by Dee Garcia
I’d say this place is beautiful and majestic, but I’m too exhausted after the journey to care, my legs weak despite being carried the last couple of miles, emotions stirring at an all-time high.
Tinksley scoffs, her small hand wrapping around my arm once more. “I think not. She’s not a guest, my love.”
The two of them exchange a look, one I’m not privy to other than it’s obviously regarding me. She’s not a guest. My blood runs ice cold at what that could possibly mean. Not that I didn’t know this, of course, but is this the part where they kill me?
Or are they, perhaps, going to torture me first?
“About time you made it back,” a man’s voice resounds suddenly, drawing me away from my inner thoughts.
My head snaps toward the source of the sound, somewhere on my right, where I find him strolling out of a room.
He’s tall and lean, dark hair, the perfect amount of scruff dusting his jaw. He seems quite elegant, too, his torso encased in a white dress shirt and gray pinstripe vest. What he doesn’t appear to be, in this realm or any other?
Friendly.
“Unlike you, we had a pesky little man-child to take care of, remember?” Hook says to the man.
His lips quirk as they exchange the typical back-slapping man hug, but it’s not remotely close to an actual smile. I do note, though, that his brown eyes soften a smidge as he flicks his gaze on Tinksley.
“Problem solved?” he asks her.
Tinksley smirks and proceeds to open her ebony coat, enough to reveal the various blood splatters bedecking her pale skin. “I’d say so, yes.”
The man hums in approval, then slowly shifts his focus my way. A small gasp shoots free from my mouth at his inquisitive stare, an ill shiver rattling its way down my spine. My heart rate picks up, too, hands balling into fists at my sides for some sort of purchase.
“I take it that this is Pan’s little plaything?” he queries, head cocking aside.
Tinksley chuckles, releasing me in nothing short of disgust. “Plaything, no. The wench he loved before and after me, yes. Armand, this is Wendy Darlington. Wendylocks, this is Armand Cadeau.”
Introduction or not, I don’t speak a word. Neither does he. He simply stares, pupils dilating with every passing moment.
Is he one of them, too?
I keep waiting to see those demonic black veins ripple beneath his eyes, but they never come. Instead, he reaches out a hand, nearly jolting me out of my own skin in the process.
“Smee might like her,” he muses, twirling a finger around a singular lock of my hair.
I’m trying not to react any more than I already have, but I find myself shivering beneath his feather-light touch nonetheless.
Hook laughs softly and I’m not sure if it’s spurred from my reaction or Armand’s. “Mmm, yes, well—too bad she isn’t here for Samuel.”
“Might be for the best anyway. Sam seems to still be caught up in his little witchy drama. She might be more Kaz and Malik’s speed. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind sharing her.”
Sharing her?
What the hell is he—
“She’s not here for any of you,” Tinksley clarifies, capturing not only my attention, but Armand’s as well. “Though, I don’t particularly care what you do with her, if you can do me a favor, that is.”
At that, he eases back, dark brow arched in question. “And what would that be?”
“Take her downstairs.”
Given how his expression darkens, I know this can’t be good, not by any means. My mouth pops open, sheer milliseconds from protesting against any such thing, when Tinksley shakes her head, lifting a finger to her lips.
“Silence, remember? For your own good.”
Panic seizes me, eyes widening in realization. They really are going to kill me. That, or whatever awaits me downstairs includes all the things meant to torture me to my death.
“Please don’t do this,” I plead, hoping the vulnerable woman in me will somehow speak to the woman—one that’s had to have been vulnerable at least once—in her.
But it doesn’t do much of anything.
She shakes her head again, right as Armand’s hand wraps around my arm. “Just cooperate and all will be well, little Wendy.”
What does that even mean?
I have cooperated, since before she and Hook hurled me out the window and across the portal with them. Aside from the few screams that threatened to break free, I stood there helpless in Hook’s grip as they interrogated us, as he fed off me, as Tinksley murdered the man I love in cold blood right before my very eyes.
