Fierce as a Tiger Lily (Daughters of Neverland Book 2)

by Kendra Moreno

  “Run, Bane,” I rasp, pushing hard. “Run.”

  I know I won’t be fast enough to stop whatever happens, simply because of the distance between me and the river, between me and the Hollow. I can’t get there before something happens, so I have to simply hope that Bane makes it to the other side of the river, and that I would get there just in time to chide Bane for going against my orders.

  My warriors hoot behind me once, letting me know they’re there. I’m just about to leap over a fallen log when everything in my body tenses, when something stabs through my chest, stealing my breath. I crumble to the ground in a heap, screaming at the pain that suddenly fills me, that spreads outwards from my chest.

  In the distance, I can hear screaming, but I can’t tell if it’s only mine or if I’m joined by something else.

  “Chieftess?” Bear leans over me, his fingers like sandpaper on my suddenly sensitive skin.

  I can’t speak, my throat raw, my chest feeling as if it’s been pried open. I can’t breathe, can’t catch any air into my lungs. My fingers go to my throat, holding tightly, scratching, trying to get air.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Panic. My warriors are panicking, but I can’t tell them what’s wrong. Something inside of me snaps like a rubber band and I take a deep gasping breath, another, and another, until I’m able to roll and push up on my elbows.

  “Tiger, what’s wrong?” Bear peers down into my eyes, before scanning my body, looking for whatever could have caused such a reaction.

  The earth beneath my fingers shifts, not physically, but something in the very makeup of the land. My people. I have to protect my people.

  With shaking limbs, I manage to push myself up before Bear loops his arm around me. For a moment, we linger there, unsure if I should keep going towards the Hollow or if we should go back to the Tribe. It’s silent now, no other screams, no sound of the skulls, and confusion slams into me. Had I imagined it all?

  My people. I have to make sure they’re okay.

  “Back to the Tribe,” I order, and Bear turns us around.

  When we get back, it’s to find the Tribe as it always is. Untouched, no one panicked. The shift I’d felt, the snap, doesn’t make any sense. I take a seat at the fire and wait.

  I sit there for three days. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I stare into the darkness, waiting, hoping even though I know it’s a bad idea. Neverland isn’t a place for hope.

  When Wolfbane never returns, after three days pass, I realize the snap had been from him, the moment he stopped walking on my plane, and entered another.

  The only one who sees my tears is Bear.

  The others never even suspect them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Coven sends up a signal the first moment we stumble through the trees, the hoots of my Tribe, the whistles of the Coven, the “aye” of the pirates. They all form together until it’s one long announcement that we’ve come back.

  March, Peter, and I walk slowly through the trees, stepping around the fencing until we stand inside the Coven again. For Peter, I can tell it’s been a while since he’s set foot inside the walls, but for us, it’s become a new home.

  “Finally, there’s noise,” March murmurs, and I frown at him. We’d sat in Peter’s Hollow all night, hardly speaking, the only noise that of our breathing. It didn’t bother me so much. I know it didn’t bother Peter. It seems, however, that March has an aversion to silence. He’d admitted it was because of how long he’d been trapped in his cabin while he’d been enchanted and that had filled me with sadness to learn. To be trapped in a house for decades, centuries, with no company except for your own mind, it sounds like torture.

  “Where have you been?” Wendy asks as she runs up. Hook is right beside her, the pirate hardly leaving much space between them. I can understand his fear. I know what’s it’s like to fear losing someone.

  “We were attacked,” March supplies helpfully, and then moves to grab some food from a platter one of the Coven carries without further explanation. It’s the food that only the Coven should touch, but it doesn’t seem to affect March at all. He’s been eating the food since the first time he stepped onto Coven soil.

  “By whom?” Tink floats in from the other side, her brilliant eyes shining even in the darkness. I’ve often wondered if my eyes shine the same, if they glitter like an animal’s.

  “On our way to the Hollow, we were ambushed by Lost, caught up in a net.”

  “You were caught off guard?”

  “I was distracted,” I correct. I won’t lie and sugarcoat how I’d been distracted by March’s flirting or his charm, but I won’t supply the reason unnecessarily either. “We couldn’t cut the net and so we got dragged to the Dark Side.”

