Devour the Dark (Devourer #2)

11. Roc

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ROC

Once the dinner plates are cleared, and the others indulge in the dessert course, I saunter away from the room feeling disgruntled and still hungry despite the mountain of food I took down.

I open the door to the portside deck and the sea breeze wends in, tossing my hair in my face.

I rake it back as I head into the wind and find a folding deck chair open at the railing.

I sit and watch the stars move past.

This ship is faster than the Captain’s. We’ll be to Darkland in no time at all.

The thought makes my head pound.

Leaning back, boot propped on the deck railing, I close my eyes and revel in the cool saltiness of the ocean air.

“Here.”

I open my eyes. I didn’t even hear Vane approach.

There’s a wine glass in his hand, a swallow of blood pooling in the bottom.

“Dear brother, you shouldn’t have.”

“Take the fucking blood, Roc.”

I lose control of my monster and suddenly everyone is bossing me around.

The blood sloshes when I snatch the glass from Vane, then drink it down in one gulp. His blood has the bitterness of shadow but the sweet warmth of our monster. I never stopped to question whether or not more power—power from the Neverland Dark Shadow—would be another mistake made. I don’t have any room for hesitancy. Not now.

Vane drops into the chair beside me and folds his hands over his middle. “They’re going to find out eventually.”

“I know that.”

“Asha is…”

“Something else.”

Vane laughs. “She might be the most intuitive, intelligent person I’ve ever met.”

“She’s trouble.”

He laughs again and looks over at me. “Are you scared of her?”

“Slightly.” I smile. “Don’t tell.”

The silence stretches another moment.

“Did you scrub your existence from the archives?”

It’s dark out here on the deck. We’re sailing into midnight and only a glass lantern glows further down the deck. But even in the darkness, I can make out my brother’s face. We have the same Maddred jawline, sharp and arrogant, the same noble nose that we inherited from our mother, the same dark brow. But his face is marred by scars. Mine is as handsome as ever.

When I don’t answer him directly, he finds the answer himself. “Why?” he asks.

“I didn’t want to be defined by what we are. I wanted to be defined by who I actually am.”

“We are the monster and the monster is us. There is no separation between the two.”

“Isn’t there? You haven’t shifted in years. You’re less and less monster every day.”

He snorts. “I still feel it sometimes slinking beneath the surface. Some days, I wake up dreaming of blood.”

Laughter sounds in the dining room behind us, then the clinking of a glass.

I pull a cigarette from the pouch and offer Vane one. I light his first, then mine.

The sea air catches the smoke and shoots it across the deck.

With an exhale, I look over at Vane. “Did you ever think about going back to Darkland?”

“No. I didn’t have a reason to return. Neverland is my home now.”

“And your Darling girl?”

He keeps his gaze on the moonlit horizon, but I don’t think he’s looking at the ocean. “After Lainey, I didn’t think I’d love anything ever again. Win taught me otherwise.”

“This is the moment where I’m supposed to say something profound. Where I’m to remind you that the heart mends.”

He glances over at me, the burning cigarette trapped between his knuckles. “But you won’t. Because you don’t believe it.”

I sigh and take another hit. “Wendy and the Captain…”

“You’re holding them at arm’s length just like you did me. I know what you’re doing. You don’t have to try to find words to explain it because I already know you’re going to downplay it. You want to be happy again? Grab them by the shirt and embrace them. And don’t ever let go.”

I search for a joke, something to deflect.

But words escape me.

I take a hit instead and then flick the spent cigarette over the railing into the ocean.

My exhale is heavy and smoke-laden.

“I never would have expected to receive relationship advice from you.”

“And I never expected you to be fucking Hook and yet…”

I shrug. “What can I say? I have a thing for mouthy pirates.”

He stands up and flicks his cigarette too, blowing out the last breath of smoke before opening the door. “I’m going to bed. You’ll be good for blood for the rest of the night?”

“I think so.”

“If you need me, come find me. Don’t risk it.”

