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

by Kendra Moreno

  The others keep talking, but I notice. Frowning, I start to listen, too, trying to hear whatever it is March does. At first, I can’t make out anything over the voices around us, of the others trying to devise a plan to sneak so many people through the Dark Side, but the harder I listen, the more I determine something is wrong.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  I stand, turning my face to the wind, and inhale the air. The scent of swamp, of decay, of magic coats my tongue.

  “Hush,” I hiss, and everyone falls silent.

  Tink and Wendy stand with me, their ears tilted the same as mine.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “It sounds like a clock,” White murmurs.

  And a clock in Neverland can only mean one thing.

  “Where is he?” Hook growls, turning in circles, trying to place the direction, but I don’t focus on that.

  My eyes are trained on the fence that surrounds the Coven, the large trees sharpened into points providing a barrier. I’m looking at it when the first set of horns crests the top of the fence and tumbles over in the one spot there are no guards. Why are there no guards there?

  “It’s an attack!” I shout, and the alarms sound, great echoing shrieks as the Coven sounds the alarm. In the three seconds it takes for the alarm to sound, Lost tumble over the edge and spill inside the opening, overwhelming the guards at the entrance.

  I whirl, my eyes searching for a mess of black hair, and I find Aniya backed against one of the houses, Bear protecting her, but some of the Lost converge on them while I watch. My chest seizes. If something happens to Aniya. . .

  “Go!” March growls, pushing me toward the house, his face morphing into something far more savage than an ordinary Hare. He pulls his own blade and leaps on the nearest Lost, dropping it fast, before going for the next one.

  I’m running, but on human legs, I’ll be too slow, so without conscious thought, my body morphs and changes, becoming the beast I always hide beneath my skin. My bones pop too fast, my vision slamming with yellow, and the change is far more painful than it usually is, but I don’t care. All that matters is making sure Aniya is safe. The roar rips from my throat seconds later and I’m flying across the Coven with just enough time to rip the three Lost cornering my general and Aniya into a corner. I refuse to allow her to perish in this world, especially at the hands of beasts.

  “Makau!” Aniya exclaims, smiling even as creatures roost on her shoulders and curl around her feet. A serpent that I would normally be worried about because of their poison curls around Aniya’s ankle, hissing at anything that gets too close. It doesn’t hiss at me, at least. Aniya’s smiling up at me, not worried about the creatures at all as they offer their protection.

  “Stay close,” I rumble, turning with sharp claws to take on any more Lost who dare come near my daughter.

  Don’t, I chide myself. Don’t admit it or else the others will find out.

  March swirls around before me, a wicked looking blade in one hand, the other sharpened to the long claws I’d witnessed on the chimeras. He cuts down any Lost who manage to get around the others, an added level of protection for Aniya. Everything descends into chaos, the numbers of the Lost growing more and more, until I’m truly shocked by the amount the Crocodile has at his disposal. This isn’t an attack like the others. This seems desperate, an attack meant to take out our people.

  One of the Lost grabs Wendy and tries to drag her away, but I watch as Hook slices a deadly-looking curved blade across the creature’s neck, chopping its head off. So many fight, pirates, Coven, and Tribe all working together to keep the Lost at bay. Peter, he stands in the center of everything, untouched by so many, his eyes trained on me as I fight off those who dare come near Aniya. When a Lost crosses too close, he reaches out deadly hands and sucks the life from the creature, a process I’ve never understood. The Lost falls to the ground, red crystals erupting from its dried skin like a sickness.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “He’s coming,” I growl. When I wear the skin of the vesper, it’s a different feeling from walking as Tiger Lily. As the creature, my senses are sharper, my vision tinged in yellow to bring out more details, so when the Croc walks through the entrance of the Coven, I know right away. I zero in on him, a snarl curling from my throat.

  He’s wearing his Crocodile skin, and if I were to believe him, he’s forced to wear it most often. But none of that matters in my mind. What matters right this moment is the fact Wolfbane endangers Aniya, endangers my people, and I won’t let that slide.

