Kensington carried on unemotionally, “From what I saw, your captain was quite unwell.”
Perhaps. But satisfaction grew inside me at the thought that James had managed to find safety.
“Wipe that grin off your face,” Kensington said. “He’s as likely to be dangling from the treetops as my men are. I don’t know what curse you have unleashed, but the forest is now hanging with men.”
“I like to decorate with trinkets,” I quipped.
“The practitioner likes to decorate with the bones of his enemies too.” He snorted and then turned his back to me. “Untie her. Don’t make me ask a third time.”
While Whibbles stood still like he was afraid to move away from the side of the mountain, Deval strode across the platform and untied my wrists. I cried out as gravity took my arms. They burned as my muscles gave out, stretching too quickly through my range of motion.
“Stop whining,” Deval hissed under his breath.
I gritted my teeth to keep from saying anything rash. Predictability would not be my friend.
As more of the vines were loosened, bits of mud and leaves fell off me. While I felt like I could breathe again, I felt incredibly vulnerable. Once freed, I pushed myself up into the corner, keeping a wooden staff nearby.
“That will do you no good,” Deval laughed as I gripped it as tightly as I could. I hated the shake in my hands as I raised it up when Deval moved quickly like he was going to attack me. However, he swiftly jerked the staff out of my hands and tossed it aside. It nearly hit Whibbles, clinging to the ground.
I should have known better than to fight with my hands. Words were my arsenal. I simply needed to find the right ones.
I drew myself up. “Humor me, Deval. When were you going to tell your monarch about the mermaid tear you confiscated from me?”
The blood drained from his face. Then came the tapping of Kensington’s cane. Spinning around, Deval plucked it from his pocket and held it up.
“Merde,” Deval said, under his breath before loudly addressing his monarch. “I was going to tell you, but this putain purposely distracted me.”
Kensington narrowed his eyes. Those orbs could see right through a man. He had to have known Deval was a backstabbing pile of crap. Tension hung in the air so thick I damn near choked on it.
“Give that to me.” Kensington held out his hand.
Deval handed him the seashell canister. Kensington opened it and peered inside.
“You could have used this on your men. On Chaz. Why didn’t you?” Kensington inquired.
“I knew you valued a tear greatly,” Deval answered, and held his breath as he eyed the monarch’s cane.
“You suggest I value the tears of my enemies more than my subjects,” Kensington concluded.
“All I am saying is that you are my monarch, the decision maker. I wouldn’t dare presume I knew better than you,” Deval said.
“Of course.” Suddenly, the monarch’s attention turned to me, watching me with the same hunger he had when he had circled Mullins. I glanced at Deval who seemed positively relieved the attention wasn’t on him.
Why wasn’t Kensington more concerned with that horrible man?
“Few have the restraint to save a mermaid’s tear,” Kensington said, drawing my focus back to him. He casually walked closer to me. “Those who anticipate a deadly attack…”
“My demented ex hunts me,” I stated.
Arrogance glazed his eyes as he leered. “You fairies are so delightfully skilled at speaking the half-truth.”
“That is the truth,” I said.
“But not the whole truth,” Kensington guessed. When I didn’t deny it, he assumed a regal pose. “Others keep a tear because only one won’t do. They need more.”
He wanted to control me, and Deval just gave him the means to do so. That was why he wasn’t furious with him.
Panicking, I tried to think of something, anything to say. However, my thoughts came to an abrupt halt when I set my sights on a trinket I wished more than anything was dead. Slipping between a crack in the mountains, stood a man I should have killed years ago. The practitioner was decorated in tattoos. A parade of abstract designs and haunting images of natural elements like wind, fire, water, and more spilled across his skin from the blackness of my late queen. He towered over the rest of the men like a giant. The way he carried himself reminded me of Robben, a crazed Lost Soul which had challenged James every second he got when he was under his command.
That the practitioner only had to flick his finger up to make me stand unnerved me. Clumps of remaining mud and leaves dropped, exposing me in my undergarments.
