Chapter 22
Idon’t resist as Peter lifts me into his arms and carries me back to his rooms. The meager fight I had in me I expended struggling with the faerie. Besides, I know better than to fight back against the Shadow Keeper, the very being who, if I attempted to land a blow, could simply slip into shadows and out of the grasp of my doomed attempts.
In a way, it strikes me as exactly what should have happened when I first arrived here. The behavior I always anticipated from the Shadow Keeper. To carry me in chains of shadows to his rooms and steal my very will to live from my bones as he pillaged the last tendril of agency I still possessed.
But when Peter brings me to his rooms, he doesn’t place me on the bed as I expect, but in the wooden, knotted rocking chair in the corner of the room. He then lights the lantern I’d brought in, which had toppled over in my struggle with the faerie. Casually, as if nothing odd has occurred tonight, he props himself atop the footrest in front of me, bracing his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands.
There’s something so boyish about the position, it’s almost charming.
Almost.
I search for anger in his face but find none. Faintly, I notice my pulse throbbing where the faerie scratched at me. As if reading my mind, he pulls a linen from the dresser nearby and presses it gently to my face, dabbing carefully at the wounds.
“I have to say, the last thing I was expecting this evening was to find a lady waiting for me in my chambers.”
I swallow, trying not to feel how close his fingers are to stroking my skin through the thin linen. “Technically, you came home to two women in your chambers.”
Peter’s smile is dazzling. “So the timid heiress knows how to tell a joke after all.”
“Only when prompted.”
“If that’s the case, perhaps I should send a bloodthirsty faerie after you more often.”
I actually roll my eyes. It was evident by Peter’s reaction that he had no clue the faerie had broken into the reaping tree, much less his room.
“So. What were you doing in my chambers, Wendy Darling?”
My throat goes dry, but Peter’s beautiful eyes don’t meet mine as he focuses on treating my wound.
“I would have thought you’d be more concerned with the cannibal faerie who made it into the Den.”
Peter’s jaw somehow manages to go stiff without corrupting the confidence in his smile. “I’m more concerned about the girl who dances with the shadows and pretends she doesn’t like it.”
A thrill thrums through my chest, but I stifle it in practicality.
“And I’m more concerned with the faerie who wants to eat me. Or lick my blood, or whatever she wants. Who is she?”
Peter laughs. “You should talk this openly more often.”
“I talk this way to the boys all the time.”
“I meant to me.”
Again, my face flushes, and it’s amazing that my blood doesn’t start pouring more profusely from my cheeks.
“You’re avoiding my question,” I say.
“And you’re avoiding mine. What an amusing set of dance partners this makes us, constantly going about in opposite circles.”
My mind tries to transport me to the masquerade ball, to my dance with the captain, but I don’t let it wander there. Instead, I ground myself to the tether of Peter’s thumb propped against my jaw.
“A question for a question then,” I say.
“I’m not sure I like those rules,” says Peter.
“You can be comforted in knowing I probably like them less.”
He laughs, then withdraws his hand, though I can’t help but notice that his gaze lingers on my Mating Mark. Now, he’s looking me square in the face as he leans back and folds his hands over his chest.
“The faerie you had the immense pleasure of meeting is Tink. She’s…disillusioned.”
“You know her?” I ask, something sharp stinging at my chest that I refuse to acknowledge.
Peter glances toward the ground. “I’m afraid not half as well as she would like.”
The stinging in my chest is definitely becoming more pronounced. He sighs. “There are a few ways to end up in Neverland. Tink’s reason for being here is unique, to say the least. She and I developed a relationship before…this. When it came time to transition to Neverland, Tink followed me. But the burdens of the realm were too much for her. She eventually resented me for bringing her here. It was clear our relationship was destined for disaster. Despite the fact she hated me for what she perceived as ruining her life, she refused to let go. Still does. Ever done that, Wendy Darling? Refused to let go of the very thing you claim is poisoning you?”
My throat goes dry, an acidic taste on my tongue. “But why attack me?”
Peter actually blushes. “I doubt it was Tink’s intention to attack anyone this evening.”
“Then why?”
Oh.
Embarrassment needles me all over. I take it Tink had other plans when it came to visiting Peter’s chambers, and those likely didn’t include finding another woman in them.
My upbringing doesn’t allow me to speak so directly of these matters, so instead I say, “That explains trying to disfigure me, then.”
“Indeed. In the future, perhaps simply tell her the truth, and she’ll leave you alone.”
“What truth?”
“That you find me repulsive.”
There’s a hint of smugness lingering on Peter’s lips. The way the right side of his mouth lifts slightly more than the rest. It’s probably not for the best that I’m staring.
“I’ll have to try that next time. Though I imagine it would be more soothing to her if instead you told her you find me repulsive.”
“That’s different,” he says. “It wouldn’t work at all.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not the truth.”
Again, a shudder snakes through me. In relation to Peter, the sensation typically stems from fear. Somehow, fear doesn’t feel quite so unpleasant this time.
“How did you end up in Neverland?” I ask.
“Second star to the right.”
I frown. “No, I mean, why did you end up in Neverland? Why are the Lost Boys here, and why don’t they remember anything about their lives before?”
Peter blinks, then leans forward, propping himself on his elbows and knees. As he stares up at me through those thick copper eyelashes of his, my heart gives a lurch. “Because, Wendy Darling, don’t you think it’s more fun this way?”
A chill scatters up my arms, prickling gooseflesh bulging on my skin, but I won’t let him disarm me, so I ask, “Do you?”
Shutters snap into place over Peter’s expression, darkening it at the edges. There’s no anger in his expression, no hurt. Just gentle numbness, a lack of feeling so close to my heart, I can practically taste it coming off of him.
“Of course I do. I don’t do anything unless it’s fun. That’s my secret.”
Something tells me it’s not.