Chapter One
"Just kill it!" I screamed as I ducked under another wave of fire. The hair all over my body curled at the intense heat.
"How do you propose I do that?" Jareth snapped back at me, his voice dripping with irritation. He managed to glare at me even as he inched gracelessly along the cavern wall in a near crawl.
I glared right back. As if I knew anything! I was just mortal girl from some boring town in America. This monstrosity was from his world. "Use your magic!" I shouted, following him in my need to stay in close proximity. "Throw a crystal at it or something."
Jareth made a derisive sound. "What a novel idea, Sarah. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it." He gave me a cold grin. "Oh yes, I remember now. It is because you cannot kill magical creatures with magic alone," he said as though I ought to have known better.
I was about to unleash a scathing retort about flamboyant fairytale kings when the scaly creature we faced roared loudly, the deafening rumble echoing off the cave rocks. Clamping my hands over my ears, I crouched low in the dirt, hoping the beast would overlook me when it breathed flames again.
I did mention we were fighting a dragon, right?
Maybe I should start at the beginning.
A week ago, I woke to my alarm clock blaring early in the morning. I tried to ignore it at first, my mind still clinging to the haze of blissful sleep while I snuggled deeper into my pillow. I was definitely not in the mood to get up yet and get ready for another boring day of office work. I hated my job, but it paid the bills until I made a name for myself in the art world. Just a few more commissions, a few more paintings sold, and I'd put in my notice. I smiled at the thought even as my alarm became more persistent.
"What is that blasted sound?" someone asked in exasperation—in a distinctly British-sounding, if a little sleepy, baritone.
My eyes flew open at the voice I hadn't heard in ten years. With painful clarity, I realized the pillow I had been cuddling wasn't soft and fluffy, but decidedly muscle-ish and male-shaped. I shot up and scrambled to the edge of the bed.
Jareth, the unfairly beautiful king of the goblins, lay before me half nude—or maybe fully nude, since my blanket chastely covered him from the waist down. His state of undress was less concerning than the fact that he was here. In my bed. The last time I saw him, I'd defeated him at his terrible and harrowing little game. Dangers untold and all that.
And here he was, lying with his arm draped over his eyes, as if he'd just spent the night after we'd had a particularly nice date. I wished I was dreaming, but I was so horrifyingly not.
I reached toward him to shake him awake, to demand that His Wily-ness explain himself when he abruptly sat up, yelling, "Stop that incessant racket or I'll bog the lot of you!"
My alarm clock exploded in a shower of plastic and bits of wires, and startled, I tumbled over the side of the bed, landing with a squeak. My poor derriere was very grateful that I had carpeted floors rather than hardwood. I looked up to find the mythical monarch peering down at me from the edge of the mattress.
"You," he said, eyes narrowing. "I should have known."
His arrogant tone raised my hackles, and I stood up, returning his imperious glare with one of my own. "Me? You did this."
He curled his lips in distaste. "If I had ever been so inclined, do you think I would have waited ten of your years to appear in your home, let alone your private room?" His gaze traveled down from my face and back up again as he rose, stepping around the bed to stand before me. Fortunately, he was clad in loose linen pants, though they hung a little too low on his hips for my comfort. I became acutely aware then of my own state of undress—t-shirt and panties—and I crossed my arms awkwardly over my chest.