“Yes, father.”

“Shut the fuck up. Just listen to me for once.” He disappears back inside, shutting the door behind him.

I stay on the deck longer, enjoying the night breeze.

When I come back in, I find the dining room empty save for Wendy. She’s nursing the last of a glass of wine.

“I waited for you,” she tells me and then laughs.

“Are you drunk?”

“I think so.”

“Where’s the Captain?”

“Apparently he heard the deck crew was having trouble with a sail or knot or something, so he?—”

“Couldn’t help himself.”

“Precisely.”

She laughs again and raises the glass to her lips.

I quickly snatch it from her grip and drink it back.

“Roc! That’s mine.”

The wine is dry and sweet. If I had to guess, it’s a blend from Summerland. The berries grow fat and juicy on their vines.

“And now it’s mine.” I set the glass down. “You’ve had enough. Come.” I offer her my hand. She scowls at me.

“I was once a queen, you know. I don’t have to take orders from you.”

My hand hangs between us.

I wait. I can be patient.

She doesn’t have to take my orders, but she will. Just like with the Captain, I give them orders, they obey. It’s the natural order of things.

She gives in, slipping her hand into mine.

On her feet, the ocean rises carrying the ship with it, and Wendy careens into my side. I wrap my arm around her, steadying her against my hip. She’s warm and tiny in my grip, but she’s not small. She’s got all the right curves for my hands to roam, my tongue to paint.

When we were together, it was the Captain I was fucking. It’s been many, many moons since I’ve felt Wendy Darling wrapped around my cock.

“Off to bed with you.”

“With me? Or with you?” She gazes up at me, eyes glassy in the flickering lamplight.

“I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

“Then let me take advantage of you .”

“Naughty, naughty Darling girl.”

I lead her down the hall to her room. A kerosene lamp is lit on her bedside table, casting deep shadows in her room. The bed is turned down. This ship, the Hannah Maria, is no royal ship, but they treat it like one, and I feel right at home.

Wendy stumbles into the room and starts unbuttoning her shirt. I remain in the open doorway, caught between temptation and good taste. The witch has been quiet since Vane shared his blood, but I can still feel her prowling in the darkness, urging me to sink into indecency.

“Wendy Darling,” I warn.

“I’m not as drunk as you’d think.” She slips out of the shirt, leaving her in leather trousers and a lace camisole, the thin material a whisper over her breasts, more a suggestion of clothing than actual clothing.

She takes a step toward me, the flickering lamp light dancing over her skin, highlighting the goosebumps running down her arms.

I meant what I said earlier, that I wanted to fuck her to show her she’s mine. But every step she takes, I feel less and less like I’m the one in charge, and instead like the one being hunted.

She leans against the wall and arches her back a little so her breasts press against the camisole.

I shift directly across from her in the narrow hall leading into her bedroom. We are inches apart now, face to face.

“I have to tell you a confession,” she says, her voice low.

“Go on.”

“I am jealous.”

“I know.”

Her arms come up over her chest as if she means to shrink in size, to hide in plain sight. She’s bearing her soul and cannot stand bearing her body at the same time.

“Do you remember what you told me? Why you took James’s hand?”

I don’t like talking about my single greatest regret.

“Yes,” I answer.

She waits, then huffs out, clearly expecting me to parrot the answer back to her. But I won’t.

“You said you cut off his hand because his hand touched what was yours.”

“You,” I supply.

“Yes.”

“What are you getting at, Your Majesty?”

“Did you ever have feelings for me? Or was it just a game? Was I just property to claim?”

So we’re going down that road.

“I could ask you the same. Back on Neverland, you leapt from my bed to the Captain’s with very little restraint. And in the end, you chose neither of us. So is it wrong of us to find solace in one another?”

She scowls up at me, her arms tighter over her chest. “Solace. You fight him at every turn.”

