Monstrous as a Croc (Daughters of Neverland Book 4)

by Kendra Moreno

  There’s also no large, person-sized oven, so I consider that a good sign.

  “You can stay here for the night,” she says, watching my perusal of her home. “The chair is comfortable enough to sleep in. My hospitality only lasts so long, however. I expect you to be gone in the morning.”

  She turns toward the stairs, her hand on the banister, prepared to carry herself up.

  “Why do you look do familiar to me?” She pauses and glances at me over her shoulder, the position making her look more vulnerable than she likely is. “When I first saw you, I swore you were someone else, but you can’t be her.”

  She shifts, looks away, and I draw down my brows. She’s hiding something. “You were mistaken and still confused when you first saw me. That’s all.” She raises her brow. “Get some rest. Be gone at first light, Crocodile.”

  Then she climbs the stairs and leaves me unattended in her cottage. She either trusts me not to take anything or there are enchantments on everything in the cottage. I choose not to test it and instead, settle into the chair that’s indeed far more comfortable than the ground I’m used to sleeping on.

  But I can’t get the vision of the witch I still don’t have a name for out of my head. She’s both familiar and not, and though she draws up memories I’d rather keep buried, I know they aren’t the same. The witch had dark emerald green hair like this one, and though her eyes mimicked the colors of a sunrise to me at first, the colors are slightly wrong. This woman has eyes like a sunset, the purples in there that had been lacking in the others. Still, there’s a mystery to be found here, and as much as she told me to leave in the morning, I know I can’t leave until I find the answers.

  Sleep claims me faster than I expect. I curl up in the large armchair and slip into a sleep so deep, I don’t even have nightmares, but I don’t think it will be a normal event.

  Someone like me, after what I’ve done, deserves to have nightmares for all the lives I’ve claimed.

  I deserve every bit of the pain that comes with destroying an entire world.

  I’m more monster than beast now, filling with power at a rate quicker than should have been necessary. But here I was, the Crocodile, and I could only think of one thing.

  Wendy Darling.

  It takes me too long to figure out what happened to her. I couldn’t ask Peter, not without revealing myself, and I didn’t want him to know I’d survived. I didn’t know if he genuinely cared, but outside of him and Lily, no one else would recognize me. I don’t think even the Pixie Queen would recognize me right now. I’m a monster, nothing more, and monstrous I will become.

  Wendy is on Hook’s ship, and I’m going to save her, but first, I’m going to kill Captain Hook for daring to look at her, for daring to be in her presence.

  The sound of a ticking clock echoes in the water around me, signifying my approach, but I didn’t much care. The pirate ship was already in a frenzy from a mermaid attack. They will never expect me as I sink my claws into the wood, as I climb onboard.

  My eyes find Wendy immediately. Beautiful, fierce Wendy. She’s put on weight again since the last time I saw her, a healthy glow on her cheeks. She’s even more beautiful than I expected, her cornflower blue eyes sweeping around the deck, a pistol in one hand, a sword in the other. Hook moves beside her, swinging his hooked blade, a perfect target. I hoist myself over and go right for him, knocking the pirate captain to the ground.

  “Hook!”

  I growl. Wendy should be shouting my name, should want me, not to save the pirate trying to pierce my hide with his sword.

  “I thought you were just a myth,” Hook growled, trying to force me off him, but my body is heavy, and I’m more beast than man.

  “What the fuck is it?” Wendy shouts, trying to shove me off, trying to pierce my thick skin with her own. And then brave Wendy goes for my eyes. I barely jerk out of the way in time before she succeeds.

  “I’m the Crocodile,” I answer with a grin full of teeth, and the next time Hook swings his blade, I close my jaw around his hand.

  One day, Wendy will be mine, but until then, I’m going to destroy everything else around us. But I’ll never let that destruction touch her.

  My brave, beautiful, vicious, Wendy Darling.

