Rise of the Lost Prince

by London Saint James

  Wyndi squeezed his hand, as if to rein him in. “Mom always wanted to restore Neverland.”

  “Don’t bring your mother into this. She left me, and I don’t want to discuss her.”

  “She died, Dad.”

  Cromwell turned beet red in the face. “That’s leaving, Wyndi.”

  “Please, Daddy.”

  “No!”

  Petúr stepped forward. “Don’t speak to her that way.”

  The body guard stepped forward as well.

  “I will speak to my daughter any way I please.”

  “No. You won’t,” said Petúr.

  “Stop,” Wyndi said, tugging his hand. She let loose of him and walked to her father. “I want you to give me Neverland. You can build your condos somewhere else.” Her eyes were pleading. “Tell me now. Will you do this for me? For the memory of Mom?”

  Cromwell’s face went stony. “No.”

  She reached up and touched his cheek, tears streaming down her own. “Then, I’m sorry.”

  She turned and looked at Vibe with watery eyes. “Convince him to sign Neverland over to me.”

  Petúr was speechless—shock radiating through his bones.

  The body guard took a clearly protective stance in front of Cromwell, expecting some type of physical convincing. Vibe broke a smile, never moving an inch, and did his thing, the heat wave hitting the man.

  “What’s going on?” Cromwell spluttered when his burly protector turned around, dazed, and walked away.

  “I’m going to ask one last time, Daddy. Will you give me Neverland?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry,” Wyndi said again, going to Petúr’s side.

  He tugged his darling woman of heart into his hold, absorbing her shakes, as his brother worked his mind-magic on her father.

  ****

  Jackpot! Kros smiled evilly, hands steepled in front of his face, fingertips, tapping fingertips. Trailing Cromwell Darlingheart’s comings and goings paid off. The ridiculously rich human unknowingly led death to his only daughter’s doorstep. And, if being led straight to the woman wasn’t absolutely fanfuckingtastic, this freaking bonus sure was—Neverland wasn’t just some random place for Petúr to hide out with the human woman, but the place the lost boys called home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bell may only be five-foot-two but she felt six feet tall as she took the lead—her black over the knee platform boots thwap-thwap-thwapping on concrete, seeing people gawk, hearing faint whispers, and knowing what those humans saw was probably close to being in attendance at Cosplay.

  She whipped her hair over her slender shoulder, rockin’ her brand new hot pink streaks which Tera, fairy godmother love him, helped put in. For an odd combination of warrior and brainiac, he also had a sensitive side.

  “Don’t you just love my hair?” Bell threw out the question to anyone really.

  “It’s sexy, little bit,” Vibe said.

  She smiled. “Thank you.” Her streaks matched her lacy pink backless top and pleated skirt.

  Behind her, all of the hulking lost boys, minus Tera and Byte, who stayed at the castle with Wyndi, trailed up the sidewalk toward the Delta Sigma Phi house. Petúr was clad in his signature black gothic couture. Dash was dressed in full-on biker leathers. Vibe appeared to be Mr. Bang-Pow-Boom in his dove grey Armani suit. Firefox was wearing his waistcoat and trousers with his own unique version of steampunk flair. And Vapor was in those too tempting low-slung jeans, showing off his bicep tatts with the sleeveless shirt he wore. They were no doubt something to see.

  She heard some busty strawberry blonde utter, “You guys in a band or something?”

  “Sure are, darlin’,” Vapor said.

  As covers go, Bell guessed being in a band was as good as any.

  “Can I get your autograph?”

  Everyone stopped en masse as the girl ran toward them, breasts bouncing beneath her sorority T-shirt.

  Bell rolled her eyes. Males.

  “I’d be happy to give you my autograph, but I don’t have a pen.”

  “Oh,” she said, breathy. “I do.”

  Seriously? She pulled a black marker from the book bag hanging off her shoulder.

  Vapor took it. His grin getting wider. “What do you want me to sign?”

  “This,” said the girl, tugging up her shirt and exposing two large breasts almost overflowing the tiny lace bra—rosy nipples showing through.