  “The Dark Side?” The others come then. Jupiter, White, Atlas, Cal, and Cheshire. Each of them wear equal looks of concern. I don’t miss that Tink seems to study one, in particular. I also don’t miss that all their eyes train on Peter, on the lines slowly opening on his skin before closing. Even with his muscles straining against his clothing, even with the wounds and the wild curls that tumble over his forehead, Peter is a threat, and they sense it.

  “There’s a side of the island reserved for the darker creatures. That’s where the Lost camp.”

  “We have a place like that in Wonderland, though it’s mostly inhabited by the chimeras and—”

  “We saw them,” I interrupt.

  “Saw what?” White tilts his head. “Chimera?”

  March finally comes back over, his hands full of food. When he offers me something, I shake my head. I know the effects the food causes, and though it may not harm March, it certainly still affects me.

  “There was a chimera storm while we were in the camp. Flyboy here saved us.” March grins at Peter but Peter hardly seems to notice the teasing. The only reason I know he heard at all is because I see the tick in his jaw.

  “Chimeras shouldn’t be in Neverland,” Cheshire growls. “They’re a Wonderland creature. That doesn’t make sense. How can a whole herd of them end up in Neverland?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, because I don’t. None of us can know. Something is changing, and none of us have any answers. “But the Lost were just as surprised as we were. The Crocodile had no idea what they were. But they did stay on the Dark Side. They wouldn’t cross the line.”

  “Small blessings,” Jupiter says, clapping with a smile. “At least we don’t have to worry about being devoured.”

  She’s too chipper for the circumstances, but I have a feeling that’s just how Jupiter is. I can’t deny it doesn’t make me want to smile. I can see the draw to the Dreamwalker, and I almost want to ask her to keep talking.

  Cal is much more serious when she crosses her arms and stares at Peter. “So, this is supposed to be Peter Pan?”

  Peter looks at her, his face devoid of emotion, and says, “Sword-bearer.”

  Cal’s brows raise as they look into each other’s eyes for a moment. She ends up looking away first with a frown, and I don’t blame her. It’s difficult to look into so much darkness and not get lost in it.

  “You know,” Atlas interjects, his brow’s furrowed. “I always expected Peter Pan to be more—” he flounders his hands around, searching for a word that won’t insult him, but he finally settles on, “bright.”

  Cal shrugs. “We expected Captain Hook to have a large mustache and a hat with a giant feather. Can’t say we aren’t consistently surprised.” She points to Cheshire. “Look at who the Cheshire Cat turned out to be.”

  The corner of my lips kicks up. Cheshire scowls at his mate, but it’s Hook’s reaction that makes me want to laugh.

  “What do you mean you expected me to have a large mustache?” he asks indignantly.

  Wendy laughs. “You do have a hat with a large feather on it, though.”

  “At least that’s true,” Atlas grins. “I’m happy to see the hook isn’t wrong, either.”r />
  “Do you have stories for all of us?” Wendy asks.

  Jupiter nods. “You and your brothers come to Neverland and join the lost boys. You become their mother and I’m pretty sure most people assume you end up with Peter.”

  Wendy’s face scrunches up at that, her eyes darting toward Peter, who gives no reaction at all. I’m certain Peter has heard the stories, and some of those stories are probably how he easily convinces children to come with him. I didn’t realize the stories spoke of a relationship between Peter and Wendy, however.

  “Then again,” Atlas continues. “Peter has Tink, Tiger Lily, and Wendy in a tizzy in our stories.”

  Tink tips up her nose, her wings shuffling at her back. I know that once upon a time, her and Peter had shared a moment, but it had been fleeting. Just as it had been fleeting for Tink and Hook. Ultimately, relationships don’t work in Neverland, not permanent ones. We’re all too twisted, too dark, too powerful. Wendy and Hook are an anomaly, because they were always clearly meant to be, no matter how hard they fought it before.