  Chapter Three

  After initially falling asleep, I’d been woken up within hours to the sounds coming from outside the cottage. Oz is a different beast at night, apparently, than it is during the day. The sound of gruesome beasts growling and grunting outside the house put me on edge immediately, especially when it sounded like they’re just outside. The witch hadn’t told me not to go outside at night, but I have the distinct feeling Oz at night isn’t something to be trifled with. But the sounds of growling beasts aren’t the only things that set my nerves on fire.

  Besides the beasts and creatures scratching at the cottage walls and howling, the world is quivering, the sound of metal grinding against metal making me cringe at regular intervals. Everything rumbles as if the worlds are moving, and if that isn’t proof that things are just as wrong as Neverland had been, I don’t know what is. The entire universe has gone to shit and I wonder if I played a hand in that, if it was always destined to be so.

  When the sun rises, I don’t leave. Part of it is because I’m uneasy stepping outside after not sleeping hardly at all and knowing there are creatures out there, but another part of me, a dangerous part, is curious about the witch who allowed me into her home. I want to unravel her mystery and see her reaction when she comes down.

  When she comes downstairs and sees me sitting in her kitchen while the sun is up, she scowls. She expected me to leave as she ordered, I guess, but I’m not ready. Of course, if she expresses she truly wants me to leave and get out of her home, I will. . . maybe. I haven’t decided yet how much of me is villainous and how much was Neverland corrupting me. Perhaps, the power only heightened my true feelings.

  She moves around me and fills a kettle, setting it over a small fire that pops up quickly with a snap of her fingers. She barely looks at me, easily putting her back to me, and for that reason, I reassess her strength. Only another confident predator would put their back to another predator.

  “How can you sleep with all the noise?” I ask, pretending I didn’t see her annoyance that I’m still here.

  She turns and studies me, probably sees the dark circles under my eyes. I was exhausted in Neverland and now, I’m exhausted in Oz. There’s nothing new there. I’ll need to learn to sleep even with the noises or else risk weakness. The problem is, I don’t think it’s just my body that’s tired. It’s my soul.

  “A witch is never afraid of the forest because she should be the most dangerous thing out there,” she says ominously. Then she winks. “And I take a sleeping draught each night.”

  I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips. “What do I call you?” I ask suddenly. “You let me stay in your house and neither of us know the other’s name.”

  “Names have power,” she murmurs as she pulls the kettle from the fire after it starts to whistle. She pours out water into two teacups waiting.

  “How so? They didn’t hold power in Neverland.”

  “They did. You just all probably knew the others’ names. Once you know someone’s name, you have a power over them, a sense of ownership, that can’t be taken away.”

  I raise my brow. “So, that means you won’t tell me your name.” I shrug. “Mine’s Wolfbane.”

  She hisses and looks up, shaking her head. “Foolish. You’ll fit right in here in the land of Oz.” She shakes her head again, as if she can’t believe my stupidity. For a moment, she hesitates, but either because I’d told her mine or because she considers me no threat to her, she speaks again. “You can call me Azalea.”

  I smile. “Could you tell me more about Oz?”

  “Only if you tell me about Neverland.” When I look at her blankly, she adds, “I’ve never been outside of Oz. It would be interesting to hear about another
world.”

  Sighing, I take the cup she offers me and take a sip, cringing at the initial taste that turns into something more pleasant. “Neverland was frozen for much of its time. No one ever grew up. We were a land of children forced to kill each other to survive.”

  “Did you have some sort of leaders?”

  I nod. “The Daughters of Neverland and the two leaders. I probably would have been another leader had I not been. . . well, better not to think on that.” I’m not sure what Azalea would think if she knew my role in Neverland. “The Daughters were Wendy Darling, Tiger Lily, and Tink, each ruling a different domain.”

  “Was your world dangerous?”

  “It was.” I sighed. “The land was dangerous. The people were dangerous. It was a shit place to be, and when we all started aging, things grew more complicated.”

  “They usually do,” she murmurs. “A child’s mind, no matter how mature, doesn’t see consequences the same as an adult does. Plus, children have less baser needs than an adult. I imagine that got strange rather quickly.”

  “Many of us were teenagers, but you’re right. Things grew warped the moment we started aging.”

