Venom: A Dark Retelling

by Dee Garcia

  Once I’m under the scorching spray, I wash away the sticky remains of our delicious night, scrubbing every inch of myself, including my hair. My hair, which I don’t notice until my fingers rake through the ends, is darker than a raven. Despite knowing this was going to happen, I’m gasping in a slight panic.

  Rinsing the last of the suds out as fast as I possibly can, I shut off the water with a quick hand, wrap myself in a fluffy towel, and scamper up to the mirror hung above the oval sink.

  My eyes widen like saucers.

  Black. My hair is jet black, the deepest ebony in existence, from my roots down to the tips. Not a single strand has been left untouched. I note its brilliance and texture has returned as well.

  “Woah.” Hook’s unexpected chuckle sends me jolting a foot into the air on a startled yelp.

  Once I’ve caught my breath, I clutch the towel tighter and spin toward him as he approaches the en suite. “Good morning to me, huh?”

  “You look so different. Like a completely different woman from last night.” He doesn’t seem to be put off, but something about the way he states his observation makes me instantly anxious.

  “Good different or bad different?”

  “I think it looks fantastic on you.” He sidles up in front of me, hands swooping up to cup my face. “Your eyes glow against the darkness.”

  “Seems everything about me is dark these days,” I quip at the mirthful hint shining in his blues.

  “Yeah, well, I quite like it.” His lips brush my own once, twice, leaving me waiting, wanting, the ominous color of my hair now a thing of the past.

  “And I quite liked last night.”

  “Did you?” A chaste, teasing kiss. “Funny you say that, because I reached out for you and you were gone.”

  “I needed a shower. Badly.” I wind my arms around his neck to reel him closer.

  Hook grind at my attempt, knowing full well what I’m doing. “All sticky, were you?”

  I nod. “Very much so.”

  Humming, his hands glide up my back, pressing me firmly against his hard chest, the tip of his nose grazing my neck. “Are you hungry?”

  “I am, but...” I shouldn’t be going here right now, I feel awful simply mentioning it, but after last night and all the comparisons that kept flitting through my mind, I have to know.

  “But what?”

  “But...I’m also curious.”

  Easing back, he arches a brow. “About?”

  “About Peter,” I say softly, almost shamefully. “Have you had a chance to dig into what we spoke about?”

  Callan’s entire demeanor changes in two point five seconds. He goes completely rigid, his hold on me melting away. “I haven’t, no. I’ve been a little preoccupied with a certain hybrid.”

  “And the witches, and the sirens,” I add, tone light and airy in hopes of salvaging the moment.

  “Precisely. Speaking of, Fawn said she’d need a strand of your hair for the spell. You’ll have to pluck one for me. They should be here soon.”

  “That’s fine. You think they might know, though? About Peter, I mean. Perhaps they can brew up another spell and get into his head or—”

  I’m yanked to the bed, sat on the very end as he begins pacing before me. “Can I ask you something?” he questions, though I have a feeling he’d continue on regardless of what my response will be.

  Swallowing deeply, nervously, I nod. “Of course.”

  His footing stops, head pivoting to where I sit. Those piercing orbs of his...they’re positively arctic, ricocheting a shiver down my spine. “Why do you want to know this? I can’t understand why you’d want this in your head, especially after the last few days and what you know, after last night.”

  “I have to know, Callan. Thoughts of him keep popping up. I don’t want them to, and yet they do. I’m tired of it. I just want to know why. He never mentioned anything about leaving, not even on his hardest days.”

  “Does it really matter at this point? He’s gone—he has been.”

  “It doesn’t matter, no, but I need the closure. My mind will never put it to rest, will never stop with these incessant comparisons if there isn’t a logical explanation. It just doesn’t make sense.” I pray to whatever deity might hear me that this won’t shatter what Callan and I have built these last few days.

  He continues pacing as if contemplating how to answer, a prospect that worries me, when finally, he sighs and turns toward me once more. “It does if you consider he might’ve been hiding something in the first place.”