  I launch into the air with great wing beats, knowing Bear and March will keep my daughter safe, aiming for the Crocodile.

  “Lily, no!” March. His voice carries to my sensitive ears, but I pay him no attention. I only have one mission on my mind, and it’s to punish Wolfbane, to tear him apart.

  Wolfbane looks up as I draw close, his face twisting into a Crocodile smile. “Sister!” he exclaims as if we’re not on opposite sides of this war, announcing to everyone in hearing distance.

  I hear a few of the others gasp in surprise in the midst of their fighting, but I slam into the Croc seconds later, pinning him back against the trees of the fence. Surprisingly, it holds our weight as we slam against it, as I spread my claws and dig them into the wood, trapping Wolfbane quickly.

  “You dare come and threaten us,” I snarl in his face. I’m angry, so angry, and want nothing more than to punish.

  But I should have known I can’t keep Wolfbane pinned for long. We were always equal before, our powers just as strong as the other’s. Even though I hadn’t been a Daughter yet and grew stronger from being Chosen, the Croc is ripe with Neverland’s power, with the life force he’s been siphoning somehow. He would have been another leader like Hook if he hadn’t made a deal. He slams his forearm against me, pushing me backwards just enough to free himself, so I shove backward with his force, separating us completely. Then we begin to circle each other like sharks. I keep my eyes trained on him, watching for weaknesses, just as he does me.

  “Why don’t we face each other in flesh?” Wolfbane goads. “Just like old times.”

  I curl my lip. “You first, Crocodile.”

  I expected it to be a trick. Instead, Wolfbane morphs before my eyes, turning into the man quickly, happily. He glances over at Wendy, as if to see if she’s watching him. When he finds her fierce scowl as she chops the head from a Lost trying to grab her, he flicks his eyes back to me as we continue to circle.

  “She’ll never love you,” I hiss, transforming back into myself. I can feel my fatigue after everything, but I refuse to show it. I’ll need to rest, to eat, after this, if I’m able. “Why waste your time?”

  “It’s not a waste of time,” he growls. “She can hate me all she wants but there’s a thin line between love and hate. If it isn’t true, she could never love the pirate.”

  I laugh, because Wolfbane sounds so naïve even though he now walks like a man. “All this for a woman who will never love you, a woman too human to ever love a true monster.”

  Wolfbane attacks me first, just as I knew he would. We all suffer from pride, but Wolfbane more than most, the power inside him warping all he is. I’m gone from the place a hair-breathe before he can grab me, jamming my elbow into his back and making him stumble. Around us, the Lost still swarm, attacking my people, hurting them, and it makes me angry. I trust March to take care of Aniya, to yell if he needs help, so I focus all my energy on hurting Wolfbane. I don’t know if I can deal the final blow if it comes to that, but the instincts to hurt him are stronger than anything else.

  “There’s no use fighting it!” Wolfbane snarls, following me, his large hands flexing. “This world will die, and since you won’t join me, you’ll have to die with it.”

  I move to the side, circling him, keeping him in my sights. “You were always so selfish, Bane. Always worried for yourself first.”

  “That’s not true and you know it.”

  “Do I?” I tilt my head. “Do I kno
w you’re anything but selfish? The boy who was supposed to be my partner, who was supposed to help me take care of the Tribe, the boy who ran off to save a girl in the hopes that she would love him.”

  “I’m not the only monster here.” Wolfbane jabs his finger towards Peter who stands to the side, watching Bane carefully, waiting for a chance to attack if I need him. “That asshole kept her locked in his Hollow for who knows how long. If I didn’t save her, no one would.”

  “Wendy would have eventually saved herself. If you’d have spent five minutes with her, you’d know that,” I spit. “Instead, you’ve placed her as a Damsel in Distress in your mind and refuse to see her as anything else.”

  “Yeah, you bloody dickhead!” Wendy shouts from the side in the middle of kicking a Lost in the stomach.

  “I know you meant well then, Bane, but going about it this way, killing an entire world for your personal vendetta? It’s selfish and foolish!”