  For a moment, she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t ask how I got to Oz, how I found myself in the Forest of Beating Hearts. She seems more interested in the land itself rather than any details of my life, which I appreciate. I’ll answer if she asks, but I don’t want her vision of me to change, not so quickly, at least. I find myself enjoying her company more than anything.

  “Oz had never really had children. I have memories of being a child, but I don’t actually remember it. There are four sections of Oz you need to concern yourself with most. Emerald City, where the large castle is. Stay away from there unless you want to die. We’re in Quadling Country right now, and though it’s most certainly not safe, this is the only area not ruled by an Heir.”

  “Heir?”

  “You have Daughters. We have Heirs.” She holds up her hand with three fingers and points to them as she ticks them off. “The Tin Man rules Gillikin City. The Scarecrow rules Munchkin Forest. The Lion rules Winkie Country. All three will kill you if they see you as a threat. If you’re going to travel through one, Winkie Country will be a slightly safer option. The Lion prefers to avoid people.”

  I raise my brow. “Strange, your world.”

  “From the way you describe Neverland, I get the sense that the Daughters are good people?”

  “They’re dark, bloody, some more than others, but yes,” I nod. “They mostly do the right thing.”

  “Oz isn’t like that,” she says, and the look in her eyes tells me she’s serious. “There are no good people here. I guess you can say Oz belongs to the villains. People have come along and tried to do the right things, but those people always die. Oz is dark, gruesome, and if you don’t also appear that way, you’ll be just as dead as they are. My suggestion is to get out. Find a different world, because Oz is no place for someone who believes in good people.”

  I consider her words. If I decide to leave, my first goal will be to find Tiger Lily and Aniya, make sure they made it out okay. Azalea keeps mentioning the worlds being strange, and if that’s the case, they could be in as much danger as they’d been in Neverland. They won’t want my help, but the memory of Tiger Lily offering her hand to save me, and Wendy and Tink nodding their heads, gives me hope for a reconciliation at some point. Without the power of Neverland filling me, I have so much guilt on my shoulders, I feel inclined to try and reach out. They have every right to turn me away, but I want to at least try, to tell Tiger Lily what really happened. I never wanted to be the villain, but I will still own up to the villain I became. They may never forgive me, and I won’t blame them if they don’t. I deserve whatever death I expected. It almost feels unfair that I’m still breathing when so many died with Neverland.

  “Well,” Azalea said as she pushes her teacup to the side. Had she even taken a drink? “If you’re going to stay, you might as well help me. I need to gather some supplies. Something tells me, whatever is happening to the worlds, I’m going to need them.” I nod and stand, pushing my mostly untouched tea to the side. It isn’t to my taste, but I don’t want to insult the witch. “Wolfbane,” she murmurs, and I meet her eyes. “What happened to Neverland?”

  I freeze. I didn’t expect her to ask outright. My first thought is to lie, even if I’d reasoned I’d tell her earlier, but I don’t really want to. Perhaps, it’s some sort of twisted need for someone to realize what I’ve done and look at me differently. Perhaps, it’s self-flagellation of some sort. Either way, I find myself telling the truth, but I can’t meet her eyes when I say it. That would be too much intimacy.

  “I killed it,” I mumble, carefully tucking my chair back under the table.

  She sniffs. “On purpose?”

  “Yes.”

  I wait for her to kick me out, for her to tell me to leave her and stay away, but she does none of those things.

  “I can see the weight of that fact on your shoulders, Crocodile.” She shrugs. “Come on. You can carry the basket. We don’t want to be caught outside when the sun goes down again.”

  She moves toward the door and I stare after her in surprise. She’d looked at me, saw the monster, realized what I was, and she didn’t cared.

  She didn’t cared, at all. . .

  Chapter Four

  We walk for what feels like hours, but I realize it’s probably only been one. Oz might be loud at night, but during the day, much of the forest is almost eerily silent. It’s strange to hear your own footfalls far louder than any birds or creatures moving through the trees. Azalea doesn’t even try to be quiet, completely unconcerned with anything that might be sleeping around any corner, her shoes crunching over dried leaves and twigs. Every noise is like a gunshot in the near silence, fraying my nerves.