“The magic in your bones recognizes the ink I wear as your queen. You will obey my wishes,” he said, approaching me. Yet, his feet never touched the ground. The pads of his feet were completely covered in fairy dust—the price to pay to step off this island. Just as I knew he wore my queen’s dust on his feet, I also knew he had an elaborate drawing on his back to be able to appear like he was walking on this island again. He wasn’t welcome back on Neverland, so his presence here now was an illusion. His feet never actually touched the ground. “Your pretty boy stole something quite precious to me. I intend to get it back.”
I was afraid to ask what he stole. “Many natives steal. It’s in their blood. It’s who they are. It’s why they were brought here.”
“But only he was foolish enough to take the most precious thing to me!” the practitioner yelled.
My stomach churned. I knew then what Peter had stolen. The last remaining bones of my queen. I gasped, “Mab’s skull.”
“I was saving her for later. There are so many spells that call for fairy dust which I have yet to learn,” the practitioner said. His smile dripped with possessiveness. “He took what was most valuable to me and ground it to dust. So, I will do the same to him and take his most prized possession.” He leaned in close enough to whisper in my ear. “You.”
I balled my hands into fists, reeling in the anger. “Peter has no claim to me.”
“That doesn’t matter!” the practitioner seethed, yelling. so that his mouth hung open, revealing a tattoo on his tongue. “He believes he is in love with you.”
“He doesn’t know what that word means.”
“He may not know love, but Peter knows he wants you and the more you deny him of that, the deeper his craving will go,” the practitioner reasoned. “And until he returns, you will bow to me.”
“I’ll never bow to yo—”
The practitioner clenched his jaw and for the life of me, I couldn’t open mine. Through clenched teeth, he snarled, “Bow, Tinker Bell.”
“She goes by Miss Bell now.”
My head snapped in the direction of the voice. James stood on the ledge, poised to fight. His wrist no longer bled; the severed wound was completely healed. While he still bore fight marks, he stood with the confidence that was familiar to me. Tethered around the crook of his elbow was a cut vine. It was twisted around his arm. A foot or so dangled from the end.
He attacked Whibbles first. Stomping on the back of Whibbles’ ankle, the native fell forward, but not before James laced the vine around his neck. He grabbed the end of the vine with his hand and jerked back, pulling it taut with his forearm and hand.
“I will kill him,” James threatened.
“Don’t make idle threats,” I said. “He is Peter’s ally.”
James let go of his grip on the vine. Jerking back with his forearm, the vine snapped as did Whibbles’ neck.
The broken piece of vine drifted to the ground. The glowing orbs spilling from it appeared no different from the crimson pooling from Whibbles.
Deval charged James. The practitioner followed. As soon as the monster turned his back to me, I dropped to the ground. The paralyzing pain in my body stole my ability to think. When I could fight past the stabbing pain, I looked up.
James slammed his foot down on the wooden staff Deval had thrown earlier. The opposite end flung into the air. He
caught the end and swung just as Deval met him. Deval stumbled back.
James tightened his grip on the staff. When he spoke, his voice was hollow. “You must be Jukes, a special kind of Neverland shite.”
“And you must be Peter’s replacement,” the practitioner mused. “Who I will enjoy killing.”
“The pleasure will be mine,” James fumed and charged the man twice his size.
My captain swung the staff at the practitioner. He missed. Even so, he didn’t slow his pace. He rammed his shoulder into the practitioner’s stomach and forced him up against the mountainous wall.
The practitioner struck James’ back repeatedly. Blow after blow, he beat him down until finally, James stumbled backward. Withdrawing his machete, Deval attacked. James blocked a swing with the staff, spun into him and slammed the staff against his side hard enough that it broke.
“It won’t be long before he is subdued,” Kensington said, his voice detached as if murder meant nothing to him.
My heart lodged in my throat. James needed me. I tried to stand, but my legs gave out before I could manage it. When I fell, the pain blinded me. Bursts of light covered my vision. Frustration, anger, defeat—all forms of emotional dread pulsed through my body. It made me desperate.