“What does that even mean?” The question slips past my lips of its own accord, but Armand’s already whisked me off, leading me down a long, dimly lit corridor.
He doesn’t answer me, either, stare trained straight ahead.
“Where are we going?” I’m more frantic now, stomach roiling in full-blown trepidation.
“You heard her.” His voice is deathly quiet. “Downstairs.”
“What’s downstairs?”
No answer, none other than the red flags whipping around in my mind.
Where they’re going to torment you. Where they’ll leave you to bleed out and rot. Just. Like. Peter. No one will hear your screams. No one will care. You’ll die there, alone, Wendy. Forgotten, erased...
“Why are they doing this?” It’s almost a sob now, tears blurring my vision anew.
Heart thrashing.
Knees weak.
This can’t be how I die.
Armand only half shrugs, his grip on my arm tightening a smidge and, still, he doesn’t look at me. “I’m as clueless as you are, sweetheart. Just following orders.”
There’s probably another dozen questions I could throw at him in my desperation, but it’s clear he’s not going to supply me with any answers, even if he weren’t as clueless as he claims to be.
So, I let it go, choking on every last one as we continue on down the hallway. Idly, I notice some of its architecture, mostly the dark, rich wooden paneling and all its carved detailing, but it’s nothing more than a fleeting, listless distraction from my racing thoughts.
Eventually, we come to a halt at a tall, steel door. The mere sight of it locks my throat tight, more so when this mysterious, formidable man pulls it open and motions for me to tread before him.
In the dark.
With absolutely no knowledge of where I’m going other than down.
Gulping, I nod as surely as I can manage and take the steps cautiously one at a time, my hand flattening against the rough wall for support. They’re bricks or perhaps another coarse stone, but I don’t fully grasp what exactly I’m touching until the enclosed staircase begins curving in what feels like a never-ending spiral to hell. The sudden damp and humid ambiance sure adds to that perception, too.
How I make it to the very bottom without stumbling and breaking my neck in my anxious state, I’ll never know, but when the soles of my ballet flats touch down on the ground, I breathe a momentary sigh of relief.
Momentary being the operative word.
The second my eyes adjust to the sliver of moonlight casting in from these small rectangular windows, iron bars covering their length like a cell, all the air just about leaves my lungs.
That’s when I see the shackles chained to the walls, the few bolted to the concrete floors as well. There isn’t anyone else down here but it’s obvious this was a dungeon at some point in time, and simply imagining what’s gone down here leaves me weak in the knees all over again.
I feel like I’m about to collapse, the world around me going from steady to a slow spin in a mere blink, but a strong hand keeps me upright.
“Please don’t,” I whimper.
I have absolutely no idea what he plans to do, if anything at all considering Tinksley told him he could do whatever he wanted, but I’m scared shitless.
I just want to go home.
Wanting and wishing to go home, though, isn’t magically going to get me out
of here. I can’t simply tap my heels together and say the magic words like Dorothy. This isn’t a movie. Some uber strong, brute hero isn’t coming to save me, either.
No, this right here is all me, the time to prove to myself that I can, in fact, be brave.
Think, Wendy, quick. He’s going to chain you to that damn wall if you don’t.
I’m racking my brain, trying to figure out something, anything, that could possibly persuade him otherwise as he drags me along, when it hits me.
The one and only weapon I have in my arsenal.
I’ve used it more times than I can count, more than I should be proud of by society's standards, but truthfully, I have no shame.
And why should I? I know I’m what men deem beautiful, and I’m not saying that in a conceited, self-absorbed fashion. I’ve looked in the mirror plenty of times and I’m well aware of what reflects back at me. Long, dark hair, sky-blue eyes, defined cheeks and full lips women would gladly pay money for. My tits have always been considered the perfect handful and they’re still perky, too. I work out to keep my waist thin and my arse plump.