  Finally, she stops at a large tree, the trunk wider than anything I’ve seen, the tree top so far above, it gives me vertigo to look. She sighs. “I really hate this part.”

  “What do you need?”

  She grimaces. “At the very top of the cicada trees, a tiny yellow flower grows. It only grows at the furthest top of the branches to catch sunlight and the trees are some of the tallest in Oz.”

  “And you climb up every time?”

  “At least once a month,” she admits. “The flowers are important in a protection spell for my cottage. It’s what keeps the beasts out.” She dusts her hands off and moves toward the tree, as if prepared to climb. I wonder how many times she’s done this very task, how long it takes her.

  “I can do it,” I say, halting her from climbing up.

  She looks at me. “You’re certain? You’re still injured.”

  I look down with a frown. I didn’t even realized I’m still wounded. Though I’m no longer bleeding profusely, the wounds are still there, crusted over in a way I’ve never had to deal with before, but it won’t hinder me from climbing. I’ve had far worse injures and still went to battle. “This is not so bad. I can climb.” I move closer to the trunk of the tree and dig my suddenly sharp claws into the bark. Crocodile claws make for better climbing than human fingers.

  “Be careful not to crush them when you pick them,” she advises. “If you do, they release a pollen that will put you to sleep. I’m not strong enough to break your fall.”

  I raise my brow at her. “Would you catch me if you could?”

  Her lips curl up just slightly. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Fair enough.”

  And then I’m scaling the tree like I used to do in Neverland. I make quick progress and I can’t quite help looking down to see if Azalea is watching me. It pleases me to see her gapping at my show of strength, at the way I quickly slither up the tree. It takes me no time at all to break through the canopy and see the small yellow flowers she spoke of. They don’t look dangerous. If anything, they look completely harmless, but I trust Azalea knows what she’s talking about.

  Carefully pickin
g the flowers and placing them in the small basket I have tied to my hip, I make sure not to crush a single one. I really have no desire to see if I can survive a fall of this height in a world where the healing doesn’t heal properly. How long would it take me to heal from something like that if I fell? Too long. The answer is too long. I’ve fallen too many times in my life now. It’s time for different deaths.

  Once the basket is full, I pause for a moment, looking out over the scene spread out before me. Oz is large, far larger than Neverland had been, and it isn’t trapped by water. In the center, I can see the glittering green palace I assume is Emerald City. You don’t call something ‘Emerald City’ without having a castle that looks like an emerald. Further north, I can see brilliant neon lights. To the east, spread a normal looking forest, but to the west, I can feel the danger coming from it a mile away. It all feels dangerous, but whichever land is to the left makes my skin crawl. I’ll be avoiding that one at all costs.

  Further in the distance, where Oz should have ended, I can see other things. One is a great wall of water, like an ocean hovered just at the edges. What I assume are other worlds quiver and move along the edges, morphing together in a strange mixture that I know is just as dangerous as wandering through them will be. At least there’s no Neverland to worry about anymore.

  After I look my fill of the sight spread before me, I carefully climb back down the tree. I hand the basket to Azalea and she looks them over carefully, making sure I didn’t crush any. When she tilts her head at me, studying the muscles along my body, I pretend I don’t see it. I try not to let it get to me, but it’s been so long since anyone looked at me like that, in appreciation, and I find I liked her appreciation. I like the way her eyes trace over me, and that’s dangerous. What if the remnants of the obsession I felt before with Wendy comes back? What if it’s only waiting for a new focus?

  Guilt slams into me again. I thought I loved Wendy, but had I really? Had it been a wicked twist that came with the corruption? I can’t stop seeing the way she’d looked at me when I kissed her, the disgust, the anger. Some part of her might have been able to love me once, long ago, but Neverland turned me into the monster she saw, up until the end. But the way she looks at Hook, she’d never looked at me like that. If that isn’t my answer, I don’t know what is. Wendy Darling is not destined for me, even if I played a part in her destiny.