“Peter?” I call, leaning to the side in the hopes of seeing him. Sometimes, he’s perched in the branches above, waiting to startle me. It never works—it takes a lot to startle me after playing games with Wolfbane—but he still tries. Peter had disposed of his shadow creature at some point, somehow, so at least I don’t have to worry about that monster lunging out from a dark corner to attack me. I only have to worry about a single monster. “Peter?” I call again, a little louder.
The door opens violently, the red wood slamming into the bark of the tree, denting it, but for a moment, Peter doesn’t come out. He lingers in the shadows. “What do you want, Lily?”
I frown. His voice is deeper, thicker than it had been the last I’d seen him. Peter never hesitates to step into the light, but this time, he does. “Are you well?” I ask, searching in the darkness for his silhouette.
“No,” he chokes. “What do you want, Lily?” He repeats his question, as if he can’t stand that I’m here checking on him.
“I—” I pause and frown. I shouldn’t show weakness to Peter either, but just as that thought flows through my mind, I find myself speaking. “Something’s wrong with me,” I admit. I stand tall, tilting my chin up. If Peter suddenly decides to attack me, he won’t find a weak woman.
I see the movement inside the doorway again, a darkness that isn’t quite as dark as the rest shifting before stepping forward. I don’t gasp—I know that’ll only piss him off—but I know my eyes widen. Peter stands there, studying me the same as I study him, his eyes roving over my exaggerated curves. I’d always been lithe as a child, but aging has given me the curves I never knew I wanted, my hips and breasts wider than they’ve ever been. I’m still lean, but it feels more like an extra weapon at my disposal rather than a weakness.
Peter, in contrast, had been lean as a boy, all muscle but still the muscles of a sixteen-year-old. It seems like he’s growing at the same rate as I am, appearing roughly twenty or twenty-one. His shoulders are broader, new muscles straining against his leathers. He’s taller, too, his skin stretching to accommodate. A beard is growing in along his jaw line, the same startling red of the curls that topple over his forehead.
“You look different,” Peter murmurs, his blue eyes meeting mine.
“So do you.” I can’t help the attraction that flares between us. Peter and I have always floated around each other. I always thought he was attractive, but he’s more so now. I shift on my feet, showing my weakness, and I curse myself when the corner of his lips ticks up. He knows better than to outright fight me, but Peter isn’t against using every tool in his arsenal.
Slowly, Peter glides over his crystals, the red pieces barely crunching under his bare feet. When he stops in front of me, I tilt my chin up to meet his eyes. Peter and I used to be the same height. Now, he has at least six inches on me. It should be unnerving. Instead, I find I like it.
“What do you want, Lily?” he asks again as we stand breaths apart. Slowly, he reaches up, his fingers closing around my throat, but he doesn’t squeeze, and it doesn’t feel like a threat, so I allow it.
“What game are you playing?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on him. I can feel his tension, his desire, and it has to be a trick. Peter is a master of hiding his feelings. He’s likely to play on the tension and run off before anything actually happens, leaving me feeling like a frustrated fool. If it’s a game he wants, it’s a game I can play. Which one of us will be the first to break away first?
“Who says I’m playing a game?” The corner of his lips ticks up and I hear the challenge there.
Before we began to age, Peter and I had been intimate together. Not often, as it usually transformed into something darker I don’t like to dissect, but we have our own history. Now that we’re older, that attraction, that desire to dance a different dance, is stronger. I won’t allow Peter to use it against me, so I decide I’ll use it against him first. All the frustration I’ve been feeling comes to the surface, and I find myself stepping closer, closing the gap between us until I’m flush against Peter. His curls tumble over his forehead as he stares down at me, as I reach up and stroke my fingers under the edge of his shirt, feeling the more defined muscles there. I’m pleased when they quiver beneath my fingers, when his eyes darken.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Lily,” he rasps, the fingers of his other hand circling my waist and digging in.
“You started playing it first,” I murmur, raising my brow. “I’m only giving you a taste of your own medicine.”
He tenses and the fingers around my throat tighten minimally but not enough to cut off my air. Peter is fighting with himself, I can tell. I dip my fingers beneath the edge of his trousers and stroke close, but I don’t touch his length where it presses against me.
Peter shoves me backwards so suddenly, I nearly stumble over my own feet before catching myself. I scowl at him, at the man panting his desire, at the fact that he shoved me hard enough to bruise. It’s a good thing I heal fast.
“I’m not weak, Peter. If you want to play games, that’s on you, but don’t get mad when I turn it around.”
His eyes are blue fire as he watches me, as he takes in my anger, the way I cross my arms under my breasts, the scowl on my face.
“You’re right,” he admits, and it shocks me enough that I drop my arms.
“What?”
“I know you’re not weak, Lily,” he says, and something dark shifts in his gaze. I’m not prepared for it, my guard down with my anger, and before I know what’s happening, Peter’s lunging towards me. I try to drop, but Peter’s faster than me when I’m in my human form. His hands wrap around my waist and my feet leave the ground for a brief moment before I’m slammed against a tree at my back. I manage to avoid hitting my head before Peter presses his body against mine, pinning us above the ground, pinning me there, his magic keeping us in the air.