  My head rears back just slightly. “Peter and I didn’t have any secrets. He knew everything about me and I knew everything about him.”

  His head cocks to the side. “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Hook nods dubiously, stare pinning me in place. “So you mean to tell me you knew you were fucking your brother the whole time?”

  Silence.

  I’ve felt this before—the world around me stopping from one moment to the next.

  This time, though, it doesn’t just stop turning. It literally screeches to such an abrupt halt, everything around me feels like it crashes on impact, crumbling away into nothingness.

  He didn’t just…No, there’s no way. I have to be hearing things...

  “What did you just say?” I’m practically panting, every single hair on my body standing at attention.

  My stomach roils in protest, too.

  Callan nods again and begins taking precise steps toward me. “Peter’s your brother, Tinksley. Your half brother.”

  “You’re lying,” I grit, barely swallowing past the lump of bile now lodged in my throat.

  “Why would I lie about something like that?”

  “I-I…That’s not possible. My mother doesn’t have any other children.”

  “That’s because he’s not your mother’s. He’s your father’s.”

  No.

  “Again, not possible. My parents have been together for—”

  “For a long time? Yes. Their love story is one of Rosewood’s greatest tales.”

  “Exactly, so how could Peter be my father’s then?” There’s no way, there’s just no way…

  Callan comes to sit beside me, exhaling another hesitant, trying breath. Very gently, he takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. That electricity, the burn that always passes between us when he touches me, it’s there—but no part of it is enjoyable in this moment. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  “Years before you were born, your father and his men ventured out into the human realm. While he was there, he met a mortal. One thing led to another and about a month after he returned, a coven of witches sent the Sacred Six a message. That message was to be passed to your father. Not that he did anything about it. I guess with Peter’s mother being so far, he assumed he’d never hear from her again. I’m sure he also assumed because she was a mortal, nothing could possibly result from their little rendezvous. I’m sure you can imagine his panic when the witches alerted him he was to be a father.”

  “He was to be a father.”

  A father to a child who wasn’t meant to exist.

  “How did Peter end up here then?” I still don’t want to believe any of this is true, and not for my father’s sake, but how could Hook have fabricated a story of this nature? One so detailed.

  So vile.

  He’s your brother, Tinksley.

  I nearly gag as the words slam into me again.

  “He didn’t for some time. Those same witches who sent the message kept an eye on little Peter over the years. Knowing he was of supernatural descent, they wanted to ensure their world was safe. And it was, at first, until he started growing older and his temper grew harder to control. There was only one thing that kept him grounded.”

  “And what was that?” I whisper.

  “A girl. A girl named Wendy Darlington.”

  ♫ It Will Rain - Bruno Mars ♫

  “Wendy?” The name leaves her mouth in another whi
sper, as if she’s savoring it, yet disgusted by it in the same hand.

  The color drained from her face the moment I blurted those three little words, but she grows more pale by the second. A sickly pale at that, tinged with green undertones. I’m almost tempted to bring her a rubbish bin in the event she feels the need to wretch.

  Which she very well might.

  And I may, too, if this conversation goes in the direction my gut screams its going.

  “Yes, his first love,” I reply, hating the universe for making me the bearer of bad news. Tinksley was always supposed to learn of this, at one point or another, but it wasn’t going to be me who brought it to light.

  Hell, her and I weren’t even supposed to be anything. Never thought we would be in a million years when all this first sprang about.

  Tinksley’s gaze focuses somewhere distant. “Did something happen to her?”

  “She was taken from him.”

  “Taken?”

  I nod despite her not even looking at me. “From what your father told me when he came to me for help, Peter’s mother, abruptly and completely out of the blue, began seeing Wendy’s father. Once things became serious between the two, and they advised Peter and Wendy that they needed to end things, Peter became an absolute menace. He killed her not long after that.”