  As they continue talking, I find my eyes drifting away, searching for a specific little girl in the group. I find her sitting at one of the fires, sitting next to Bear. My battle leader crouches down, making himself far smaller, as he sits next to Aniya. I watch as he offers her some new carving he’s made from a block of wood and the little girl squeals in delight.

  “I have to go check on Aniya,” I murmur as an excuse while I leave the others to debate which of us ends up with who in the stories, before they start to compare the stories of their own world with ours. I don’t tell them it’s pointless. Stories are nothing more than that; stories.

  I don’t realize March is following right away, but when I do, I glance at him briefly before looking away. Apparently, I’ve grown to trust the Hare enough where his presence doesn’t bother me. Peter doesn’t follow, but I feel his eyes burning holes in my back. I feel as he watches me touch the top of Aniya’s head, his gaze almost unbearable. She turns, excited, and throws her arms around me, but that isn’t what has me pausing. Aniya appears another year older again, and when her words come tumbling out, they’re more mature than they’d been when I left.

  “Have you been causing trouble?” I ask her, staring at the creatures all lingering around the fire. Bear doesn’t seem to mind them, but the others stare at the dangerous creatures with apprehension, especially those not from my Tribe. I’m sure it’s unnerving to see the creatures we normally feared happily sitting around a fire with a little girl.

  “Just a little,” she crows, grinning. She’s missing a tooth now, one of the bottom ones, and when I glance towards Bear, he shrugs.

  “It just fell out,” he admits. “Jupiter said it’s normal for growing children and that a new one will replace it.”

  None of us know how to handle a child, or what comes with a growing child. I’m thankful Jupiter knew enough to tell Bear what happened—he probably panicked—and I’d make sure to ask her for more information later. Aniya, with her rate of growing, is aging six times faster than a normal kid, but even if she was growing at a normal rate, we still wouldn’t know how to handle it. The first child born in Neverland.

  March kneels in front of the little girl, his head tilting as he listens to something I can’t hear. “I suppose I’m one of your creatures,” he murmurs, smiling at Aniya. “I can feel the pull towards you.”

  Aniya smiles at March and pats him on the head as if he’s a dog. I tense but March doesn’t seem to mind. The smile that pulls at his face is the sweetest I’ve ever seen. Leave it to Aniya to melt a mad heart.

  Carefully, I kneel beside March and let Aniya begin introducing us to all the creatures she’s named. The little ordinary bird is still there, staying as close to Aniya as possible. When she points to a different bird and calls it Carl, I smile. It seems some of the same creatures always come back when she calls, sometimes sticking around when she hasn’t called at all. The snake that lays curled up near the fire, now named ‘Tabitha’, worries me a little, but I’ve learned not to question it. None of the creatures ever harm Aniya. It helps I’ve met someone else with the power.

  “Has no one noticed she has your eyes?” March murmurs, almost too quietly for me to hear. I know he does it so no one can overhear his words, and when he meets my eyes, I tense.

  “Don’t speak of such things,” I hiss, my eyes narrowing. The Hare is perceptive, I’ll give him that, but there’s a reason we don’t speak of such things, and most of it has to do with the protection of Aniya.

  March smiles and pulls a flower from nowhere, perfectly preserved with its petals flared wide, and hands it to Aniya. She squeals in glee and takes it, immediately turning to show Bear and all her creatures the pretty flower the silly rabbit gave her.

  “Is this one of the secrets?” March asks, leaning closer. “Or is the secret the father?” His eyes flick around the people around us, searching.

  I have my knife out and pressed over his heart before I know what I’m doing, pressing it in, a single drop of blood welling before it begins to drip. He hardly pays attention to the blade, his eyes crinkling at the fierceness on my face.

  “Don’t speak of such things,” I snarl softly again, a warning. I will skewer March to protect Aniya, no matter how much I like him. I know he won’t die, not after witnessing what I did in the Lost camp, but it will still silence him for a bit.

  Carefully, March reaches up and wraps his hand around mine, holding the blade against his chest, holding my fingers around the blade. He keeps me steady, and I have the feeling if I decide to stab him, he’ll help me. It’s a strange thought, to think of him as anything than a stranger in my land, but I find myself staring deep into his bright green eyes, wishing that the circumstances are different.

