Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
WENDY
I ’m not sure what hurts worse—knowing deep down that my brothers will be happier without me in the world, or knowing that this last time I fall, Peter’s arms won’t be waiting to catch me.
My stomach drops as I plummet, the dark waves lashing underneath me, suddenly no longer as peaceful as they appeared just a moment ago. I realize too late that what I mistook for invitation was actually just hunger.
I’m about to loose a scream when warm arms envelop me. The scent of amber and pine strikes me just as the waves splash against my bare feet. Before I can think of what to do, my body reacts, curling into the firm and familiar chest.
“This game isn’t nearly as fun to play by oneself, Wendy Darling,” says a voice so familiar it makes me ache.
“Peter.” I shut my eyes against his chest, memorizing the feel of him against my clutching hands, the press of his weight against my palms. Steady pulses of air bat at my cheeks, his wings maintaining our position close to the waves, below the view of the deck.
Tears pour from my cheeks and into his shirt, and I have to swallow the sobs lest we be overheard by the crew on deck.
“Did you miss me, then?” he asks, so playfully I get the urge to slap him. Or maybe that’s just from how quickly I become irritated now that I don’t have the faerie dust to calm me. When I peer up at him, I expect to see his beautiful blue eyes, but of course, that’s foolishness. The Sister forces him to morph into his shadow form when he visits anywhere other than Neverland, and though he can take a solid form by touching me, it takes time for him to regain complete control over his shadow self.
What I get aren’t the cool but kind blue eyes that I’m hoping for, but cruelly amused black pits, looking to devour me.
My heart hammers, my panic dissipating and giving way to the betrayal that’s been tearing me apart the past few days. “You gave me away.”
I mean it as an accusation, but it comes out more pitiful than that.
“Is that why you decided to take a plunge?” Peter tsks. “Really, you should consider bolstering your emotional fortitude.”
Sparks flare within me. Peter’s one to scold me about my emotional fortitude, when he has the option of not feeling the most unpleasant of them. But I swallow my anger. It’s no use anyway, not when this version of Peter isn’t him.
Not when the version of Peter I love isn’t really him either.
“When we get back, please don’t tell John about this,” I say.
“I won’t,” Peter muses. He smirks, then with a beat of his wings, pushes me up against the hull of the boat and presses his mouth to mine.
Dizziness overwhelms me at the way he claims me with his lips. “You came,” I say, my voice almost lost under the hunger of his kiss. “I thought you wouldn’t come for me.”
Peter responds with a playful bite at my ear. “I’ll always come for what’s mine.”
“As much as I’m enjoying this,” I say, nudging my head up against the side of the boat and blushing. “We’d better leave before they realize I’m gone.”
Peter brushes my hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “You know I can’t do that.”
My heart stops in my chest. “But—”
“I wanted to see you. Make sure he hadn’t touched you. He hasn’t touched you, has he?”
I shake my head.
“Good,” Peter says. “And it’s a good thing I came too. What had you despairing, my Darling pet?”
My throat hurts, still reeling from the disappointment that Peter didn’t come to take me away. Though now that the adrenaline of the past few moments has subsided, I understand why. Peter made a binding bargain with Astor. He might be able to bend the rules by visiting me, but he can’t whisk me out of Astor’s clutches.
“There was a woman on deck,” I say, though even as the words come out, I recognize how strange they are. “She knew about…” I catch myself, remembering I haven’t yet told Peter about the parlor. I doubt it would deter him from wanting to marry me, but now isn’t exactly the time. “Some things from my past. And she told me that John and Michael were safer without me. I don’t…I don’t know how she knew. Or why I even believed her.” Panic rises in my chest as the gravity of what I’d almost done slams into me. “Peter, Peter, if you hadn’t been here…” My lungs tighten, and I can’t breathe.
Peter’s inky eyes examine mine. “When was the last time you had faerie dust?”
I blink. “Astor cut me off. It was awful for a few days, but it’s out of my system now.”
Peter nods. “It wasn’t a woman on deck with you. It was a wraith.”
I frown. “I thought you said wraiths were made when someone experiences pain strong enough that the nearby shadows drink it up and come to life. If that’s so, why did she know about…Oh.” My jaw works. “When we left Neverland, it felt like I was being ripped in half. I guess that was my end of the Mating Mark knowing we were being separated. That’s why her voice seemed so familiar, but not. The wraith came from me…from my pain.”