“Because I like it when he gets bratty. What are you getting at?” I repeat.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to be jealous. I want you to reassure me. I want you to tell me that I’m not just a bonus piece of candy, that I’m something more than a chess piece, a game to be won and?—”

I close the rest of the distance between us, hook my hands beneath her thighs and hoist her up into my arms, slamming her against the wall.

She lets out a startled little gasp, but I swallow it with my mouth, tasting her wholly and completely with my mouth, my tongue, my fucking soul.

If she wants to doubt my intentions, I will show her instead.

She moans into me, wiggling her center against my crotch.

The heat of her pussy is impossible to ignore.

“Tell me,” she says between gasps. “Promise me.”

“I am moved by very little, Wendy Darling.” I sink to her jawline, kissing down her neck. “I wouldn’t have crossed an ocean to find you if you were nothing more than a game.”

“Do you love us both?”

I nip at her ear and she hisses.

“I don’t know if I’m capable of love anymore.”

My brother’s advice replays in my head.

But I don’t want to think about love. Or contemplate the consequences of losing what is loved.

I just want to feel.

Pleasure and lust and temptation are close enough and I know pleasure like I know the sunlight. It’s familiar and warm and I don’t have to worry about it abandoning me. It’s always there.

I let my tongue trail down the sensitive flesh beneath Wendy’s ear and she wriggles in my grip. “Whatever I’m capable of, you will have it. That’s my promise.”

With her fingers threaded through my hair, she pulls my mouth back up to hers and kisses me. Her tongue is warm and soft and I sink into her.

“I’m not drunk. Enough ,” she adds between gasps. “Fuck me.”

Legs wrapped around my hips, I turn her away from the wall and carry her to the bed, dropping her onto the mattress. The bed bounces. Wendy fights with the button on her trousers as I yank off her boots, then grip the pants by the cuffs.

I yank them from her legs and toss them aside.

She rocks up on her knees and takes a fistful of my shirt, tearing upward, pulling it over my head.

When my chest is bare, she runs her hands down my pecs, then my abs, her wet lips trailing behind the caress of her fingers.

I hang my head back and breathe out, eyes closed.

Her touch is soft but electric. The touch of a feather and a lightning bolt.

My stomach tightens, and the pressure sinks to my cock.

I want to descend into the feel of her.

Her mouth grazes over my crotch where I strain against the material.

I straighten and look down, meeting her doe eyes.

She isn’t innocent. She never was. I think someone once told her she needed to be, that to be a lady, she must be chaste and innocent. But there isn’t an innocent bone in Wendy Darling’s body. The sooner she learns that, the sooner she will be free.

I undo the latch on my belt and yank it from the belt loops with a yank, the leather snapping.

She undoes the button, the zipper, then frees me.

“Fuck,” I hiss out.

She strokes me from base to tip, then sits forward on her knees, circling me with the soft pad of her tongue.

I won’t last. I won’t fucking last.

Hand buried in her hair, I guide her over the length of my cock. She moans against me, the hum sending shockwaves through my gut.

Maybe this is love. Maybe love is the same as worship.

We could all learn a thing or two on our knees.

When precum leaks from my dick, Wendy pulls back and swipes the tip of her tongue over it.

She may be the one in a position of supplication, but she holds the power over me. She always did.

She’s worried I don’t want her, not as much as the Captain, but I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

I would cross not one ocean but a realm for her.

I coax her around to all fours and cover her backside with my body. My cock presses into her damp panties and she moans beneath me.

“Get up to the headboard,” I order and she crawls up the length of the bed, placing her hands on the carved spindles.

I can smell her desire permeating the air.

With her back bent, I slip my hand up between her thighs, then around the seam of her panties to her soaking wet cunt.

Her moan is loud and high-pitched.

I slide up to her clit and make slow, deliberate circles.

Her ass sinks back, her body making an S curve, her hands still locked on the headboard.

Her breathing is shallow and fast.

I sense her cresting the edge.

Not yet.

I tear the delicate material of her panties from her body, exposing her pussy and sink my cock into her slick, warm wetness.