So yes, I’m about to play that card, because although I don't know exactly what type of man Armand is, at the end of the day, he’s still a man.
“Please don’t,” I try again, placing emphasis on the whimper that follows. “Please, Armand. I’ll do whatever you want.”
We stop somewhere in the middle of the room, at least I think it’s the middle. The obscurity is screwing with me. All I know is, he whips me around and bores into me with those dark eyes, the upper half of his face highlighted by an incandescent ray of the moon.
“Define anything.” He backs me into the stoned wall with slow, precise steps.
That predatory vibe he’s giving off, one so similar to Hook’s, sends another shiver down my spine, but I force myself to breathe through it. He hasn’t displayed any true characteristics of a vampire as of yet, meaning I shouldn't be jumping to conclusions.
No matter how dire my situation may be.
I need to keep my wits about me.
“Name your price,” I breathe.
His arms cage me in, head cocking aside to regard me at eye level, bobbing my throat through a harsh swallow.
I won’t lie, he’s quite handsome, a fact that makes this easier—and more exciting—for me to execute.
“What are you offering?” he counters.
Reaching up, I hook both thumbs beneath the thin straps of my pale blue nightie and slip them off my shoulders. The silky material gives away, pooling at my feet, leaving me in nothing but a thin set of matching panties.
My nipples pucker from the sudden exposure, from his proximity and his wandering stare, too—because yes, his stare is already wandering, trailing down the valley of my breasts and every inch of fair skin now available for him to scrutinize.
Armand then scoffs a laugh through his nose, a devilish smirk hiking up one corner of his mouth. “Your kind of wench is the most dangerous, did you know that?”
I can’t even help the way my brow quips in curiosity. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Stunningly beautiful with a modest, almost mousey-like demeanor. You’re the most dangerous kind, almost like a tamed siren.”
“What’s a siren?”
Shaking his head, he steps all the more closer. “Not important, little Wendy,” he coos, a smooth palm falling to my bare hip as the tip of his nose ghosts up my neck.
“Then what is?” My eyes fall shut as I give into every appeasing sensation.
“The fact that threw yourself on a plate like a tempting sliver of cake to the rabid vampire with the most insatiable sweet tooth.”
My eyes snap open.
The horrified sound of my gasp bounces off the dank walls.
And the last thing I remember before feeling the life drain from my veins is the fact that I couldn’t even so much as scream before his fangs punctured my skin.
♫ Man or a Monster -
Sam Tinnesz feat. Zayde Wolf ♫
The ground is cool, damp beneath my paws from the slight temperature drop of nightfall. Crisp air whips past my face as the pack and I race through the Woodlands from the beach. It’s fairly late after we bullshitted out there for hours, downing two bottles of whiskey for Niko’s birthday.
That’s all we needed to celebrate, really—and a bonfire, of course. Some of the girls from town joined us, along with some of the tribe’s most eligible females. They weren’t around for long, though, leaving us to drink and share a good laugh until the moon peaked on our own.
I skid to a stop at the top of the last hill, nails digging into the terrain as I scope out one last look at the ocean and its broad horizon behind me. Another light gust of wind billows past me, rolling in with the tide. I don’t know why it feels like something is coming, but it sends me in a full sprint to catch up with my boys.
The Lost Boys.
They’re only a mile up or so, scattered through the trees in the same formation as always.
Levi and Soren lead the way. Those two have eyes and ears of gold. They may not strike as aggressively as Cortez and Niko, but they can sense an attack or any threatening factor before the others even have to react. Talon and Elias, in turn, flank them. They’re just as vicious, if not more so given their prestigious and quite uncommon lineage.
And me? I hang back.
At the very back.
Why?
Because a true Alpha doesn’t just lead his pack. He watches out for them and protects them at all times, too. And from back here, I can see them all, keep an eye on things. If a sudden change in direction were needed, all I’ll have to do is howl an order and we’ll be back on track, ready for whatever comes our way.