Finally finding logic, I school myself not to expect Peter’s pity. Not when he can’t feel pain, and especially not when his eyes are still inked over. “Peter,” I say, meaning to tell him that I know what the Sister cursed him with. Before I can get the rest of my sentence out, he puts a hand over my mouth and nods toward the deck. I can’t hear anything, but his ears swivel, homing in, so I assume someone is nearby.
After a moment, he takes his hand from my mouth. Before I can resume, he plucks a pouch from his pocket and tucks it into my hands. My heart skids to a stop.
“I want you to ration this for yourself,” he says. “I’m limited in the time I can come keep an eye on you. I have to time my visits around the Sister’s errands so she doesn’t grow suspicious. I don’t want any wraiths convincing you to off yourself while I’m gone.”
I open my mouth to protest, to tell him I don’t have the self-control to ration it for myself, but already my mouth is watering. I can almost taste the honeysuckle flavor on my tongue. Almost feel the pain being washed away for a moment.
“Now,” says Peter, tucking me against the hull again, and pressing his mouth into the crook underneath my jaw. “Where were we?”
Sparks go off in my head, but it’s short-lived, because above us something rustles on deck.
“Did I ask where you last saw her? Or did I ask where she is ?” Astor’s voice booms from above.
Peter lets out a quiet groan of annoyance against my neck, then presses his finger against his mouth, his other hand still firmly steadying my waist against him.
My heart races, not so much that the captain will catch us—Peter’s not foolish enough to get caught. But I anticipate Peter’s gentle ascent before his wings even beat us upward. The path he courses around the curve of the hull, his ears locating the footsteps of the shouting crew members on deck, searching for me. They’re no match for his stealth, and I spend my last few moments in his arms drinking in the scent of amber and pine, trying to memorize it before it flees my mind for good. Before I’m left with nothing more than a fading memory.
When Peter deposits me on deck, he doesn’t waste time with a goodbye kiss. He disappears into the shadows so quickly, I’m left wondering if I imagined it all. If his appearance was nothing more than the ravings of an addict, the same one who believed her own wraith.
My heart aches. Not just from my separation from Peter, but the knowledge of how easily I’d let the part of me that hates myself talk me over the edge. I’d almost left John grieving his sister, Michael without an understanding of why I never came back for him.
It feels like the moment after you almost caused a tragic accident, yet were subverted by something equally as coincidental. Like almost stepping into the street and being distracted by a flittering sparrow, only to realize had you not delayed to marvel at it, the carriage rounding the corner would have trampled you.
My legs tremble violently, and I have to sink onto the nearest crate, cradling my face in my palms as I shake.
“Cap’n, she’s over here!” someone cries. I don’t bother to lift my head and look at his face. It doesn’t really matter who found me. It’s not as if I ever left.
Astor comes barreling over, though I actually do look at him. He’s heaving. It’s only when he lays eyes on me that his shoulders sag in relief. His sharp eyes rake over me. “You’re wet,” is all he says.
For a moment, I’m confused. Peter caught me before I hit the water, but as I glance down, sure enough, the hem of my trousers is soaked. I didn’t realize how close I’d been to the water swallowing me. “They’re too long, and the deck is soaked. Maybe if you actually found me some trousers that fit.”
Astor glares at me, suspicion all over his face. But he doesn’t contradict me. “You could have called out. Unless I’m mistaken, you’re not deaf. Surely you heard the crew shouting for you.”
I stare up at Astor and give him the blankest expression I can muster. “You tracked me down all the way to Neverland. I figured it would be no trouble to find me on your own ship.”
Astor presses his lips together. “You’re shaking.”
It’s warm, even at night, so I can’t blame it on the cold. “I’m told addicts do that sometimes,” I say.
Addicts. The word hurts coming out of my throat. But it’s no use trying to deny what I am. Not when I sense the lover’s touch of Peter’s sachet of faerie dust at my hip, hidden between my rolled trouser waistband and my belly.
If Astor was considering punishing me, he must decide better of it, because he opens his mouth, then immediately clamps it down. When he finally speaks, his voice is all business. Before he walks away, I think I hear him murmur, “I’ll get someone to hem your pants.”