Very desperate.
Harnessing the mix of turmoil that burned through me, I forced myself to concentrate. Just as a hurricane needed to collect itself to be apocalyptic, I would do the same. Clenching my hands, I promised to leave a wake of destruction that would remain evermore. My fury awakened the black magic within me.
I forced all the destruction and sheer power of it to my hands. I clenched my fists tighter, holding it in as long as possible. When I couldn’t bear it any longer, I pounded them down. My fists collided with the ground. A shock wave threw everyone back, carrying a dark shadow with it and blanketing everything in its path. It blocked out much of the sun’s rays. The silvery ground underneath me rippled like water, gathering strength and power as it spread out. A high-pitched ringing muffled the shouting around me.
Lying on his stomach, James exchanged a look with me, making sure I was all right. It mirrored my gaze. Once certain I hadn’t been harmed, he quickly eyed the ground underneath me as it began to take on the properties of water rather than stone.
Deval laid on his back, gasping for breath. James noticed about the same time I did and wasted no time in grabbing the machete that had been freed from Deval’s grip in the blast. He attacked, smashing the blade down on Deval. The native rolled out of the way.
I caught a muffled demand from Kensington. He pointed at me. His mouth opened like he was screaming, but I still couldn’t hear everything that he was saying—other than “Jukes!”
The brute turned his attention to me. His body badly bruised where it had encountered the ground. He may have had enough ink to cover his feet, but not enough to protect him should he fall.
I couldn’t hear myself speak as I said, “Neverland rejects you. You should have stayed on that haunted rock.”
The practitioner staggered unsteadily when he moved toward me. When he stumbled, he stopped, gritted his teeth, and clenched his fist. My body obeyed like it used to when Mab still ruled. I crumpled into the fetal position. The practitioner continued to squeeze, but the damage had been done.
The mountain itself began to shake. Boulders fell from above the melted rock. They sparked when they fell inside. Bubbles formed. They popped and released tiny bursts of light. Underneath me, the mountainous rock continued to ripple like water. Shortly after, the silver rocks turned to liquid—boiling liquid.
Kensington stumbled away from me, losing his footing. He screamed when his leg dipped into the bubbling liquid. He withdrew it quickly, shouting out in pain as his flesh burned. Kensington clutched his leg with one hand. In the other, he withdrew the seashell canister.
“That tear is mine!”
Kensington’s voice was still muffled, but the ringing was subsiding. “So, you are saving it,” Kensington pondered and pressed the top of the canister’s lid back on. “A fruitless endeavor, I assure you, as it’s useless to carry on. We will succeed in collecting your dust and ending your lover’s life.”
“We will not go willingly,” I said, through clenched teeth.
The platform trembled again, enough to break the practitioner’s concentration. His hold on me faltered.
The liquid spread. The other end of the broken staff fell into my wake. Mullins’ body slipped in as well. The liquid crept forward, stealing space available to James and Deval—and blocking Kensington off from me.
However, the bubbling silver did not deter the practitioner. Rather than attack me with magic, he walked over my wake, coming for me. He picked me up and body slammed me down.
It was everything I could do to keep my head above the boiling silver. It didn’t burn my skin, but I didn’t want to tempt fate and breathe it in. I managed to find an edge to hold onto, but it wouldn’t be for long. The wake continued to spread.
“Bell!” James shouted, trying to come for me.
With my captain distracted, Deval landed a punch to James’ stomach. Over and over, he pounded on my captain, until he stumbled back and dropped the machete. As James lay on the ground, Deval picked up the blade and moved to strike.
My vision wavered, and I fought back the angry tears pressing on my eyes. I would not watch Deval cut my captain without a fight. I dipped my hand in the bubbling liquid and reached for the wooden staff that had fallen in. I pulled it out. Silver slipped along the edges. Closing my eyes, I whispered a spell I’d only heard once before. And now the person who had whispered the spell now had fins.”
