Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
WENDY
P eter knew Astor’s wife.
That information shouldn’t shock me. I knew that Peter and Astor were acquainted. It stands to reason that Peter would have known Astor’s wife as well.
So why does that knowledge bother me so?
Perhaps it’s what the knowledge implies about Peter’s age that unsettles me. I’ve never asked him his age. Deep down, I probably knew he was older than he looked. I’d gotten the impression that the Lost Boys hadn’t aged since being transported to Neverland. It stands to reason that the same would apply to Peter. If he was close friends with Astor and Iaso, he’s likely in his mid-thirties as well.
How he’s managed to evade the curse that made the fae mortal, I don’t know.
There’s a lot about Peter I don’t seem to know.
Perhaps this new information is just another reminder that I’ve only scraped the surface of who Peter is. There’s so much left to discover about my Mate, so much he hasn’t told me. Not that I can blame him. Our relationship has been a bit of a whirlwind—a lovely, exhilarating whirlwind.
But now that the whirlwind is over, I’m afraid to open my eyes and witness the destruction in its path. Afraid to gaze upon that which I chose to ignore when I was wrapped up in the sky.
Still, I remind myself this new information isn’t a reason to distrust Peter. As much as a thorn pricked at my heart when Maddox told me such a tender part of Peter’s childhood, one that he hadn’t shared with me—that he, Astor, and Iaso grew up together—it’s not as if this changes who Peter is. Iaso is dead, and if Peter knew her for years, it would make sense that he’d have little motivation to bring her up.
And it’s not as if I don’t have painful parts of my past that I’ve kept from Peter. No, not kept—held onto for later.
Granted, Peter doesn’t feel pain, so it’s possible that he doesn’t even register the importance of sharing that kind of intimate detail with me. I’m not sure if that’s comforting or unsettling.
I’ve already opened the door to the captain’s room before my brain can process the shuffling sound coming from inside.
When I left Maddox in the hallway, my feet carried me back here, my mind buzzing. Not only did the news of Peter’s childhood friendship with the Astors rattle me, I’m also invigorated by the idea that I’m so much closer to freeing Peter of his curse than I ever would have thought possible after being taken captive on Captain Astor’s ship. Sure, I’m nervous about impersonating a woman I’ve never met, but that’s a small anxiety to pay for what’s before me.
I’ve been visualizing it, playing coy on Captain Astor’s arm while we siphon information out of the faceless but extravagant Carlisles.
Perhaps that’s why I don’t think before I barge into the captain’s rooms.
Well, he’s not naked. So I have that to be thankful for. But he’s clearly just gotten out of the bath, his black hair slick like it’s wet with dew, his tanned skin red from the hot water someone must have fetched him from the ship’s boilers. A towel’s wrapped around his waist, but that only slightly soothes the embarrassment. Astor’s cheeks heat. With anger or embarrassment or a mixture, I’m unsure.
I just stand there like an idiot. Instead of averting my eyes like a respectable person, I fixate on the scar on his chest, just over his heart. It looks as though he was burned once, deeply enough that even his fae magic couldn’t rid him of the imprint.
“If you came to ogle me, you’re not doing a very good job of it. I recommend the rotted hole between the slats to the door’s left if you’d like to get a better view next time.”
I bite the corner of my lip. The captain’s tone isn’t exactly warm and teasing. “I didn’t mean to…”
“You didn’t mean to barge into my room?”
“I didn’t mean to catch you after… Well, I didn’t think. My feet just carried me back here. I wasn’t thinking…” I stop myself, then dig my feet into the ground. “No. You’re the one who shackled me to your bedpost. Where else was I supposed to go when this is where I’ve been sleeping?”
“Anywhere, so long as it’s away from me. Forgive me, I should have anticipated you’d wish to return to your chains.”
I close my eyes and try to keep the tears stinging my eyes at bay. There’s a light thud on the ground, then the sound of fabric sliding against skin. When I’m confident he’s clothed sufficiently, I open my eyes, then turn to go.
“Wait,” he says as my hand hits the doorknob. My fingers tremble around the curve of the metal, my heart thudding, warning me to get out of the captain’s rooms, but my feet remain planted.
“Come here,” he says, and my limbs obey.
When I turn to face him, I’m relieved (and mortifyingly disappointed) to realize he’s slipped a white shirt over his chest. It’s slim-fitting, hugging his musculature.
I’ve changed my mind. This is worse than seeing him shirtless.