  Scales flicker across Wolfbane’s skin with his agitation. Something about the sight makes me tense, waiting for the monster to come back out, but everything grinds to a halt when I feel a little hand tug on the back of my clothing.

  “Makau,” she says. “His creature is fighting to come out.”

  I choke and grab Aniya, pushing her behind me to protect her from Wolfbane’s eyes, but his gaze still locks on the little girl clinging to my legs, on the animals circling her. I don’t know how she ends up behind me, but the worry over her safety nearly chokes me.

  “I’m behind you,” March grunts, fighting off more Lost, and then the others join him, protecting us, keeping Aniya safe.

  “A child,” Wolfbane whispers, his eyes widening. I can see the moment he makes the connection, the moment he sees her eyes. His face twists with something far more savage than I’ve ever seen on him. “You had a baby with my powers.”

  “She’s none of your concern,” I hiss, keeping my fingers on her shoulder even as she leans out to peek at the Crocodile.

  His face goes slack at her features, at the wild hair framing her face, at the power that oozes from her, and Wolfbane looks at Peter where he stands. Peter is much closer now, his shoulders tense as he watches Aniya behind me, worry on his face. He’s covered in blood from where he chose to use his hands rather than his magic on the Lost, wounds on him from his internal battle rather than this external one, his eyes riveted to Aniya first, the most vulnerable.

  “You had a child with Peter Pan,” Wolfbane rasps on a hard whisper and it’s as if everything around us stops.

  The fighting grows silent, all eyes on us as the words slip from Bane’s lips, our secret out there for all to know. Though it was a whisper, the heaviness of the words might as well have been as loud as a gunshot.

  Tink stumbles where she stands, her eyes flicking from Aniya to Peter to me rapidly, making the connections. But it’s Wendy who steps forward. It’s Wendy who looks the Croc in the eyes.

  “She’s none of your concern, Wolfbane.” I don’t know where the pistol comes from. Everyone has been using blades and steel to fight, but the Sea Captain suddenly has a pistol in her hand and aimed at Wolfbane’s chest. “I suggest you take your Lost and leave us.”

  My brother looks between us. “You would raise a weapon among you? You’d protect her, knowing what she is?”

  “I can speak to your beast,” Aniya whispers, peering at Wolfbane. “He says you used to be good.”

  Wolfbane rears back from her words, physically, his eyes wide. But before he can leave the threat behind, before Wendy can shoot him where he stands, the ground beneath our feet begins to roll and we all stumble with the force. Everything shakes, everything moves, and I turn to Tink in confusion.

  She looks just as confused as I do as the soil roils.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Two Months After Aging

  The feel of Peter’s lips on mine sends me into a frenzy, and even though I know it’s a bad idea, I let him consume me. I let his hands hoist me against him. I let him pin me back against a tree. He violently claims my lips, his tongue tangling with mine in a battle of wills. Which of us will stop it first? Which of us will let the other claim them?

  Peter and I have danced around each other for decades, sometimes coming together, but mostly remaining in the dance. Seeing each other older, hormones running rampant, something inside me breaks.

  I need to taste him. I need to feel him. This is the worst idea I’ve ever had, but still I can’t seem to stop myself. I’ve wanted it for far too long, and something in me whispers that we could all be dying anyways.

  Somehow, we’re still in the air, Peter’s flying magic keeping us aloft as he pins me against the tree. I try not to question it too much—believing is half the magic—but it still unnerves me. So it doesn’t feel like I’m dangling, I wrap my legs around Peter’s hips and grind.

  He snarls against my lips, the sounds equal parts viciousness and desire. One of his hands kneads my ass where he holds me up, his large fingers splayed wide to cover the most space. His other hand wraps around my throat, a little too tight to be sexy. I can’t die, so it’s not a threat. It speaks of Peter’s darkness more than my own.

  When he breaks the kiss and trails his teeth along my jaw, I tilt my head back, giving him a better advantage. My arms grasp his shoulders tightly, my nails too sharp, but he doesn’t complain.

  “This is a bad idea,” I moan.