  Her head snaps toward me then, mouth popping open. “He killed the girl he loved?”

  “No, he killed his mother.”

  “He killed…his mother?” she squeaks, prompting me to tip my head.

  A tense silence fills the room in a brisk whirl, nothing but the sound of her turbulent heart rate ringing in my ears. She rises slowly from her place beside me and begins mirroring my exact actions prior to dropping the surreptitious Peter-bomb.

  She’s pacing, one small foot in front of the other, hands clasped behind her back. Something that immediately worries me, putting me on high alert.

  “Explains how he was so willing and able to kill Aester.” A soft chortle leaves her, her head shaking side to side. “So let me make sure I’m following all of this correctly, because I’m still not understanding how he got here...From the sound of it, Peter’s my father’s bastard child—half mortal, half fae, yeah?”

  I nod.

  “He lived his life without said father, developed the typical Fae fire in his veins as he got older, met a girl who kept him level-headed, fell in love. Then his mother began seeing the girl’s dad, which in turn led Peter to killing his mother. I presume he triggered his Fae-side?”

  Another nod. “He did, which brings us back to the witches. Him unleashing that supernatural side of himself and committing such a grisly, unforgivable offense—something that would be brought to the public eye without proper explanation—is the exact reason why they crossed the portal to alert your father. He ventured back with them and took matters into his own hands. When he returned with Peter in tow, he went straight to the Sacred Six for help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “To subdue Peter’s Fae side.”

  “So subduing the Fae within made him immortal, too?”

  Fae’s can live almost eternally, based on how many souls they suck, yet they aren’t inherently immortal like vampires are. “No, that was the curse. His punishment for taking an innocent life was to live on and have to relive that moment for the rest of his life.”

  Her footing stalls, a flash of recognition marring her features. “The nightmares.”

  I hum in acknowledgement, regarding her with a keen eye. The fact she hasn’t completely lost her shit is disquieting, to say the least. Rising my hackles a bit more with every passing second.

  “So then his memories weren’t wiped? He remembered everything.”

  “That was your father’s stipulation. He was to keep quiet, to never speak a word of his past, otherwise he’d keep him locked away in the Hollow for eternity.”

  There’s more to it, but I doubt I need to relay such information to her. She knows what type of man her father is, what his kind does and what they’re capable of.

  “I’m assuming my mother doesn’t know about this?”

  Shaking my head, I lean forward onto my knees, clasping my hands together. “As of yet? No. He’s your father’s dirty little secret.”

  “I can’t believe this.” She brings her small hand to rub one of her temples. “All this time.”

  “I know it’s hard to—”

  Her small frame whirls in my direction. “Do you, though? Do you really?” Her tone is deathly soft. “Because you knew, Callan. You knew all of it. So did Persia and the rest of the coven, and no one ever said a word. No one warned me or my poor mother.”

  “In Persia’s defense, she wasn’t one of the Six at the time, none of the current witches were. Their elders still reigned—”

  “It doesn’t matter!” she snaps, arms blasting out at her sides. “The point is, they eventually came to know the truth, and just like the rest of you, none of you spoke a word of it. You all simply turned the other cheek and allowed me to fall for him! And for what? To keep my father’s ass covered?” Her eyes bore into me. “Do you realize how sick that is? You all knew he was my brother, that I was falling more in love with him each day, that I was letting him fuck me!”

  “No!” I’m on my feet, striding over to her. The ground may not be physically shaking, but I feel the tremors. “We didn’t know that, I swear it! Not at first anyway. Pan was told you were off limits.”

  Tinksley blanches anew, a hand snapping up to her chest, the other outstretching toward me. “Wait, he knew? Peter knew I was his sister all along?”

  My brows draw together. “Of course he did. From the moment you were born, your father made it clear he was to stay away from you. Hell, he didn’t even want Pan to look at you.”