I pad toward him, carefully, since I’ve learned that the boat is liable to sway underneath me at random moments. He waits patiently, his green eyes marking my path toward him as he leans against the bedpost. The way his arms are folded against his chest highlights the divot between the muscle and bone in his forearms. I try to avert my gaze to some part of him that’s not so tantalizing, that doesn’t make my head swirl, my legs tremble with the desire to come closer. But there’s not exactly anywhere to look that serves that purpose unless I’m going to block my eyes again.
As I come closer, the scent of teakwood envelops me, quickening my pulse.
“You’re trembling,” he says, rubbing his short-cropped beard with his forefinger and thumb.
“I never know what you’re going to do to me,” I say, though I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth.
He grunts, then goes back to crossing his arms. “Vorin told me he saw you the other night.”
“Who’s Vorin?”
“The unfortunate sailor tasked with guarding the bunker now that we have a thief on board.”
The taste of faerie dust lingers in my throat. “Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.”
The captain takes an exaggerated step backward, then rounds the other side of his bed, undoing the chain that once kept me secured to the bedpost. My throat starts closing up, but I remind myself that if the captain wanted to harm me, he’s had plenty of opportunities.
“It was a test, you know. Earlier, when I gave you the key to this,” he says, gesturing to the shackle in his hand.
“I doubt you were expecting me to pass, anyway,” I say, voice flat.
He flicks his gaze up at me, staring through those long, dark eyelashes. “No. And yet, somehow, I’m still disappointed.”
And how disappointed would Astor be if he knew about the pouch Peter gave me, the one that’s still tucked underneath my waistband?
When he advances, I back up, but only a step. Nothing useful. He’s close now, close enough that if he were to breathe a shade deeper, his chest would brush against mine. “That’s all you’re going to do?” he asks, running his thumb over the chain in his hand. “Back away from me?”
I swallow, then retreat again, but the captain is faster. He grabs my wrist with his left hand, the grayish Mating Mark on his forearm appearing as sickly as ever. I tug my arm away. His grip only tightens.
“What’s wrong?” he barks in response to my whimper. When I turn my face away, he ticks his tongue. “Look at me.”
I do.
“That hurts,” I say, my voice catching as he digs his fingers in tighter around my wrist. I hate the way my voice trembles. How weak and terrified and pitiful I sound.
He holds my gaze, and I’m transfixed by his green eyes. There’s a rage burning in them, and I wonder if he’s about to throw the plan to fool the Carlisles overboard. Go ahead and take whatever revenge on me he’s been plotting. But then he says, calmly, “If it hurts, then fight back.”
A wry laugh escapes my lips. “What would be the point?” I glance at his sharp-tipped ears that mark him as fae, the muscles wrapping around his arms, his sheer size compared to mine.
“Because then at least you could say you tried. That you went down fighting.”
“It’s foolish to engage in a fight you know you’re destined to lose,” I say, to which the captain twists my wrist.
I let out a gasp as pain spikes through me, but the captain’s movement was deliberate. There’s no cracking of bone.
It’s when I choke back a sob that he shoves me to the ground.
It’s so sudden, I hardly have time to register what’s happened until my back hits a basket of folded blankets. They break my fall, but they also close in over me, making it difficult to regain my balance as I struggle with the moving ship to get upright.
The captain strides toward me, green eyes vibrant and flaring, his face one of nightmares. “Get up,” he says, the anger in his expression absent from his voice.
“You’re the one who pushed me down,” I cry, my limbs still trembling too much to support me. I struggle to rise, and when I finally succeed, the captain shoves me down again.
I let out a whimper as my back hits the floorboards this time. The captain towers over me, stalking me in circles.
“Get up.”
“Why?” I ask. “What’s the point if you’re just going to shove me back down? Just do it.”
“Do what?”
“Whatever it is you think I deserve for existing. Whatever you think will spend all that hate.”
Rage flashes in his eyes. I brace myself for his boot to meet my head, but it doesn’t. He just stares at me and whispers, “Get up. Fight back.”
I steady myself and rise, but go limp before the captain comes at me again.
This time, my arms don’t even catch my fall, and the impact has me biting through my lip. Coppery blood paints the inside of my mouth. When I laugh through bloodied teeth, the captain looks down at me. Something like regret flashes across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by disgust.
He’s staring at me like a child might a broken toy when he asks, “Why don’t you fight back, Darling?”