  “It’s okay, Pretty Lily,” he whispers, and I find myself leaning closer. “We all have our secrets and your secret is safe with me.” His eyes flick over my shoulder and I know what he’s looking for, what he sees. When he meets my gaze again, his smile softens. “All of them.”

  My knife clatters to the ground.

  Chapter Eighteen

  One Month After Aging Begins

  I stare at my fingers. They’re mostly the same, still the long, feminine shape, still physically clean, but there’s something different. It’s easier to see the changing in the rest of my Tribe. Bear walks by me, his muscles straining as he carries a pile of wood far larger than he’d been able to before. He’s taller now, wider, and he isn’t the only one.

  We were all children. But now, we’re not.

  I’d been stuck in a sixteen-year-old body for as long as I can remember, always a child. Neverland wants children; it doesn’t want adults, and yet suddenly, we’re all adults. I can feel the skin on my face pulling under the new aging, as if tightening down across my bone, showing my new age. If I had to guess, I look more like I’m twenty now, but it’s only been a month, and the aging doesn’t seem to be stopping. That could be a problem if the aging doesn’t stop.

  Perhaps, I should call a meeting?

  I have no idea if this is only a Tribe problem or if all of Neverland is aging with us. If I call a meeting and no one else is aging, that will mean revealing a weakness. It will be considered an ailment, and because it’s Neverland, it’ll be one of the magical variety. I don’t know what to do and not for the first time, I wish for Wolfbane again. He would have known what to do.

  The rumors of the Crocodile constantly reach our ears, but I refuse to think on it too long. If Wolfbane is alive, if he’s out there wearing his crocodile skin, then that means he chose to never come back. It means he abandoned us, and that is as unforgiveable as dying in the first place. He’s never even come to explain what happened. But it might not be Wolfbane. Neverland is constantly surprising us. It could be someone else.

  My thoughts go to Peter. Calling a meeting when no one else is aging might reveal a weakness, but I can go check on Peter. If he hasn’t aged, then I know to
keep it to ourselves. And Peter won’t say anything because he won’t care. It’ll just be a new game to him, ‘see how long the Tribe will take to die’ type game. But if Peter is aging, too. . .

  I can’t imagine how he’ll be handling it if he’s aging.

  “Bear,” I call, drawing the eyes of my battle leader. “I’m going into the forest for a bit.”

  He nods, understanding to take over while I’m gone. The Tribe is in good hands with him, at least. And now that we’re growing, he’s even more powerful, just as we all are.

  I turn and walk into the trees, heading straight for The Hollow. I don’t know if Peter will be there, but it’s the best place to start when looking for him. When he isn’t bringing children to Neverland, he chooses to spend any extra time alone mostly, tucking himself away in his Hollow away from the others. The days of Peter hunting the Lost are gone. That had been his only pastime until he was chosen, but that was so long ago, and had been a brief flicker of time. Peter had been chosen first before anyone else, bearing the mantle alone for centuries until the Daughters were chosen.

  It’s been a long time since I walked the path I do now. I haven’t done so since the day Wolfbane died; I’d been unable to really. Feeling the snap inside of me, it changed me, and now, I feel less like Tiger Lily and more like the beast on my headdress. The vesper always seems to mock me, making me feel exactly like the monster in this land rather than a Daughter, but I try not to focus on that now. There’ll be plenty of time to figure it out later.

  When the Hollow comes into view, I stop on the edge of the crystals, careful not to crunch any of them under my feet. The skulls stare at me with gaping eye sockets and gruesome mouths hanging askew. For a moment, I do nothing, staring at the giant black tree that Peter lives in. I’ve been inside before, of course. Not in a long time, but Peter and I have always shared a connection the others didn’t, a friendship almost. I often thought Peter thought it a game of which will betray the other first, and that’s why he plays, but I think we’ve long since passed ending such a game. We may not ever admit it, but I know it in my heart. Peter, however, can play games for years and years without tiring. We could have been friends or lovers for eternity, and still, at the end, he could betray me and laugh as if it’s been all one very long game. That’s who he is. That’s who Pan choses to be.