  Panting, that hand at her chest creeps up her neck as she retreats further away from me, backing right into the dresser. “Oh my God. I’m literally going to be sick. I feel so goddamn disgusting right now!”

  “You’re not disgusting.” I inch toward her. “He is. He knew better than to do what he did.”

  Those beautiful pupils of hers flare at me. “So did you! You knew. Why didn’t you ever breathe a word of this to me?”

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  I feel my jaw twitch. “I couldn’t…”

  “You couldn’t?” Her head ticks, face contorting both dubiously and disgustedly. “Why?”

  Swallowing, I start for her again, hands restless with the need to feel her beneath them. “Because it went against the plan.”

  I watch the rest of the color that illuminates her skin drain from her face. “What plan?”

  “The plan the Council and I had in order.” I reach her, cage her against the dresser. Need to keep her here at all costs. Any space between us might make it easier for her to walk away and I can’t lose her.

  But I very well might, because it’s not just Peter’s truths that are coming to light. Mine are as well, and when she finds out, she’ll never look at me the same again.

  Palm to my chest, she tries pushing me back. “Spit it out, Hook. What was this plan?”

  “Kill Peter Pan,” I state, breaths coming short.

  Everything is slowly starting to crumbling right now.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised but what does that have to do with telling me, though?”

  Here we go. “When you befriended him, it sparked this idea. The island was timorous of Peter, your father and his kind were starving, and most of all, he was having trouble keeping Peter a secret from your mom. The man wanted to be set free, so I told him if he confessed his sins to your mother, I’d ask the Six to remove the boundary spell from the Hollow. I really had no intention of doing so—the Fae deserve eternal damnation, but I wanted your mother to know. Your father agreed as long as we figured out a way to kill Pan first. Worked out perfect because the only way to justify his death would be for the truth to come to light. The boy was never supposed to put hi
s hands on you or anything of that nature. We just figured that—”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re about to say what I think you’re going to say.”

  “You tell me,” I croak. “What are you thinking?”

  “That I was your way in. That I’d get closer to him, fall for him. He knew I was off-limits, so in the end, nothing ever would have come from me throwing my heart at him like a fool except heartbreak. And that’s when I’d learn this, everything you’re confessing right now, something so powerful and disturbing enough to trigger that Fae side of mine hanging delicately in the balance. I was your ultimate weapon just waiting to happen, and because Peter is my brother, Rosewood would see his death as just and well-deserved. They’d get what they wanted, too.”

  She’s too damn smart for her own good.

  I nod. “Essentially, yes.”

  “You’re all sick in the head.” Her eyes narrow, palms meeting my chest, shoving me backward with alarming force. “Sick in the fucking head, you know that!”

  “Tinksley, please—calm down.” I hold up my palms. “Let me explain. There’s more to this.”

  “Explain what? How you sat there for years, waiting for me to get my heart broken just so I could turn around and do the dirty work for you?” She sneers, holding a hand out to keep me away. “You know, nevermind you for a moment…What I really want to know is how my mother fits into all of this when she was lied to as well? She’s on the Council, yet she made my life a living hell, didn’t want me to even look upon Peter’s face. That doesn’t sound like a part of your ‘Kill Peter Pan’ plan. I can’t see how she’d agree to use me as a pawn when, without relation, there wasn’t a reason to kill Peter.”

  “Exactly, but she did agree ridding our land of his presence was best. So she agreed to a plan, it just wasn’t the plan.”

  God, this is bad.

  So fucking bad.

  I’m going to lose her.

  “Yes,” I continue with abraded breath. “She conceded to use you as our way in, since you were the only one who could get close to him, he didn’t allow anyone else near him because of how we all felt about him. Your mother only agreed under the condition that she and your father would always play the antagonizers between the two of you, force the boy’s hand at leaving you ‘because of your parents’. Then, in the midst of your heartbreak, the Council as a whole would covertly run him out of here. Her point was, Rosewood couldn’t question Peter just deciding to leave, right?”