I snarl at him, snapping my teeth, prepared to rake my claws down his chest, but his eyes darken like a stormy sea and I know whatever he’s about to do will change our dynamic. “What is your prob—”
Before I can finish my sentence, he moves, striking like a serpent. Peter slams his lips against mine violently, stealing my breath, a claiming, a decree. . .
. . .a weakness. . .
Stars burst behind my eyelids, and even as my fingers spear into his curls and hold too tightly, I know this is a bad idea, but I don’t stop.
No, I claim Peter Pan right back.
Chapter Nineteen
WENDY
I watch as March and Tiger talk softly while sitting with Aniya, their heads together. At some point, Tiger presses a knife against March’s chest, but the Hare doesn’t seem to care. I stare at them curiously. I’d always assumed Tiger and Peter had a thing between them, but seeing her with March, I’m not so sure anymore. There’s this heaviness between March and Tiger, almost like prophesy. Those two have some sort of connection, and it surprises me. Of all the Wonderland residents who came to our aid, March seems the most harmless, but I know that for the mistake it is. No one is harmless, not in Neverland, and not Wonderland. Even Jupiter, for all her excitement and enthusiasm, has power flowing in her veins. She may not be dangerous to anyone she considers a friend, but she’s certainly dangerous to her enemies.
Hook is off talking to his crew, determining if there needs to be a change in schedule. My crew, in contrast, have already changed, making sure the weariest of the crew gets the rest they need. They’d changed without hesitation, without direction, coming forward to let me know. It’s the reason Hook is talking to his crew now, because his were less likely to admit they’re tired, years of being afraid of Hook making it impossible to do so. I’ll never be more thankful for the Hook I have now, the one who’s still dangerous, still a force to be reckoned with and who would have no problems killing someone who threatened him, but with a thread of kindness through him. He claims the thread came from me, but I’m not so sure. I think it’s always been there, but I’m the only one
to cultivate it, the only one to look him in the eyes and tell him where to shove his hook.
Hook turns from where he speaks to Slim, meeting my eyes, and I smile. How perfect that we finally admitted out feelings for each other at the end of the world. I love the pirate with a vengeance, even if he also infuriates me. When that happy thought flicks through my mind, movement to my left draws my eye. Tink stands on the other side of the bonfire, her eyes trained on me so that with each flickering flame, I see warped images of her. When the thought of Captain Hook passes through my mind again, I see her physically flinch, and I frown. I don’t get a chance to stand and go to her, to ask if something is wrong. She won’t admit a weakness but maybe she senses something I don’t. Before I can go after her, however, someone sits beside me and I jump at the sudden movement. I’d been so focused on Tink, I didn’t even hear anyone come close.
I look over at Peter as he takes a seat beside me, keeping a small amount of distance between us so we never have to touch. His shoulders tense, painfully so. He never relaxes, never eased the tension there, not since I’ve seen him as an adult. There’s a cloud that hangs over Peter, and though we have a terrible history and he’s a right proper asshole, I still hate to see him in such a way. I may not ever like Peter, but I don’t hate him. Sometimes, our nature makes us different people, and Neverland warps our natures as easily as it bleeds. Still, we’ll never be friendly, not after what happened.
Peter has never sought me out, and I certainly have never sought him out before we started aging. I stare at the man who never wanted to grow up, at the neat beard that now lines his jaw, at the horrors in his eyes, and rest my fingers on the dagger in my boot. I don’t know what he’s up to, or why he’s suddenly sitting beside me, but I don’t let down my guard. Tortured animals, cornered animals, are the most dangerous.
A line slices across his bicep as I stare at him, a line of red blood running down his arm, but when it seals closed again, he doesn’t move to wipe the blood away. He doesn’t even seem to notice the wounds anymore.
When I follow his gaze, I realize he’s looking at March and Tiger, at Aniya. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” he murmurs suddenly. He’s speaking low, so softly, I doubt anyone can hear it over the crackle of the flames, but I hear him just fine.
“What is?”
“The darkness.” The words are hollow, as if he’s lost all feeling.
“Which darkness are you speaking of?” I can’t be sure what he means, not when there’s so much darkness in Neverland, but when he turns empty eyes on me, I nearly flinch. Though he’s not dead, though he’s whole, I can’t help thinking of those skulls on the edge of his Hollow, of the way their empty eyes stare at you. That’s how Peter feels right now.
He chuckles, but there’s no amusement in the sound. It’s more like a reflex than anything else. “Do you remember when I dropped you in the ocean? Before you were Chosen?”
The sudden change of subject nearly gives me whiplash, but I switch easily enough. “Of course. You tried to drown me and nearly let the mermaids have me.”
“I wanted to see how long it took.”
I wrinkle my brows. “How long what took?”
His eyes flick away again, back towards Tiger. “Death.”
It’s the first time he’s admitted that he tried to kill me, and it brings back all the memories of the day so long ago. I’d been on Hook’s ship for months, had finally started adjusting to life there, when Peter had returned with another boy. He’d dropped the child on the deck, took one look at me dressed in pirate clothing, and snatched me from the Star Chaser before I could so much as scream. Hook had shouted and tried to catch me, but he’d been too slow.