Teamwork at its finest.
Rosewood may call us The Lost Boys, more them than me, but we’re a family despite it all. Who they are, where they’re from, what they’ve done—none of it matters. Everyone has a past.
When the trees begin to grow more sparse, I know we’re close to the preservation. On those grounds is where my ancestors roam free, where their spirits sing and soar the loudest. Treasured pieces of them, their weathered teepees included, adorn the lush terrain, reminding us that, although their physical forms no longer roam these plains, they’re always with us.
It’s for this reason, the boys and I always slow down here. We tread through its sacred expanse with reverent steps, scoping the surroundings for anyone who shouldn’t be lurking here, those bloodsuckers especially.
Last time I caught a few of them out here, they almost didn’t make it home.
Once we clear the last fifty feet, we pick up the pace once more, sprinting in full force all the way home. But Soren and Levi suddenly stop short, causing a domino effect to roll throughout. Cortez and Niko pump the brakes, then Talon and Elias with me right behind them. Soren, my beta, yelps a sharp bark and comes trotting over to me, his copper head swinging somewhere behind him to the tight thicket not far from the edge of our village.
Over there, he channels me as our stares interlock, sudden movement, a disappearing flash of light. Like someone evanesced.
Better not be what I think it is, that’s all I’m saying.
Nodding, I motion toward our grounds, get to your posts. I’ll check it out.
Soren lets out a deep, guttural huff, signaling the pack to follow him. They do, without question, scampering off in different directions on his command, each one of them low to the ground. Even Niko, whose snow-white fur can usually be seen for miles, somehow blends into the obscurity.
As soon as they’re out of sight, I head in the direction my right-hand advised, ears peeled for the slightest sound, scenting everything in my path. I’m not catching wind of anything until a twig snaps just a few yards away. Almost immediately, a warning growl builds deep in my chest, canines exposed beneath a snarl. The thick, ebony fur lining my spine prickles at attention.
“It’s me, it’s me,” a voice I recognize whispers.
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From behind a broad Oak, my sister slinks out of hiding, palms raised. My eyes narrow upon seeing her out here—she knows better than this—my legs carrying me over to her regardless. Tigerlily sinks to her knees and reaches out for me, running a gentle hand along the top of my head.
What are you doing out here at this time? I ask her.
She may not have been gifted the shifter gene, but relation allows her to channel me, much in the same way the pack can.
Only me, though. She can’t communicate with the rest of them unless they’re in their human forms.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she explains, fingers running through my coat. “So I went for a walk.”
And yet, as I said, she knows better than this.
Huffing a quick yet purposeful growl, I headbutt her palm. Pa would be furious if he knew. You know you’re not supposed to be out here alone, Lil. Hook could decide at any moment in time that you’re no longer free and—
Tigerlily laughs, her head shaking certainly. “Hook’s not going to revoke my freedom, Tavi. Chill out, okay? Trust me, I’m good out there.”
I don’t trust him.
She chuckles again. “Knew that already.”
So why do you?
“Because his word is genuine. Let’s go home, yeah?” She’s averting, it’s obvious, leaving me to wonder why.
What is she hiding?
I cast my glance to the coppice behind her, focusing my sights in the darkness. Soren mentioned he saw a flash of movement, an ability my very normal and very mortal sister does not possess.
Meaning she couldn’t have been out here alone.
So who was it?
Tigerlily stormed right into the house the second we got here. I don’t think she meant to slam her bedroom door while she was at it, but she did nonetheless. The fact Pa hasn’t come out to check what all the ruckus is about tells me he’s in one of his deep sleeps. That, or Aiyana is keeping him company.
Either way, my sister seems to have lucked out for now, but if she gets her ass chewed out in the morning, it’ll be no one’s fault but her own. Dad and I have told her close to a million times since she was released that she’s not to leave alone.