“Rough be it now, but mold the edges as it dips into the flesh. The more blood it spills, the stronger it be, until welded indestructible,” I whispered.
I pulled the blade from the rippling, silver liquid. As beads of the silver gravel dripped from the stick, it formed a point. As soon as it hardened, I flung it over to James, but the silver coating weighed it down. I couldn’t throw it very far. It skidded to his feet.
“You can make him dozens of enchanted weapons, but he will still lose.” The practitioner laughed. The sound was void of any humor. He approached me slowly, like one would a rabid animal. “He’s not as strong as he once was…neither are you. You’ve made each other weak.”
“I will not be a willing subject. You might ground me to dust, but I will be long dead before that happens,” I seethed, and gathered a handful of the liquid silver in my hand and blew on it. It became weightless and scattered in the air. As soon as it made contact—with anything—it sparked.
The practitioner stumbled back as the pieces burned his skin. One fluttered into his eye. He stumbled back again, cursing my name.
I immediately turned my attention back to James. The sword helped, but he wasn’t as skilled with his non-dominant hand. A cry fled my lips as Deval threw him off balance. James stumbled backward. He caught himself with his elbows.
I tried to pull myself out of the boiling wake, to help James, but my body… I glanced over my shoulder and glared at Kensington who practically dangled the tear in front of me. My lip curled. I would get that back one way or another.
James cried out. It tore my attention back to him. My heart pounded as I watched him deflect Deval’s blows with his sword. But it wasn’t enough.
“Your current lover can’t even defend himself without both his hands. Deval will continue to exploit that weakness,” the practitioner said, coming for me.
“His perseverance is his strength,” I said, thinking of the lovely words James had whispered to me in the garden.
Just as the practitioner plucked me from the wake, tightening his grip around my shoulders, I shoved the liquid toward James. It splashed up on the vine still tethered to his forearm. The vine soaked the silver up, glowing like it was suddenly alive again. But it didn’t last long, the liquid burned through the shell of the vine and clung to his skin. The smell of burnt flesh hun
g in the air, followed by a slew of curse words as James swore. The silver collected around his wrist, gathering up and coiling around the end of the vine. It formed a hook.
“If you finish the curse, I will kill you,” the practitioner promised, shaking me by the shoulders. His grip on me was so tight, my fingers went numb.
“Breath by breath, may his body be anew—as unforgiving and passionate as nature itself,” I whispered, fighting for each word as the practitioner pressed my back against the mountainous side.
Using the hook, James reached up and swung at Deval’s legs. He caught one and jerked back. It was enough to make him stumble. James didn’t hesitate. With the sword in his opposite hand, he held it against Deval’s chest.
James’ body was long and hard, towering over his fallen opponent. He sucked in a deep breath, releasing it only when he’d gathered himself. His voice hung in the air, echoing the wrath and resolve illustrated in his stature. “I’d very much like to speak to your commander.”
“I believe you mean to talk to me,” Kensington said. He held himself high. “Kill him if you must, but I would appreciate the courtesy of keeping him alive.”
Gaining the practitioner’s attention, Kensington waved his hand down. He lowered me to the ground but kept my back tight against the wall. His lids fluttered as my back ground against the rocks.
“Sick fuck,” James shouted, his rage exploding in his voice. With his gaze set on the practitioner, he pulled back to end Deval’s life.
“Kill me!” Deval demanded at the same time Kensington suggested, “Perhaps we can negotiate a trade.”
James held the sword steady. “Take your hands off Miss Bell, and I’ll ponder a negotiation.”
Kensington nodded at the practitioner. “Let her go.”
“She is my payment for what Peter has stolen!” the practitioner yelled, tightening his grip.
Kensington tapped the top of his cane. This time he used it to pace, as his leg was now badly burned. The practitioner did not back down. He flexed his arms. The tattoos covering them swelled with the movement, exemplifying his magical strength.
Forever Cursed (Never Ever Series Book 2) Page 10