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m curious.”
The sudden drop. A rush of cold, dark water closing over my head. My boots weighing me down. And then the singing as a webbed hand curled around my ankle.
I’d nearly died that day, would have had it not been for Hook coming into the ocean after me, his dagger cutting the hand from the mermaid who dared claim me as a meal. Peter had watched the entire time with curious eyes, but he never apologized, never admitted why he’d done it. I’d just attributed it to his twisted games.
I frown at Peter, the memories horrible, but Neverland is full of bad memories. Each of us has a moment we don’t like to think about, a time we would rather bury. For Hook, it’s from the pirate captain he’d been before I came to Neverland. For me, it’s my time with Peter. I don’t know what Peter hopes to bury, but as I stare at him, watching the way the new wounds open on his skin, I wonder if Peter intends to bury himself.
“Peter,” I murmur, drawing his eyes. I don’t know why I feel the need to reach out. Peter hurt me so much, has always been one of my villains, but watching him sitting there, I can’t stand to see such pain. “You’re not alone here.”
Those hollow eyes stare into mine and there’s so much pain there, it’s hard to hold his gaze. “I’ll always be alone, Wendy. My actions have made sure of it.”
“But you can change.”
He laughs, the sound just as hollow as his eyes. “Do you really think that, Wendy Darling? Do you think I’m any less a monster because I’ve aged?” I don’t answer and he takes it for what it is. “Exactly. But just because I’m this hopeless creature doesn’t mean the rest of you should suffer for it.”
“What do you mean?”
No one comes to interrupt us, as if they sense whatever conversation we’re having is more profound than simple banter.
“If you’re the key to Neverland, then you’re the key.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of crystal tears, tears he’s had to have kept after all these years. “But none of that matters if you don’t have enough time to unlock the world.” He drops the crystals into my hand, the sound of them clinking together almost loud in my ears.
I’m confused. I don’t know what Peter’s talking about, and I know I should. Peter’s powers and mine have similarities, and if I’m the key, what does that make Peter? Is he the lock? Or is he something else altogether?
“What are you suggesting?” I ask, staring at him intently.
“Neverland’s heart is fading,” he answers, and I can see the pain in his eyes. “We’re all made of Neverland magic, but none so much as me.”
I blink at him, and then blink again. “Surely, you’re not suggesting—”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Wendy Darling.” He looks up toward the sky, and though we can’t see the stars, I know he’s tracing the path of the star that brought me here, that brings every child to Neverland. “I’m only pointing out a fact.”
I hesitate before I speak again, my fingers clenching around the crystal tears. “Are you going to be okay, Peter?”
The boy I've always hated is no longer that boy. Instead, he’s been replaced with a broken man, and I know it’ll devastate Tiger if something happens to him. They may not be intimate, but out of everything, they have a bond I don’t understand. I know Tiger would mourn Peter, and as I sit here staring at the tortured soul before me, I know I’ll mourn him, too. Peter has been such a major part of Neverland, I can’t imagine him not being in the world. If something happens to Peter, Neverland will never recover. It will never be the same.
A tiny beetle crawls along the wood between us, its shell catching on the light of the fire and turning it into a kaleidoscope of colors. I wrinkle my brow at it. Not once have I seen one of the rainbow beetles in Neverland, not since I was back home, not since before I came to a strange new world.
I don’t have time to muse on it for long before Peter speaks, answering the question I asked.
“No,” he whispers. I won’t be okay. I hear the words he doesn’t say, and they hang between us, but he doesn’t let me linger on them long. “But that’s a small thing in the grand scheme of Neverland.”
His eyes leave mine to focus on Aniya as she runs, giggling, around the fire. It sho
uld worry me that Peter is focused on her, on the first child born in Neverland, but it doesn’t. Though his eyes are sharp, intelligent, there’s no animosity towards the little girl. He’s only curious, and I can’t blame him. None of us have ever seen children growing up from infants. None of us should know how to handle the image.
Aniya runs up to us then, her clever eyes latching onto Peter and holding. She skids to a stop and smiles. “Pretty,” the little girl coos, and I stare at her in confusion, before glancing at Peter. ‘Pretty’ isn’t a word I’d use for him.
“What is?” Peter asks, obviously as confused as I am.
Tiger watches from the side, her eyes on Aniya as she grins up at Peter Pan.
“The darkness,” she coos. “Your darkness sparkles.”
For the first time since he sat down, emotion crosses Peter’s face, but it only makes the agony thicker around him. His eyes stay riveted to the little girl, and when he offers his large hand for her to hold, she takes it without hesitation, her fingers curling around his.
“It’s like little stars,” Aniya whispers, staring at him with wide eyes even as a thin line opens across his cheekbone. “You sparkle like stars.”
Something inside my chest squeezes brutally as the drop of blood from the line on his cheek crystallizes and falls to the ground, the red teardrop matching my white one perfectly.
“Such pretty stars. . .”
Fierce as a Tiger Lily (Daughters of Neverland Book 2) Page 11