  Peter releases my neck and pushes against my clothing, shoving my leather shirt up to palm my breasts before doing the same to my leather skirt. His fingers find my core and stroke, drawing a purr from my throat. He groans at the wetness he finds there, at the desire pooled for him.

  “Lily,” he murmurs against my skin and then leans back to look in my eyes. There are stars swirling there in the emeralds, power, but there’s a darkness threatening to dig its claws into his soul. In answer, I dig my fingers into his wild curls and pull his lips back to mine. I can save him. If only he realizes how beautiful he is, even with his tricks and games, even with his darkness, then I can bring him to my light.

  When he frees his cock and eases inside my core, inch by agonizing inch, I groan against his lips, the feeling of being stretched, of being full, almost too much, but I rock my hips against him anyways. I can save him.

  Peter’s strong arm keeps me aloft as he rocks against me, as my back scrapes against the bark. His other hand palms my breast and caresses, tortures. His magic flows around us as he uses it, while we meet in the air, but it’s when he leans backwards, hovering us over nothing, that the desire heightens. There’s no tree behind us, just Peter’s strong arms keeping me from falling to the earth as we float higher and higher. I have wings if I have enough time to transform, but it’s the danger that adds to the experience. I can’t even bring myself to care.

  He grunts against my neck and his pace increases, his thrusts nearly too hard, but I meet him just the same. I accept his darkness. I can save him.

  “Lily,” he grunts. “My Lily.”

  “Yes,” I cry. “Peter.”

  I’m a ball of sensations and nerve-endings as I rock against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. It’s an unhurried coupling; I expected it to be a fast frenzy, but instead, we slowly, vicious claim each other. Peter pours himself into me, his struggle, his darkness, and I accept it, because Peter is Peter.

  “I love you.” His words make me freeze, but Peter doesn’t, as if the words spur him on more. “Fuck, I love you.”

  “Peter. . .”

  “Don’t,” he growls. “I don’t want to hear you say you don’t love me.”

  “You won’t,” I groan as his thrusts grow faster. “I love you, too.”

  And then there’s no more talking, his hips slamming into mine, coaxing us higher and higher, both figuratively and perfectly into the stars. I cry out my pleasure while he holds me, and as my core begins to squeeze him with my climax, Peter grunts loudly against me, his cock twitching inside and filling me with warmth, prolonging
my orgasm.

  We both slow and stop, locked together by choice, panting hard.

  “Did you mean it?” he whispers roughly. “Did you mean it when you said you love me?”

  “I never lie,” I rasp, leaning back to meet his eyes. “Did you?”

  His gaze searches mine, looking for something in them. I don’t know what he finds, but he doesn’t seem happy about it, doesn’t seem happy to admit his next words.

  “I meant it, Lily.”

  I can save him. I can save him. I can save him.

  He slides from between my thighs and I think he’ll fly us back to land, set me gently on my feet. But Peter Pan is Peter Pan and even if we just had sex and confessed some love we’ve always had but could never act on, he doesn’t change. He still likes playing his games.

  High from my climax and still shaking from our coupling, Peter Pan drops me.

  There are no mirrors in Neverland, not that I’ve ever been able to find. I don’t know if that’s purposeful or a side effect of children coming with nothing in their hands here. After all, what child thinks to grab a hand mirror when going on an adventure? But I don’t need a mirror to know something is different.

  I stare at the tiny red crystals growing on my wrist, crystals I’ve seen only from one other person, and now they sprout from my skin. I brush them away, the grit of them making me cringe. After having sex with Peter, after we confessed to loving each other, my body has felt weird, unusual even. And that’s why I asked the Old Mother to come attend me in my tent.

  We don’t get sick in Neverland, but this feels like some sort of sickness. If I move too quickly, I suffer from vertigo. Certain smells make my stomach turn. The crystals certainly aren’t normal.

  “What is it, child?” The Old Mother always calls us children though she isn’t much older than us, but she’s always been the elder in the Tribe, the only one that’s always been an adult and known so much.

  “I think I’m sick,” I admit, showing her where a new patch of crystals grow. “Besides these crystals, I’ve also felt vertigo and the smell of the morning meat cooking nearly sent me running.”