  Vapor, not missing a beat, pulled the top off the marker with his teeth, and signed his name with flourish across her chest. “There you go.”

  “Thank you.”

  He winked at her, capped the marker, and handed it back. She giggled.

  “Can I have a kiss, too?”

  “My pleasure,” Vapor said, grabbing her up and laying one on her.

  When he let her go, the girl appeared starry-eyed, and sort of stumbled off saying, “Wowzers” under her breath.

  “Damn. Maybe we should enroll in college,” Firefox said, watching her go with a glint of fire in his umber eyes.

  “Uh, guys?” Bell called, snapping her fingers. They turned and looked at her. “Things to do other than the busty co-eds.”

  “She’s right,” said Petúr. And he was the only one of the males who looked as if he cared less about the flesh-fest. “We’re here for Trent.”

  That’s all it took, everyone fell back into step, marching up the walk to the frat house.

  “Bell?”

  She should have known: Blain. Blain….what was his last name? Never mind. Blain something-or-other answered the door.

  A shark’s grin overtook him as he gave her the once over. “I knew my persistence would wear you down. Did you like the flowers I sent?” What flowers? “Sven told me you were out sick, so I—”

  “Listen, junior league,” said Vibe. “Bell didn’t get the flowers, and more importantly, you’re not going to be sending any more.”

  That’s when Blain noticed him and his jaw dropped. “Who are you?” he managed.

  “The man who’s going to kick your frat-boy ass if you keep hitting on Bell.”

  Bell blinked and glanced up at him. Vibe put his arm around her shoulders, and to say she was flabbergasted would be an understatement.

  “Look, Blain,” she said, returning her attention to him. She’d consider Vibe’s whole he-man protector thing later. “We need to speak with Trent.”

  The corners of Blain’s mouth turned down and he got fidgety. “Haven’t you heard? It’s been all over the news this evening, and you just missed the cops.”

  “Heard what?”

  “They found his body tangled in the rocks at the bluff.” Blain’s voice quieted. “They say he jumped.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah.” Blain shook his head, then worried his stubbled jaw with his fingers. “What did you want to talk to Trent about? Were you two friends or something?”

  “Band business,” Vapor said.

  “Band business?” The confusion on Blain’s face morphed into another gaping jaw when he stepped out onto the massive porch of the frat house and saw all her accompanying lost boys.

  “Vibe,” Petúr said. “We’re done here. Do your thing.”

  “I’ll be happy to.”

  There was an edge to Vibe’s reply which had her wondering how much mind-bending he intended to do on Blain.

  ****

  Wyndi was going to kill him. Well, after she knew for sure Petúr was home safe, she was going to kill him.

  “Settle down, luv,” said Byte. “You’ve been pacing so much you’re going to wear the shine off the floors.”

  “I can’t believe he left me here.”

  Tera frowned. “What did you expect? Petúr will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. And right now, you’re just not safe out in the world.”

  “I guess. But, when I told him I was going, he didn’t argue with me like he did earlier. Instead, he told me to go get ready.” She put her hands on her hips. “Then I come
out, dressed in this.” She waved her hand down the front of her black shirt and stretchy jeans combo. “And, he was gone.” She sighed. “He took everyone, even Bell, and left me here.”

  “Not everyone,” said Tera. “We’re here.”

  “I know.” She glanced down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “It’s all right. No need for apologies.”

  She shuffled over and sat down in the chair between the twins, arms and legs flailing. “It’s just… I don’t want to be the little woman.”

  “The little woman?”

  “You know. The weak human everyone needs to keep an eye on and protect. I want to be able to contribute.”

  Byte smiled. “We heard how you took down the big guy with a well-placed knee.”

  Tera sucked air through his teeth, grimacing and cupping himself.

  Her brows flew up into her hairline. “You did?”

  Byte nodded. “And we saw how you handled your father. I’d say that’s not a little woman in need of protecting, or one who doesn’t contribute. Because of you, Neverland is still home.”

  She cracked a half smile at that. “Thanks.”

  “No problem, luv.”

  Red lights lit up the panel on the console.

