Page 63 of First Snow
“Yeah, lucky me. What a knight in shining armor you are.”
Furious magic rises within him, tickling at Jareth’s fingertips. It makes the fire in the hearth roar and the coffee mugs on the table rattle. He hasn’t lost control over his powers this way since he was a teenager.
Arttu’s eyes widen. “Another one of your sleight of hand tricks?”
The uproar around them rises with Jareth’s anger. Part of him itches to show Arttu what he’s capable of, to throw magic at his captive until Arttu has no choice but to believe him. But that wouldn’t be fair; he’d turn into just the kind of monster he wants to protect Arttu from.
Pushing down his boiling magic with some difficulty, Jareth flees the room.
“Oblivious human!” he hisses under his breath.
Chapter 21
Arttu
Arttuhasbeentrappedin the large bedroom Jareth has left him in for days. Perched in the alcove looking out over the garden, he watches the snowflakes dancing toward the ground. The landscape behind the window is covered under a fluffy white sheet after days of continuous snowfall.
Jareth was right. Nobody is coming for him. Maybe Jareth managed to hide them well enough, or maybe no one is even bothering to look for him. But one thing is clear, Arttu isn’t going to walk out of here if Jareth himself doesn’t allow it. And why would he do that?
You aren’t allowed to leave.
The words from his dream, which Jareth has echoed back at him, haunt Arttu’s every waking hour. They barely talk, but Jareth brings him three meals a day, fresh clothes, and stacks of books. As if Arttu is in the mood to read.
Jareth takes great care to always appear in his silly costume, and by now Arttu almost believes his shit. He feels confused and afraid, but not like he’s been drugged. And the golden chain around his ankle changes its length depending on what Arttu is doing. It’s longer when he’s in the bathroom and shorter when he tries to reach the door leading to the hallway. Arttu can’t figure out how it works. The material isn’t even flexible when he touches it, or yanks on it, or drops heavy objects on it in an attempt to free himself.
Even though Arttu has made a mess of the room several times by now, Jareth doesn’t comment on it. He just waves a slightly impatient hand and the room tidies itself. It’s insane. It’s overwhelming. And Arttu tries hard not to think about how sexy Jareth is when he’s fully absorbed in this dark persona he has created. Arttu barely manages by day, but at night he dreams of Jareth holding him down, his clawed hands firmly wrapped around Arttu’s throat while he fucks him mercilessly. The filthy images that haunt Arttu even into wakefulness are a torment in themselves.
He wishes he could talk to Tuulia. Has she noticed Arttu’s disappearance? Does she know that the supernatural exists? Is that what she and Salonen are on about when they claim to be investigating paranormal incidences? He needs to find answers, because the forced inactivity is driving him insane.
Arttu is pretty sure Jareth isn’t going to murder him. But when it comes to matters of life and death, being pretty sure isn’t that reassuring. He needs to get Jareth to talk to him again, he needs to convince him that he isn’t a threat.
It must have been over a week when he decides he can’t take it anymore. Arttu makes up his mind. He showers, and then he waits. The hours until Jareth finally brings him dinner stretch endlessly, and Arttu almost loses his nerve several times. When he finally hears Jareth’s steps approaching—extra loud for Arttu’s benefit—Arttu nearly bolts. This is a bad idea. He shouldn’t have taken his clothes off. It only felt right when he stripped and knelt down to wait for Jareth, but now it’s just embarrassing. Is Jareth going to get angry?
The door opens, and Arttu barely contains a flinch. Jareth enters, balancing an overflowing tray of food, as he always does. Arttu suspects that he either cooks it himself or orders from a fancy restaurant. In any case, it smells fantastic.
Arttu tenses in his kneeling position next to the bed. He doesn’t dare to look at Jareth directly, but watches him from beneath his lashes. Jareth’s hair is disheveled, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He mustn’t be sleeping well, or maybe he’s working through the nights. Jareth sets the tray down silently, only then does his gaze fall on Arttu.
The silence in the room is suddenly charged with tension. Arttu can barely breathe.
Jarethgrowls. With two quick steps he’s at Arttu’s side.
“What are you doing? Get up!”
Grabbing Arttu’s upper arm, his nails digging painfully into Arttu’s flesh, Jareth pulls him roughly to his feet. Arttu yelps in surprise, bracing himself against Jareth’s chest. He should probably pay attention to what Jareth is saying, but his captor’s scent fills Arttu’s nose. He wants nothing more than to feel Jareth’s warm body on his naked skin, to sink down and kneel for him again. Swaying forward, Arttu presses a kiss to Jareth’s lips.
Jareth tenses all over, but allows the kiss for a few blissful seconds. Then he pulls back, hissing as if Arttu’s lips burned him, leaving him bereft.
“Stop that!”
Jareth shakes him, increasing Arttu’s dizziness.
“Please,” Arttu whispers. He isn’t really sure what he’s begging for, but Jareth won’t listen anyway.
Giving him a dark look, Jareth grabs a blanket from a nearby armchair and hurriedly wraps it around Arttu’s shoulders.
“Get dressed!”
Arttu tries to grasp a clear thought, but everything is drowned in confusion and arousal. All he can think of is that he made Jareth angry. Why is he angry? He wants Arttu’s submission, doesn’t he?