by using magic. Jareth could’ve killed him on the spot, but that would’ve meant killing his acolytes as well, and, of course, Lemaire. And all that with the risk that Arttu could’ve got hurt. That’s why he had decided to give Briar one last warning, one last chance to get his head out of the noose.
It was the most satisfying thing Jareth has done in ages, watching Lord Briar cower in his seat as Jareth dropped his glamour to let him see his Fae features. And on top of that, it had been delightful how Arttu, always so attuned to his magic, had made the most sinful little sounds while he tried to fuck himself on Jareth’s cock. Jareth just wishes he could show his true form to Arttu one day. The way Jareth could make him scream in ecstasy if only he were allowed to use his magic freely—
Jareth sighs. No. The risk of scaring Arttu away is too high. There is no use fantasizing about it.
The fabric of reality ripples around them, as if somebody had thrown a stone into a calm lake. Jareth looks up. The darkness seems to swirl outside the large windows, something huge shifting behind the facade of normalcy. Jareth has only a split-second to cocoon Arttu in a spell of protection before the window breaks inward with an explosion of glass and debris, and a figure shrouded in black smoke creeps in.
Bending reality to his will, Jareth silences the uproar with a hissed command. Fragments of broken windowpane fall soundlessly to the floor, and the being stops in the middle of the room as if surprised by the bubble of quietude it finds itself trapped in. Rising from the bed, Jareth brushes a few shards of glass from his shirt. He drops his glamour. His features shift, antlers growing out of his skull, and claws and fangs extend.
The creature tilts its head and watches him as he rounds the bed. Jareth takes in its appearance as well as the feeling of its essence. It has the vague form of a female body, knotted like branches and clad in black rags. Her head, if you can call a spirit like that a woman, is covered by the skull of a moose. The empty eye sockets are filled with an eldritch light. Jareth has an inkling of who he is dealing with. Ajatar. Serpents-feeding mother of dragons—or the devil—whichever you choose to believe. His grandma Helmi liked to warn him about this evil spirit of the woods.
Jareth sniffs the air. The creature exudes an odor of worm-filled earth and decay. A root shoots out from her torso, aiming for Jareth’s throat. He brings up his sword at the last second, cutting off the root in a clean strike. Jareth senses that the spirit screams. He can feel the sound scratching over his spell of silence, shaking it, searching for a crack to slip through and break it. Jareth chances a glance at Arttu’s sleeping form. There is no way he’ll allow his beloved to awaken to such a nightmare.
Ajatar takes advantage of his distraction. She charges at him, claws snapping. The deadly tendrils of her roots shoot at him from all directions.
Jareth twists away and barely dodges a knife-shaped splinter to the eye. It leaves a deep cut on his cheekbone instead. Another root lodges into his shoulder and a silent scream is ripped from Jareth’s throat. He brings up his sword to cut it off, grunting in pain.
Anger clouds Jareth’s vision. Does she—or more precisely the person who summoned her—think they can turn the magic of nature against him? Jareth roars a spell. The sound is swallowed by the silence surrounding them, but the spell’s effect is immediate and brutal. The ground breaks open and thick vines come up to sling around the forest spirit. Thorns dig into black robes and the spirit’s essence beneath. Jareth can sense her angry howl, and a feral grin slips onto his lips. He closes his right hand in a snapping gesture, making the thorns sink deeper.
Jareth can hear her screech as an extremely high-pitched sound breaks through at the edge of perception. For a second, he thinks that the fight is over, but then something shifts and Jareth has the impression of looking into an abyss. Ajataris a spirit of nature, dangerous, sometimes cruel, but not corrupted like the power Jareth is feeling now. It must be Lord Briar, but Jareth never thought Briar’s abilities would reach that far.
The tainted magic rises like a wave ready to snap Jareth’s spell. He has only seconds left, and to his horror he senses Arttu shifting. His beloved is waking up.
Jareth surges forward and buries his sword to the hilt in the spirit’s chest. He unleashes his power and pushes with all of his might to close the gorge the darkness is trying to escape from.
“...?”
The words Arttu tries to form tickle the back of Jareth’s mind. With a last angry growl, Jareth wrings the darkness down.Ajatarvanishes, leaving only some bark and dry leaves drifting noiselessly to the floor. Black smoke dissipates through the broken window.
Jareth whirls around and faces the bed. His heart clenches. Arttu sits amidst rumpled sheets, blanket clutched to his chest, and stares at him with wide eyes. He looks as if he has awakened from a nightmare; shocked, frozen, because the nightmare has followed him into wakefulness. Arttu’s lips move, but he’s unable to make a sound. Jareth breaks the spell of silence. He angles his sword downward and finds that the ghost’s black blood is still dripping down his blade.
“Jareth?” Arttu croaks. He scrambles backward until he’s pressed against the headboard as Jareth approaches him.
“This is a dream,” Jareth says, and raises his hand.
“What?”
Jareth strides forward. His initial shock that Arttu is awake is replaced by a strange calm. His senses are sharpened after the battle, so much so that he can hear the frantic beating of Arttu’s heart. He can see the rapid rise and fall of Arttu’s chest. But still, his little human lover makes no move to fight or escape. Instead, he’s rooted in place, watching Jareth with a dazed expression. Arttu’s breath hitches as Jareth cups his face with a clawed hand, but he doesn’t pull away.
“You are still dreaming, sweetheart,” Jareth coos, and Arttu makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat. He melts into Jareth’s touch, lips slightly parted and breath leaving him in a sigh.
Jareth realizes that if he put him under his thrall now, it would hardly take any effort. All Jareth would need to do is give a littlepush,and Arttu would be all his, unable to refuse Jareth’s bidding, unable toleave.He could make Arttu quit his job to have him at his side at any time, and Arttu would love it.