  “We’ve got an alarm going off on the north end of the park. Over by the rollercoaster,” said Tera.

  She glanced up at the monitors. “Do you see what set off the alarm?”

  “Not yet.”

  She watched as the camera angle changed, scanning the area. Then the next, and the next. “I don’t see anything.”

  “There,” said Byte, his voice not quite as controlled and smooth as it usually was.

  “What?” Wyndi asked, eyes narrowing on the monitors.

  “I see it,” Tera said.

  “See what?”

  Panic was starting in the pit of her stomach, and she didn’t like the way the twins looked over the top of her head and stared at each other, brows furrowed into deep grooves, their full lips pressed into a thin line.

  She heard the electronic deedle-deet. The phone program on one of the computer screens popped up followed by another set of bleeps. She knew they had access to phones in here.

  “Yeah? Talk to me.”

  Petúr. She was listening to Petúr’s honey toned voice over the computer connection which the twins were controlling with their mind. They must have called…. Hang on. That’s my cell phone number flashing across the screen. Petúr had her phone again.

  “We’ve got incoming at Neverland,” she heard Byte say. “A lot of incoming.”

  As in incoming horde?

  Heart hammering, Wyndi glanced back up at the monitors, and that’s when she saw the wall of darkness.

  “We’re headed back. Guard Wyndi.”

  The line went dead.

  She’d never seen the twins move so fast. Byte was up and out of his chair, followed by Tera who said, “They’ll come through the easiest access point.”

  Easy? There was nothing easy about getting into the castle.

  Byte shoved the desk up against the far wall with his thigh, as if the big piece of oak office furniture weighed nothing, then tapped something on the floor. That wall turned to reveal a secret room gleaming with swords, guns, and things she had no clue what they were.

  Byte took two Chinese broad swords down from the display wall, turned and threw them. They whooshed through the air. Tera caught them by their hilts with ease. Then Byte weaponed up, strapping thin blades to his arms before palming one wickedly curved blade, fitting his fingers through the handle holes.

  With determination plastered across his face, he left the weapons room and tapped the floor, closing off the space. Two heartbeats later, he was at Wyndi’s side.

  “Here,” he said, handing her a thin knife. “This is like the one you trained with.”

  She gripped it, recalling the feel in her palm.

  “We’ll pray you don’t need to use it,” said Tera.

  ****

  Kros stood back, Atalos at his side, wearing a new human body, watching the darkness move toward the castle. In their mist form, the darkling horde would soon be inside, and once they were, they’d occupy the two lost boys left behind, maybe even kill them. After all, two against many…. He smirked. The odds weren’t on the twins’ side tonight.

  Glancing over to Atalos he said, “Your new meat suit may be disturbing to gaze upon. But, brilliantly done.”

  Atalos shrugged one shoulder.

  Pleased with himself and his earlier recon mission, Kros strolled through the amusement park as though on a sightseeing trip, the castle to become his final destination. But he was fighting tonight—or not if the others did their jobs—without the use of shadows and mist. He would be walking inside, in his Fae form.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Petur raced through the night sky, Bell keeping pace with him, translucent wings flapping. How in the hell did the darklings find out about Neverland? He didn’t have time to contemplate that now. Wyndi, and getting to her, was his main focus.

  His stomach twisted into a tight ball, and something insidious seemed to wrap around his spine. Fear, he realized. For the first time in his life, he was terrified. Not for himself, but for his mate. The mate he’d failed to fully claim. God, he was stupid. As soon as this night was over, and Wyndi was safe in his arms, he would be rectifying his mistake of not taking her the moment he knew who she was to him.

  “She’ll be okay,” Bell said.

  “Yeah, she will,” he replied, hoping to convince himself.

  No. Screw hope. Wyndi would be okay. Tera and Byte were excellent fighters. They’d keep Wyndi safe. And Dash would be back at the castle in an instant. Followed by Vapor. Even though Vibe and Firefox traveled on foot, they ran like the wind, and wouldn’t be too far behind. Or, Vibe might commandeer a vehicle and be there before Petúr, too. This was one time he wished Dash was able to teleport them, but none of the lost boys were able to hitch a ride that way. He didn’t know why.

  I’ve got to get to her, became the chant inside his mind, as the wind whistled past his ears.

  ****

  Wyndi was shaking like a tender leaf, watching dark mist roll in from under the castle doors, pluming up the walls, sifting across the ceiling….

  She screamed and spun, blade ready when something akin to wind fluttered along her skin.

  Hands up, Dash said, “It’s me.”

  Obviously he’d teleported. “Where’s Petúr?” she asked.

  “On his way.”

  A shape formed out of the mist, darkening into shadow. Tera spun, swords twirling with lethal precision, and sliced through the dark. Blood arced high. And, then, it was on. Darklings started forming all around the foyer, making the oversized space seem small.

  Byte took another being out, he and Tera back-to-back, fighting in liquid fluidity—together. Dash threw a dagger, hitting another in the throat. Wyndi couldn’t afford to be a spectator and watch this. She swallowed back her fear, blade in hand, and took her fighting stance.

  She didn’t have to wait long. Two of those dark bastards were coming in her direction. One broke off to her left. A misty arm came at her from the front. She ducked, but took a blow to her side by the other. Pain danced over her ribs. She had to push away the hurt. If she felt the blow, part of the darkling had to be solid. She chopped down and back with the blade, feeling it sink into flesh, followed by a howl of pain.

  Wyndi spun. Slashed. Spun back around. Slashed again. Blood, and not hers, splattered across her face and neck. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. Following the dance Petúr taught her, she chopped. Slashed. Dug her weapon in and tore. With a decapitating blow to the monster, she became the motion and part of the macabre music of the fight. Of the night.

  The shadows intensified, more, and more darklings surrounding them, some dropping from the ceiling. There were too many of them. Ash flitted through the air, coming to rest on her cheeks. The castle doors b
urst open. More darkness.

  Wyndi lunged. Ducked. Stabbed. She could see Tera and Byte, blood soaked, killing one, two, three of the ghouls. Dash taking out two more. Vapor. Yes. It was Vapor in the mix, removing the head from another monster.

  Glancing up, she sliced at the mist, then froze.

  “Daddy?” she heard herself say, seeing her father walk through the haze—tendrils of darkness swirling around him. He was beside another man with long silver-white hair and the face of an angel.

  Bam!

  Someone took her down hard. When she hit the floor, air whizzed from her lungs, and the back of her head felt as though she’d been hit by a shovel.

  With the room spinning, she saw her father, and the beautiful one, leaning over her the instant she felt something sharp impale her to the floor.

  ****

  “NO!” Petúr roared, seeing Cromwell Darlingheart put a sword through his daughter’s chest.

  Cobwebs of hate and midnight streaked through his vision as he slashed his way through the horde, head after head rolling at his feet.

  Wyndi, Wyndi. No. She won’t die. Not her.

  “It’s too late,” he heard, spinning to see the man alongside Cromwell. His pale as milk skin was shimmering in Wyndi’s blood. “You shall never claim her now.”

  Even in Petúr’s rage-filled brain, he knew the voice. Kros. He slashed the blade he gripped in his hand, hitting nothing. Kros had flashed. The darkness of shadows and mist blinked out too, as if Grappling’s minions never existed.

  Cromwell screamed, falling to his knees. Black smog rolled from his body, dissipating into nothing. Tears and laments of agony left him. He scrambled on his hands and knees to Wyndi’s side. “What have I done? Wyndi! Oh God!”

  Petúr pushed him aside and glanced down into his woman’s blood smeared face. “I’m here, Wyndi,” he said, touching her cheek. “Everything’s going to be alright.” Please, let her be alright.

  “Petúr,” she whispered.

  His battered brothers-in-arms surrounded them. Bell, holding Wyndi’s hand, knelt by her other side.

  “Byte. Tera. Can the nanos fix this?” he asked, glancing up to see the broken expressions on their faces.

  “When we remove the sword, she’ll bleed out faster than the nanos can work,” said Byte.